Little Sherlock stared at the man across from him. The man coughed and then cleared his throat. Sherlock didn't think the man was dangerous. He was chained up, after all, and didn't look like he wanted to hurt anyone.

"Who're you?" Sherlock asked.

The man shifted against the wall so that his face was in the light. "My name is Sherlock Holmes," he said. The boy frowned at that. He was very certain he'd never met this man before, and yet he seemed very recognizable.

"What do you mean? Are you my uncle…?"

"No. I am you. We are the same person. They made you out of parts of my blood and some very complicated chemical reactions."

Sherlock watched the older man carefully. His eyes were so familiar and friendly.

"Do you have…memories?" Holmes asked him.

"About what?" asked Sherlock.

"About your…about our childhood?"

Sherlock thought for a moment. "You mean before I met Dr. Watson?"

Holmes' eyes lit up. "You've met Watson? Did he…ah, of course. He thinks you're me." Holmes grinned dimly.

"You just said I am," Sherlock reminded him.

"We have to find our way out of here. It is assuredly a bad thing that they've brought us together. I fear that Dr. Gemmel is planning some more experimentation…" Holmes looked at his younger self. "Sherlock, do you have any lock picks stowed away on you?" Holmes asked.

Sherlock shook his head. "They took away all the things I had in my pockets and they even checked my hair." He smiled deviously. "But I did take the guard's key before he threw me in here."

/

Watson and Mycroft rode side by side in a carriage bound for the outer limits of London, all of Scotland Yard at their heels. Mycroft had determined the location of the laboratory that the surgeons were working. Watson prayed that they wouldn't arrive too late to save Holmes.

/

"Stay close," Holmes instructed the boy. "If I remember correctly, we'll make three lefts, then a right, and we'll have to pry open the final door."

Sherlock nodded and grasped onto the older Holmes' shirt, to ensure that they wouldn't be separated in the darkness. The pair crept around two bends in the hallway, silently stalking through the building. At the third bend, Sherlock's ears picked up on footsteps behind them and he ran, urging Holmes along with him by tugging at his shirt.

They came to a skidding stop when they realized they had accidentally run into a dead end. Sherlock was ready to dart off in a different direction when a shadow loomed over him.

"Mr. Holmes," said a deep, throaty voice. "And your little friend. Just where do you think you're going?"

Someone behind the man speaking came forward with a torch. Sherlock could suddenly see the man's face and he screamed. It was the man from his nightmares. The man with the mustache and the dark eyebrows. This was a bad man. A horrible, harmful man. This man had hurt him, and it hadn't been a dream. Sherlock hid behind Holmes' legs, shivering with terror.

But Holmes wasn't afraid. He spoke to the man with a caustic voice, no tremors or worry to sense. "Dr. Gemmel. I was so hoping to be able to speak with you again. This 'treatment' you've prescribed is just not working out. I'm afraid I must decline any further of your methods."

"Well, that is where we disagree, Mr. Holmes," said Dr. Gemmel menacingly. "You're still very, very sick and I'm not finished with you or the child." Holmes put a protective arm behind him and over Sherlock's shoulder, taking a step to the side to cover the little boy with his body.

Dr. Gemmel pulled out a gun. "Come along quietly or I'll shoot you and then do my work on you."

Sherlock could feel Holmes tense, and then things happened far too quickly. Shouting reverberated down the hallway. Dr. Gemmel looked over his shoulder, a look of shock on his face. Sherlock peeked around Holmes' legs to see what was happening. Dr. Gemmel looked back at the Holmeses, grinning evilly. Suddenly, Sherlock's chest was burning and he was thrown back into the wall.

There were a few moments of darkness, and then Watson was hovering over him, his eyes red and his mouth a tight line. "Holmes, you…what happened?" he cried.

Another voice from behind Watson's shoulder answered. "He's been shot, Watson. Someone bring a torch!"

Watson looked behind him. "Holmes? Holmes? What? What in the…"

"I'll explain later, Watson," said Holmes. He was now standing over Sherlock, his expression grave.

Sherlock's eyes filled with tears and he knew. He knew that this was the Holmes that Watson loved and missed and thought Sherlock had been. His eyes fluttered closed as the pain thickened across his chest. Watson and Holmes disappeared and the blackness consumed him.

/

"Two sugars, please, Watson," said Holmes. He sat at their breakfast table, flipping through dozens of old newspapers.

Watson obliged him the sugars and sat back admiring the man across from him. No wounds, save for bruising around his ankle from the heavy chain. He'd apparently been well-cared for, other than the captivity. A week later, it was as if the incident hadn't even occurred in the detective's mind.

"Holmes, I hope you know…if I had been made aware that you were in danger, that you were a prisoner, I would have exhausted every resource at my hands to find you," Watson said.

Holmes didn't even look up from the paper. "I don't doubt it, old man. I can see how you were fooled."

Watson smiled fondly. "Yes, he was rather like a small version of you."

"Well, that's just exactly what he is, Watson," Holmes returned. "Ah, that'll be Mycroft."

Watson raised an eyebrow, then heard the door opening downstairs. The doctor became excited about the visit. He rushed over to open the door to the sitting room.

In popped Little Sherlock, practically throwing himself into Watson's arms. "Dr. Watson!" he cried.

Mycroft was right behind him with a brotherly scowl. "Sherlock, be careful, you're going to tear those stitches!"

Watson's expression sobered. "Yes, that's a very delicate area and we can't have it getting infected."

Sherlock smiled, nevertheless. "Mycroft is taking me to the museum today. Then we're going to look at Parliament buildings."

Holmes scoffed and put down the newspaper. "Mycroft, why don't you just let him play with the Irregulars? He's only a child and needs a different kind of stimulation than staring at stone buildings all afternoon."

"Excuse me, brother, but I believe I know what's best for him," Mycroft said. "Besides, we were going to ask Dr. Watson to join us."

Sherlock looked at Watson, eagerly awaiting an answer.

"Sounds marvelous!" Watson exclaimed. "Will you join us, Holmes?"

Holmes picked up his paper again. "I don't believe so Watson, I'm not one to enjoy adventures in babysitting."

Mycroft and Sherlock exchanged a wink. "But aren't you interested in the three missing papers from the Treasury office?" Sherlock asked, innocently.

Holmes nonchalantly put down his paper and finished his tea. "The afternoon air made be good for my cough," he said, putting on his coat in a flash. "Come along, Watson!"

Sherlock grinned. "Yeah, come along, Watson!"

/

Marill: OMG, I can't believe I finally finished this thing. I was erm…distracted by "something", as you can see by my profile. LOL. Anyway, I hope it was obvious enough that Sherlock referred to the little boy and Holmes referred to the man.

So…that's the end! I hope you enjoyed the ride, sorry it took so long to finish. ^.^