A/N: Well no one has said anything against labelling the different sections, so I'm going to go ahead and continue with it. Sorry in advance for the cliff hanger, I will try not to leave you hanging for too long.

Between a Rock and a Hard Pace

- Chapter Forty Five -

*- Lestrade -*

Taking the lead, Greg made his way out into the main hallway, stopping to peer up and down the adjourning corridor before continuing forward. Just as he and Sherlock had predicted, the passageway was empty and they had no problem navigating their way through the eerily quiet building. Between the two of them, he and Sherlock had managed to come up with a possible escape route, using what little information they could remember of the building's layout.

As they arrived at what he believed was an exit, Greg looked around, only to discover that John had fallen further behind, the doctor's face growing paler by the second. Turning back, he slowly and carefully inched the door open, glancing out into the early morning light. The sun was still quite low in the sky and the air was crisp, with a slight cool breeze. Looking out into the empty space in front of him, he could see a row of trees and shrubs, not too far away. What he couldn't see however, was anyone on lookout - a fact he found rather unnerving. Surely their captors were not so careless as to leave the place unguarded, so the question was, where were they?

Taking a slow breath, Greg carefully closed the door, just as John came up to meet him. The doctor's temporary surge of power, brought on by his anger and adrenaline was quickly dissipating, and the man looked absolutely terrible. Scanning over his friend's trembling body, he knew instantly what he had to do. Gripping the scalpel tightly in his hand, he pressed John up against the wall with a whispered "wait here," before he slowly reopened the door and slipped through.

Keeping low and moving as quietly as possible, Greg crept slowly around the side of the building, his eyes constantly on the lookout for any unwelcomed obstacles. His heart was racing like never before as he inched his way forward, his eyes focused and his blade ready. Peering around the corner, he found that it too was completely void of all life, save a small rabbit, who upon being spotted, quickly darted off into the long grass. After making his way to the other side of the building, he glanced around the next corner then quickly ducked back out of sight. In the distance, he had spotted two armed men, leaning against one of three dark coloured vehicles. Sneaking another look, he saw that both men were smoking and appeared to be deep in conversation.

Part of him wanted sneak up on them. He would cut their throats, steal their guns, and then wipe the rest of them out. He could go back into that building right now and save Sherlock from any more wrongdoing. Hell, he would even have a car to drive them all to safety.

Both men were looking away, if he were quiet, then they wouldn't even notice him until it was too late...

He could feel the scalpel burn hot in his hand, and his whole body twitched with the anticipation of the blood bath to come… 'Don't be an idiot Lestrade.'

He wasn't sure if it was his own voice, or Sherlock's that he heard, but either way it was enough to keep him from moving forward. It was too much of a risk, and deep down he knew that. He was the only one who could help, and he only had a limited window of opportunity to do so. With some reluctance, he made his way back to the doorway and was relieved to find that John was still there waiting for him. So far, they had been rather fortunate in their escape, but he didn't want to push their luck.

"Okay, it's clear for now, but we won't have long until we have company," he said is a hurried whisper. "We need to leave now."

Turning back towards freedom, he felt a hand on his shoulder and a weak voice called his name.

"Greg? I think I'm gonna pass out." Looking at the doctor in alarm, he could see that John's strength was fading fast.

"Oh no you're not" he replied, pulling his friend's arm around his neck, trying to ignore how clammy it felt. "We need to keep moving."

With a deep sigh, John leaned into him and the two of them stumbled off towards the tree line.

*- Sally -*

Timothy had managed to get himself quite wound up and no matter how gently she tried to push him, the young man could not talk about Sherlock without dissolving into a mess of emotions. It was a huge concern and helped to highlight just how dire their situation really was. From there she had tried to ask him where he had seen them, but the young man had faltered. Almost instantly Jatz had realised his mistake but it was too late for him to start backpedalling now. It was clear from their conversation that he knew where the three men were, or at the very least, knew where they used to be. Either way, it would be useful information and Sally knew she had to act fast.

"I'm not going to lie to you Tim, you are in quite a lot of trouble, but there is no reason that this has to ruin the rest of your life. No matter what you may have done when you were there, it can't be any worse than murder. If you give us their location, then we can tell the court that you helped in our investigation and that you were cooperative. You can help save three people Tim. You're a good person, I know you want that." The young man nodded silently, his head still down.

"I want to help you Tim, but my window to do so is getting smaller. If we have to wait much longer, then we find one or more of our people dead…" she let the words sink in for a moment before continuing. "You will be charged with a string of new offences including the first degree murder of police personnel. I'll also be off the case and you'll have to face him in there," she said, nodding towards the two way glass. She saw a shiver visibly pass through the young man's body, before he grabbed at his head, rubbing his hands through his hair and over his face. With pleading eyes, Jatz looked back up at her, stuttering his reply.

