A/N: It took just a little bit longer but now it's finally here! (beams) The third and final piece of this saga. Hooray?

Before getting started, though…!

WARNINGS: POTENTIAL CHARACTER DEATHS. Language. Violence. Gore. Adult themes. General confusion. (looks around) Uh… Anybody there…?

DISCLAIMER: If I did own anything of these two series you'd here me shouting with joy throughout the world. But sadly, working for either series isn't my dayjob. (pouts)

Awkay, folks… (gulps) This is always the hardest part, so before I chicken out… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

A Study in Scarlet

The cell was dark and cold. The lonely, heavily chained prisoner couldn't see past their own fingers but the reek of feces, bodily fluids and torture hanging thickly in the air spoke volumes on what was hiding in the shadows. As did the agony pulsating everywhere in the battered, tormented body.

Dark and haunted but undefeated eyes rose towards the tiny dungeon's ceiling in a futile search for any sort of a window. There were no glimpses of the outside world.

Ages ago, in what felt like a different life altogether, Eveleen Moriarty came to tell that her plan was falling nicely into place. That there'd been several explosions and the world the trapped soul had been stolen from had changed dramatically. That none of those people the furiously hammering, determined heart held dear existed anymore. There was no telling how many lives had been lost. Eveleen had only smiled.

/ "And believe me, there'll be more. So much more. The world you've come to know will burn." /

After that there'd been nothing. The captive's only contact to the outside world were the torturers that came every once in a while. Attacking each and every part of the already abused body. Clearly enjoying every broken bone, every wound, every droplet of blood.

At first there were questions. Questions concerning people who were a large part of the captive's life, once upon a time. Then even those stopped. The prisoner preferred not trying to guess what it might mean, refused to believe that there was no one left anymore. The prisoner never spoke, no matter what they threatened to do. With sheer stubbornness the captive pressed their lips together and prayed, in the depths of a mind that miraculously hadn't collapsed yet, that the price of the defiance wouldn't turn out too high.

They provided barely enough food and water to keep their tortured guest alive. To ensure that the sick game wouldn't come to an end just yet. At one point the prisoner decided on a hunger strike. Just before succumbing to darkness for what the tormented soul fully expected to be the last time the sounds of a baby crying floated into the never-ending nightmare. Provided just enough spark to keep the stubborn heart beating. Those eyes opened once more.

The prisoner took a deep breath while swimming out of the sea of memories, trying to guess how long it'd been. Days? Weeks? Months? Years? A lifetime? At first the torturers came in regular intervals but now even that had changed so estimating the passing time was impossible. All that remained were the shadows and pain. Those were the only reality.

The prisoner closed their eyes, drifting into a entirely different world. Dreaming of happiness and love. Of a world that quite possibly would never exist anymore. Those dreams had gentle touches and smiles. The captive couldn't remember the last time they would've seen someone smile warmly.

The sweet dream was, however, bound to end. The haunted eyes flew open at the sharp sound of a alarm siren. A already ragged breath was caught into a painfully tight throat while the wide eyes kept staring, trying to see although it was impossible.

This sound… It penetrated the dark every once in a while. An attack, by whom was impossible to tell. It was a beacon of hope. Perhaps this would all end, one way or the other.

Gunshots. Those the prisoner recognized easily. Shouts of rage and pain. Footsteps, such the tormented mind couldn't recognize, approached the door. Muscles stiffened although it was nearly unbearably painful. Hands attempted to reach out for something, anything, that the captive would've been able to defend themselves with. The shaking fingers found nothing. And then the door was already pushed open.

The light assaulting the prisoner's eyes was horrific. But through it, just barely, the outline of one Dr. John Watson could be seen. There was a loud gasp. "Spencer…?"

And then it was blessedly dark once more.

Brave New World

The dreams continued for ages. Or rather nightmares. Flickers of torture mixed with those of affection. Memories blended together with illusions.

And then Dr. Spencer Reid woke up with something that might've been a scream if there'd been any breath left in him. He was about to jump into a sitting position until the pain flaming everywhere in his body took over, sending him down once more. A soft groan broke through his lips, clawing his throat painfully on its way out.

Steps moved somewhere at his right. "Spencer? Are you awake?" Even in the middle of all the chaos and terror that voice was familiar.

The familiar presence managed to calm Spencer down a little. He turned his head, barely daring to do so in fear of not finding what he was desperate to see. He wasn't disappointed. John really was there, only a step or so away with an expression of concern and understanding on his face.

Was this… real, or was he still dreaming?

"It's alright, Spencer", John assured him, checking the I.V. attached to him. "You're on pain medication and antibiotics. It's quite an infection you're struggling with. I'm sorry but I also had to give you a small dosage of mild sedative. You were getting restless and began to bring further harm on your injuries."

Spencer nodded slowly, still attempting to figure out if this was actually happening. How was it possible that he was here, wherever here was? Was he able to trust this?

It seemed that his head wasn't exactly in the condition to ponder further. For the first time in forever he felt no pain and exhaustion was pulling him under greedily. His eyes began to close despite his best efforts.

John noticed. The doctor gave him a small smile that seemed to hide something. "Get some rest. I'm sure that you have a lot of questions but now… Now isn't the time. Just sleep." Right before dreamless slumber swept him under he heard the older man go on. "You're safe now."

Ashley Seaver's heart had never been hammering the way it did when she sat chained to a firmly made, already blood soaked chair. The bruises and injuries she'd received during her recent beating didn't even register to her. All she could focus on was what approached inevitably.

