This was originally based on a certain Sherlock Holmes film released in 2010. The idea was to update it, change it around for modern day purposes and use the BBC characters in it. However the story grew arms and legs and ran away.

What might interest you though is that I still managed to include a certain hotel room scene. It has been slightly tweaked (for the better I am informed), and it is the most enjoyable scenes I've ever written. If you want to skip to that, it is the chapter called: 'Aint I a stinkah?' (*Once I've posted it up obviously! Paitience is a virtue!*). So If you can't be bothered to read the whole thing, please do read that chapter, I really enjoyed writing it. I mean really enjoyed it (drool drool).

Meanwhile...from the beginning

1

Valentines Day

The first thug seized Sherlock from behind. The second came at him with a knife. The first had him in a neck lock and was squeezing the air from his throat. Sherlock managed kick the second away whilst trying to free himself from the first. The second got up and with a sadistic smile held up the knife so the blade shone on the moonlight. Then a glazed expression came over him and he fell to his knees and fell forward into the mud. The first thug relaxed his grip briefly. Sherlock elbowed him sharply in the ribs. The thug doubled over. Sherlock spun round and punched him straight in the face. There was a satisfied crunch as the thugs nose broke and he joined his frioend in the mud.

"You're late." Sherlock said to John as he brushed of his coat. John rolled his eyes.

"It's Valentines day Sherlock. I was having dinner with Sarah. You had all of last week to try and get yourself killed, why pick tonight?"

"Valentines Day?" Sherlock sounded puzzled. John shook his head and handed him a torch.

"Never mind."

It was late at night in one of London's many parks. They stood outside some public toilets which had been closed for maintenance.

"Why are we here?" John asked. All Sherlock's text had said was where and when to meet. "Is it to do with John McFarlane's disappearance?"

"I found some traces that place him here." Sherlock said impaitently. He crouched down by the padlock on the door.

"This lock has been recently replaced." He said. He shone the torch on the ground outside. "Yes, our two friends dragged McFarlane to this door, then they pushed him inside."

"Do you want me to search them for the key?" John asked.

"No need." Sherlock said as the padlock fell to Sherlock's skill. He pushed to door open and they both shone their torches down the dark stairwell. Only the first couple of stairs were visable. The rest was pitch black. The torch's light swallowed by the darkness. Sherlock stepped in. A low, primeval growl filled the silence. Two eyes appeared at the bottom of the stairs. In a flash a dog jumped on him. Its mouth open and teeth trying to tear at his face. There was a sharp crack and the dog went limp. John stood in the doorway, gun in hand looking down the stairwell.

"Sherlock!" John said warning as he got back to his feet. Five more pairs of eyes appeared in the gloom, the low growl increased by a decibel. Then as one they started to pound up the stairs towards them. Instinct took over. John fired five times. Five dogs lay dead.

"The RSPCA aren't going to be happy with me." John commented. Sherlock put a hand on his shoulder.

"They would've have been put down anyway. These are Pit bull terriers. They are on the dangerous dogs list." Sherlock pushed past John and started down the stairs. John followed. The darkness seemed to have a substance of it's own. Their torches cutting through, showing glimpses of floor or wall, They passed the dogs bodies, blood stained their faces flesh hung from their teeth. John started and headed for one of the dogs. He prised it's mouth open.

"God!" He breathed.

"What is it?" Sherlock asked standing behind him.

"It's a finger. A human finger." Sherlock nodded.

"I though it might be. I hoped I was wrong."

They'd reached the bottom of the stairs. The place smelled of damp, their footsteps splashing in grimy water. A row of cubicles showed in the torchlight, a row of sinks faced them. In the last cubicle they could just see a foot poking out of the door, a trail of blood twisting and turning in the water running away from it. In the cubicle, looking as though he'd been desparately fighting off the attacking dogs, was the remains of a man. John had seen solider ripped apart by landmines, but there was something altogether gruesome about a man torn apart by ravaging dogs. Even Sherlock's eyes widened at the sight. They both jumped when the victims eyes flickered open. John rushed to him, Sherlock was already calling Lestrade. The man gargled, blood spruting from his mouth.

"You're going to be alright." John lied. The man grabbed his jacket. John tried not to notice the missing fingers. He allowed the man to pull him close, he whispered a barely audible word in John's ear. Then the man's hands suddenly fell away, his head smacked on the floor.

"What did he say?" Sherlock asked.

"It sounded like 'Obsidian'."

The sound of sirens grew closer. Soon the toilets had been surrounded by police, forensics, two ambulances and tape. Anderson was complaining about the inconvenient and mucky location of the body. Lestrade stood looking at Sherlock, his arms folded.

"So you're telling me some bastard filled that place up with hungry dogs, pushed McFarlane in and locked the door?"

"I think our two friends pushed McFarlane in. I don't think they placed the dogs there. They were placed in their earlier and tied to a remote release..." Sherlock looked up suddenly. John recognised the look, as did Lestrade. Without a word he pushed past them, past an annoyed Anderson and ran down the stairs into the toilets again. Lestrade and John followed behind. They found Sherlock studying the ceiling with a curious intensity. Suddenly he grinned and pointed to a small black spot. Lestrade frowned at it.

"What's that?"

"A small infra-red camera, probably sending a feed to a computer somewhere."

"So whoever did this was watching!" John exclaimed.

"How else did they know to release the dogs?"

"Right, we'll trace the feed to it's source." Lestrade said.

"Whoever was watching will have got rid of the computer by know."

They left Lestrade giving orders at the crime scene, and got in a taxi to return to Baker street.

"You didn't tell him about Obsidian." John observed.

"Nothing to tell. Until we have data it is meaningless."

"His parents will want to know who murdered him." John pointed out.

"Hmm." Sherlock replied, a frown furrowing his brow.

"Something bothering you?" John asked.

"The style of the murder. It's too...fussy." Sherlock said.

"Fussy?" John exclaimed.

"Yes. Arranging to break into the public lavatories, hiding the dogs there, putting them on remote releases, starving them for a few days, hiring two gorillas to push McFarlane down there. A simple bullet through the head would have done the job just as well." Sherlock paused for breath. "and the camera." he added thoughtfully. The journey continued in silence until they reached Baker street, John knowing that if he interrupted him he would have been snapped at angrily.

When they got back. Sherlock went straight to his computer. Knowing that would be Sherlock occupied for what remained of the night, John took the opportunity to go to bed. He had to be up for work the following day.

The next day John entered the living room to find Sherlock still at his desk, still on the computer.

"Have you been up all night?" Sherlock looked up.

"What time is it?"

"Eight o'clock." John said

"Then yes I have." Sherlock replied, John shook his head and headed for the kitchen.

"Just tea for me thanks." Sherlock called after him. A short time later a cup of tea materialised by his computer. He looked up as John prepared to leave.

"Where are you going?"

"To work. If I am to continue to pay my half of the rent and bills then I need the income!" John said and before Sherlock could say anything more he left. Sherlock would have said that the rent was of the least importance, and he would help out if John didn't have the money. But he also knew John's pride wouldn't be able to accept it, so he said nothing.

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