"I… They'll…"

"Like I said we can protect you," Sally said quickly, putting an end to the young man's excuse. "If it's your family you're worried about, we can protect them too. Your parents are already here and out of harm's way. I can pick up the phone and with one call, have your brother put in isolation in under five minutes. You don't need to worry; we can keep you safe we have the resources. Whatever it is you're afraid of, you don't need to be, we can protect you."

Burying his head back in his hands, Tim remained quiet. After a few seconds, the man's shoulders began to shake and wet droplets appeared on the desk beneath him. She could understand why Mycroft had lost it so easily at him. This type of questioning was frustrating at the best of times, but the urgency of the case made it ten times worse. She gave Jatz a few minutes before gently calling his name.

"New Malden."

"Sorry, what was that?" she asked in surprise.

"New Malden," Tim replied, slowing raising his head. "That's where they are, in an old warehouse, factory thing."

Sally's eyes shot to the window, where she could picture Mycroft Holmes pulling out his phone and making phone calls. With the slightest of smiles, she turned back to their suspect with an encouraging nod.

"That's good Tim, thank you. Do you think you could show us on a map?"

*- Sherlock -*

It started slowly and softly, like one of his violin compositions. It began in his extremities, the pain, seeping back into his awareness via his hands and feet. A sharp ache which reminded him of injuries sustained so long ago he had almost forgotten them. Sliced skin along the soles of his feet, torn flesh around the base of his hands. Then of course there was the throb of two puncture wounds, wrapped tightly, with now dirty bandages. Next came his legs, and then his shoulders, it was enough to take his breath away. Tears started to fall when his back started to burn and then finally his chest…

Like the rising tide, on a sandy beach, the painful sensation slowly washed over him, seeping into every muscle and every bone, until he was drowning in it. Loud sobs racked his body as he struggled to breathe, both his ribs and lungs on fire. Each time he thought that he had reached the end, and that the pain could get no worse, it did. His whole body shouted out at once, screaming for attention.

"You can make it stop," he heard Craig say. "Just tell us what we want to know."

Another minute and it had become so unbearable that he let out a gurgled scream. He tried to breathe in but found his lungs uncooperative, his ribs causing him more agony than he thought possible. Each breath was a struggle and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Writhing weakly on the floor, Sherlock turned his head and looked at his bandaged hand, trying to focus his thoughts. He wanted to die; he had never been so sure of anything before in his life. He wanted to talk too, wanted to say anything to make the pain go away but he couldn't speak, he could barely breathe. As if reading his mind, Craig knelt back down and jabbed him once more with a needle and slowly the pain started to recede back into the shadows.

"That's about half the dose I gave you last time. It won't work as well and won't last as long, but this is your last chance to talk," Craig said in his regular matter-of-fact tone. "After this, I'll give you back to Frank."

Unlike last time, the pain did not go away, but the worst of it was dulled quite significantly. At the very least it was enough for him to catch his breath and collect his thoughts. He knew there was nothing he could say, John and Lestrade hadn't had long enough to get very far, and he had to buy them more time. When the pain returned, he had to control his breathing, he had to focus his attention on one thing and not let himself get overwhelmed. He could do this. Just a little bit longer.

"Well? What's it going to be?"

He didn't trust himself to say anything, besides he didn't think he had the strength. Instead he turned back to his bandaged hand, focused on his breathing and tried to ignore the returning fire. Shaking his head, Craig stood back up and stepped aside, waving a dismissive arm in his direction. "He's all yours Frank."

As the tattooed man walked towards him, malicious grin fixed in place, he reminded himself that it would all be over soon. Just breathe Sherlock, just breathe.

*- Lestrade -*

With each step, the journey was becoming increasingly harder. He struggled to stay upright as John stumbled along beside him, his weight dragging him down. His leg throbbed in protest but he didn't care. None of it mattered because each step he took was a step closer to getting help and that was the only thing he would allow himself to think about.

"Greg," John said softly, his head swinging limply from side to side "stop."

"We can't stop, we've gotta keep moving," he said determinedly, dragging his friend along beside him. John made a strained gurgling sound before repeating more urgently "no, stop… stop."

The doctor pulled free from Greg's grasp and dropped to his knees, breathing heavily. Kneeling down beside him, he gently wrapped an arm around John's chest and held him in place, while the man fell forward retching. He rubbed his hand in circles around the doctor's back, while his friend brought up small amounts of water and bile. Eventually the gagging stopped and John slumped suddenly forward, his body limp and unresponsive. In a panic, Greg carefully pulled him backward towards him, noticing immediately that the man was barely conscious.