Ever since she accepted her current case she'd had no illusions. She'd known that she was headed towards something extremely dangerous. The chance of a failure had been high from the very beginning.

So Ashley had no false beliefs. She'd already watched her three team-members die of a cleverly placed trap bomb. She knew, better than well, that she was next.

And true enough, soon a door opened behind her. Calm, even steps approached her. It seemed to take ages before the arrival was in her line of vision. When he was her heart skipped a beat. If she'd been able to breathe properly she would've gasped.

Before her stood Aaron Hotchner, a unreadable look in his eyes. "So…" The voice she heard wasn't the one she'd grown accustomed to what felt like decades ago. "I'm under the impression that you've been looking for me. Here I am."

Outside the room a person stood waiting. There wasn't even the slightest shiver when a few minutes later a gunshot rang out. Instead a icy smirk appeared to Eveleen Moriarty's face.

The next time Spencer began to drift towards consciousness he was startled by the feeling of someone holding his hand. In an instant alarm bells went off inside his head and his blood pressure spiked up. The constantly increasing beeping did nothing to calm his nerves. He ripped himself free from the foreign hold as though it'd burned, every single cell in his body preparing for pain.

"Hey, hey! Take it easy." That voice… He recognized it, even though his head was still full of fog. It went on a lot more quietly, obviously speaking to someone else. "Baby girl, maybe you should give him some space."

There was more quiet talking that became nothing but static to Spencer. With a frown of intense concentration he struggled, eventually managing to lure his eyes halfway open. The amount of light that filled his vision made him feel like someone had poured acid into his eyes. He groaned, instantly attempting to shield himself.

There was a bit of rustling until a new voice spoke. "Sorry about that." Emily…? "We forgot to adjust the light. It's safer to try again now."

With newfound eagerness Spencer pried his eyes open once more. It took a considerable amount of effort but in the end he recognized the figures gathered around him. John stood right beside his bed, eyes firmly on the monitor that kept beeping in a infuriating manner. Derek Morgan was almost as close, looking at him with a small smile that appeared a little too tight. There was sorrow in the man's eyes that didn't linger there the last time they met. Right beside the mocha skinned agent stood Penelope Garcia, a wide smile on her face and tears in her eyes. Jennifer Jareau stood by the window with her back to him so he couldn't see her face. Her shoulders appeared far too stiff. David Rossi lingered nearby the far end of his bed, relief and sorrow fighting over room on his face. And then there was Emily Prentiss, stood quite close to John with a slightly uncertain expression that seemed out of place on her. Spencer's eyes widened when he took in just how far along her pregnancy was.

How long…?!

The beeping became frantic once more. Instantly Derek stepped closer, careful to leave a comfortable amount of room between them. "Calm down, Reid. It's okay. You're safe." Once the irritating sound slowed down the man took a look around. "We're in London. Mycroft arranged this new hiding place for us. He should be here soon."

Spencer swallowed, desperately trying to make sense of things. The fact that there were so many people around him was unnerving although deep within him he rejoiced. For so long he'd been sure that he'd never, ever see them again. "How long…?"

The group seemed hesitant. In the end it was Emily who broke the news. "It's… been seven months."

"I'm sorry that it took so long", Derek joined in, far more quietly than usual. "But… We never gave up. We knew that you were alive, somewhere out there."

Spencer nodded slowly, not quite managing to take in all the information flooding at him. In the end he looked around and frowned. "Hotch and Sherlock… Where are they?" His voice was raspy and barely audible but he didn't care. When no one uttered a word he pushed on, ignoring his aching throat. "Why London? What happened?"

As soon as he saw the looks the others exchanged he knew that he didn't want to know the answers.

In a rather dark room of a massive building two nearly identical pairs of eyes observed the footage transmitted by a surveillance camera. Watched how one perfectly aimed shot from John's gun took down a well trained guard. Observed how the former soldier secured the environment with military precision. The man spotted a second guard that was attempting to sneak in an attack. Another gunshot and the threat was eliminated.

"You can't even imagine how much I'd like to kill him right now", Ivan Rimakov confided, his voice smoother than velvet despite the breath of rage. Flames could be seen in the criminal mastermind's eyes. "I truly hate that pet of yours."

Something positively murderous flashed in the other man's eyes. It, however, disappeared in a blink. "If you touch him it will be the end of you."

Ivan's eyes flickered towards the other for a brief moment before focusing on the screen once more. He found John looking right back at him. With his third shot the doctor destroyed the camera.

"You know our deal, Sherlock." He switched off the monitor with a perfectly steady hand. "As long as you keep working for me your dear Johnny boy is safe."

Sherlock Holmes snorted. "And you're expecting me to believe you?"

"I fail to see what other choice you have."

Sherlock refused to comment in any way. There was a deep inhale, followed by a unnaturally loud exhale, before the man spoke in a clipped tone. "I'm assuming that you have a plan."

Ivan smiled in a sinister way, his eyes remaining on the now black monitor screen. "Now, brother… It's time to move on to the next part of our plan. We'll go to London."

TBC OR NOT?

A/N: Oh dear… It seems that there's quite a bit of mess ahead. But at least Reid's safe and it seems that Sherlock's heading closer to the others. It seems that this whole nightmare will be over soon. Maybe…

Soooo… Was that any good, at all? Or something that should be deleted instantly? PLEASE, do let me know! Even if it's a sequel starting a new story is always nerve-wrecking so it'd feel really good to hear from you.

I've gotta go. It's getting late and I should be in bed right now. (smirks sheepishly) Thank you so much for reading this!
Who knows, maybe I'll see you again…?

Take care!