So, this is my attempt at something different. I like the idea of one person's past being another person's future sort of like the Doctor/River, but just in that sense. The whole plot and such are completely different.

Also, I've thrown in a daughter because of that whole Tumblr prompt.

Sherlock arranged the index fingers on the cookie sheet as he waited for the contents in the beaker to boil. Some days it was hard work not smoking, but John and Mary had their own child. He couldn't be that person anymore.

Marie would be celebrating her first birthday in a few weeks. Mary called him earlier asking for his help planning the party. He'd been reluctant. A child's birthday party wasn't really his area, but according to her John didn't have time because he was too busy with work. Sherlock offered to have a talk with John, but she told him that she'd be more inclined to have his help. He couldn't blame her, he really had been better at all the wedding planning than his friend.

His phone chimed from the other room. He glanced at the beaker. Another chime. It still had a few minutes to go so he crossed the room and picked up his phone from the desk. Two messages from a blocked number.

Turn down Lestrade's case.

-BLOCKED

His brow drew together in confusion. Turn down what case? Lestrade hadn't brought him a case in over a week. There was an attached image. He opened it and froze. John tied to a chair, sporting a black eye with today's newspaper in front of him.

Someone was holding John hostage to keep Sherlock from working on a case Lestrade planned on asking him to solve. As if in answer the sound of a siren cut through the night. He glanced out the window as the lights came into view and the siren turned off. He slid his mobile into the pocket of his dressing gown and walked back into the kitchen in time to turn the burner off before the beaker overflowed. He pulled on the gloves and then grabbed the clamps and lifted the beaker as he heard the door open downstairs. Footsteps up the stairs and then he heard Lestrade step into his flat.

"Sherlock," the inspector called.

"In here," he said, carefully pouring the contents of the beaker over the index fingers.

A moment later Lestrade joined him, folder in hand.

"Ah, good. I need your help."

He could hear the desperation in the man's voice.

"I'm afraid I don't have time for anything at the moment, inspector," he dismissed.

"This is serious, Sherlock and this time I don't need you to tell me we have another serial killer on the loose. Three bodies in three days," Lestrade said, brandishing the folder as proof.

"I'm already on a case for Mycroft. I can't spare the time for another one," he replied without looking up.

"But you've got time to do that?"

Lestrade angrily gestured at the experiment he was running.

"This has to do with the case I'm already on," he lied.

"Come on. I'm desperate here. I have to catch this bastard before he strikes again."

He knew Lestrade wasn't going to let this go. The man would keep at him until he agreed and if he didn't agree today the inspector would likely be back tomorrow. He had to stop that from happening.

"I won't even be in town for the next few days," he said as he sat the beaker back.

"Sorry…what?"

"It's this case for Mycroft. I'm not really at liberty to discuss the details."

"Sod Mycroft and his bloody case," Lestrade yelled. "Since when did you put your brother first anyway?"

"I'm not putting Mycroft first, Grant-"

"It's Greg."

Sherlock blinked, having been taken out of the lie he was crafting, but he quickly reworked it.

"You can leave the folder if you like. I'll take a look at it on the plane. If I find anything I'll text you. If something happens send me as many photos as you can, but I can't make any promises."

Greg sighed in frustration. Sherlock had never actually turned down a case, at least not one this important. What the hell ever Mycroft had him on must be important, but that didn't make the inspector any less irritated. Looking over the file wasn't much, but at least it was something.

"Fine," he growled, slamming the file down on the table. "But if you get anything…ANYTHING let me know right away."

Sherlock nodded and a moment later he heard Lestrade's angry steps down the stairs. He knew the inspector was beside himself, but he had to do what the kidnapper wanted…for now. Only whoever it was made one fatal mistake. He took one of the few people Sherlock cared about and the detective would find them.

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

Reviews are always welcome. :)