"John," he called urgently, tapping his friend on the face, trying to rouse him. "John wake up." The doctor made an unintelligible grunting noise, before forcing his eyes open, his vacant gaze obscured by half closed lids. "John, we gotta go" he insisted, as he pulled the man back to his feet, "it's not far now."

They managed all of four steps before John's legs gave way and sent the two of them crumbling into the ground.

"Come on, you're doing really well," he said encouragingly, trying to pull the two of them upright.

"No," John gasped, trying to bat his hand away, "just leave me."

The doctor was riding on the edge of unconsciousness, his body spent with the exhaustion. Looking behind them, Greg could still make out the warehouse that they had come from, hidden slightly behind a small line of trees. They had yet to come across anyone else since they had made their escape, but he knew that could change at any minute. Looking forward, he could clearly see a number of small buildings and cars close by; they were so close.

"Come on John, you can do this," he tried again, determined to pull the limp man back up.

John shook his downcast head wearily, "no, just go."

He could feel his anxiety level sky rocket, as he looked around in a panic, unsure of how to proceed. He knew that he didn't have time to argue, the guards could discover that they were missing at any minute, and then who knows what might happen to Sherlock. They might move him to a different location, or worse still they might… He didn't even want to think about it. He wasn't going to let that happen.

With a resounding sigh, he grabbed John around the waist and dragged him a short distance to a nearby tree, ignoring the weak cries of protest.

"Alright, stay here," he said very sternly, propping the man up against the coarse bark. "Stay down, stay out of sight and don't move from this spot unless you have to," he continued, draping his jacket over the top of him and quickly checking him over one last time. "Here take this," he said, pressing the scalpel into the doctor's limp hand and giving it a slight squeeze. "I'll be back soon alright? Try to stay awake."

John nodded his understanding, his eyes slightly more open and alert. "Kay."

"I'll be back," he repeated, giving his friend's leg a slight pat.

He really didn't want to leave, but he didn't seem to have any other choice. Getting to his feet, he struggled to move away, afraid to leave another man behind. He had promised himself he would never do it again and here he was, already breaking that promise. "Don't go anywhere," he pleaded one last time, before forcing himself to look away.

He felt his feet carrying him faster and faster with each step as his desperation grew. His mind was so focused that he couldn't feel anything over this overwhelming sense of urgency. As he grew closer to the road and the houses, the feeling only grew, until he could think of nothing else.

Eventually he stumbled out onto a street and ran a short way towards what looked like a number of small business. He hurried past a number of buildings, peering in through the windows and banging on the doors, before getting lucky and stumbling across a middle aged man out walking his dog. His heart leapt with joy as he stumbled over to towards the stranger, who in turn looked alarmed to see him. The dog stared at him in a curious manner, while the owner took a few cautious steps back, preparing to run.

"Please!" he called out desperately, his voice croaky and frantic, "I need help."

"Are you alright mate?" the man asked carefully, still hesitant about whether to get involved. "What happened? Is that your blood? Are you injured?"

"Whaa?" he muttered, looking down at his blood stained arms and clothes in confusion. "I'm... I'm fine, but my friends they… they need help," he stuttered, pointing vaguely behind him. "Please," he tried again, "help me."

*- Sally -*

After getting what they now believed was the right location, things were suddenly moving very quickly. Within minutes, Mycroft had called in an armed response team and officers from the nearest station had been dispatched to the general area to gather intelligence on their target. Recent satellite photographs of the buildings had been acquired and medical personal were already on their way. Within ten minutes of Tim's admission, Sally found herself in a car with Agent Ward and Mycroft Holmes, racing towards the potential crime scene, with several other cars from both the Home Office and New Scotland Yard trailing just behind them.

Amidst all the chaos, she was surprised that she had even heard the familiar chime of her phone. Getting out the small device, she looked at the unknown number for a second and instantly thought about ignoring it. They were approximately fifteen minutes out from their destination and she didn't want any distractions. Curiosity eventually got the best of her however, and she reluctantly answered, trying her best not to sound too annoyed at the disruption. Had she been standing up, she would have surely fallen, as her bosses frantic voice came booming down the line.

"Donovan!"

"Lestrade is that you? My god, where are you? Are you okay?"

"I… I dunno," the man stumbled, asking someone on his end of the line where he was. "I'm in New Malden. Sherlock, he's… he's in some kind of warehouse nearby. They're… they're gonna kill him Sally." She had never heard Lestrade like this before - he sounded broken, panicked, all the things which he was not.

Mycroft's head shot towards her, his eyes both eager and hopeful. She felt horrible having to relay the message, but in the end she didn't have to. His expression paled as he read the news on her face, and with a frustrated growl, he yelled at the driver to go faster.

"We're already on our way Greg, we're about ten minutes away and we're going as fast as we can. Are you injured? Where's John?"

"Oh god John, I gotta go get John," he mumbled in alarm.

"Wawawa wait!" she cried frantically, trying to get his attention, "Greg?!"

"Hello?" Another voice called, this one calm but clearly confused.

"Hi, who's this?" she asked, trying to remain composed.

"I'm Andrew."

"Andrew hi, this is Detective Sergeant Donovan here from New Scotland Yard. That man, I was just talking to, where is he?"

"Ahhh, he just started wandering off. What's going on?"

"Ok Andrew listen carefully, that man is a Detective Inspector, his name is Greg Lestrade. He was kidnapped along with two other people more than three days ago, we think he's just escaped."

"Holy shit," the man said, his voice sounding far away. "In that case, you should probably know that the guy is covered in blood."

Sally felt a chill run across her neck, "Is he okay?"

"I.. I dunno" the guy repeated, "he's seems pretty out of it."

"Listen, I need you to go get him and make sure he's alright.

"Yeah, I'm already on it, what's his name again?"

"Greg."

"Okay got it."

For a few moments, she heard nothing but rustling, which gave her the opportunity to fill the others in on what was going on. She could hear a mumbled conversation take place before Andrew's voice ran clearly down the line. "Ahh, he says he left a friend behind near one of the trees… he wants to go get him."

"No" she said clearly, "no matter what he says, do not let him go anywhere, it's too dangerous. Wait where you are, I'll send officers out to you right now," she continued, pulling out a pen and paper. "What's the address?"

Within a few minutes, she had sent a call out to Dimmock and local law enforcement to respond to Lestrade's location. She had also diverted two ambulances to assist. While she couldn't help but feel relieved that her boss was safe and in reasonably good condition, it was also painfully clear that Sherlock's situation was now more urgent that ever. It was now a race against time. If they didn't reach the warehouse before the kidnappers discovered that Lestrade and John were missing, then they might as well not bother turning up at all. She looked at her clock, but was spared the maths by Mycroft's nervous musing.

"Seven minutes."

She just hoped that was enough.

*- Sherlock -*

He didn't know how much more of this he could take before his body would simply shut down. He had lost consciousness at least once already, but it could have been more. He had been strung up, carved up, cut down, and had salt rubbed into his wounds. All things that had caused great pain and discomfort but nothing that had really caused too much new damage. It turns out that he had been right about that after all, although somehow that knowledge didn't mean very much to him, this time around.

A boot stomped down on his left shin, causing him to let out another mangled cry.

Where the hell are they?!

"That's it, I'm done," Frank announced angrily, pacing up and down the room. "Go get the pig, it's time I gut him."

"X didn't say anything about killing them yet, not unless we have to."

"Oh come on!" Frank said, clearly frustrated. "You saw them in there, just then. You still believe that crap about them not caring? Once I start to skin and gut the bastard in front of him, I bet he'll tell us anything!"

The room was silent for several moments, before Craig finally muttered a disgruntled "fine," then disappeared out of the room.

A new wave of terror hit him, as he hoped above all else that nothing had gone wrong, and that his two friends had indeed escaped. He closed his eyes and waited, his body trembling, as he tried not to picture the dead and dying Lestrade from his dreams.

Sounds of running footsteps brought a smile to his face before Craig burst into the room with a panicked "they're gone!"

"What do ya mean, gone?" Frank said in confusion.

"As in, they're not there anymore!" Craig replied irritably running over to the pin up board and tearing down all the maps and notes.

Frank stormed back over to him, a twisted snarl on his face. "Did you know about this?!" he asked angrily. Sherlock's smile widened, earning him a solid punch to the face. "I said DID YOU KNOW?!"

"Yes," he replied weakly, not letting a punch spoil his good mood.

"You little shit!" another punch connected with his face, before he was able to drag his arms down enough to shield himself.

"We don't have time for this, we've gotta go!" Craig said in a hurry, somewhere near the doorway. "Either kill him, or take him with us, we can't stay here!"

The punches stopped and he felt a heavy boot connect with his stomach, once and then twice.

"Frank!" Craig yelled, before running off out of sight.

Sherlock managed to curl in on himself slightly but it wasn't enough. The kicks were still coming hard and fast. He couldn't breathe anymore, his vision blackening with a dark finality.

"I'm gonna kill you, ya piece of shit."

And for the brief moment before he faded into oblivion, he knew that Frank was right – he had.

Sorry!

:P