A/N I'd like to apologize for my inactivity, writing has been difficult these past few months and I have a lot of unfinished stories and on top of that I'm trying to transfer my stuff over to AO3 because of the way this site is changing... here is another chapter that I've been writing, I'm once again terribly sorry for the wait, please enjoy and feel free to review or yell at me for not updating

Hamish was woken up by the feel of rough hands on his shoulders, shaking him awake unintentionally. His first instinct was to flail but strong fingers held his legs and arms down before yanking him from his bed. There was shouting in the house, it echoed off the walls and held a distinctly foreign sound, these people were strangers to Baker Street. The person who was handling him pushed him forward down the direction of the living room and the younger Watson-Holmes stumbled before catching himself on the banister.

His knees were shaking, a terror previously unknown to him had set in, the realization that these people were there to hurt him and his family. He set his jaw as firmly as he could and looked up to see the face of the offending party. A man, strong but lean with blonde hair and an unlit cigarette behind his ear, his blue eyes narrowed at the child before pulling a pistol from his waistband and motioning for him to turn around.

Hamish remembered his training, given to him by his father and uncle. "Panic is unacceptable Hamish, this is of the utmost importance." Sherlock's sharp tone flashed through his mind. "You must never panic and always keep a level head in such situations. Do exactly as they say and wait because if you ever find yourself in such a position you must know that me or your dad are coming for you. All you need to do is follow their instruction and wait for us. We will always come for you." The boy found his footing on the slippery wood and began to climb down the steps, feeling the man's firearm prodding him in the back and he stilled his quivering lip by biting it. He mustn't disappoint his parents, they would be coming for him and he would shame them if they found out he had simply burst into tears like a child.

They reached the bottom of the stairs after what seemed like ages and the man seemed to have lost patience with his slow progress and settled for grabbing his arm roughly and dragging him the rest of the way to the living room. It was dark within the flat and people were milling about, pulling things from shelves or investigating the kitchen, Hal squinted into the blackness and tried to keep a headcount in case it was needed for later purposes. He was pushed into a chair and his hands were bound before a bright light was shone into his face.

"Where did you find him?"

"Just sleeping upstairs in his bed."

"The men?"

"Not here."

Hamish cocked his head, blinking furiously as he tried to adjust his eyes but it didn't help and if anything the light got brighter. Hands grabbed his face and forced it off to one side where the boy assumed a person was but as it was behind the light source he couldn't see it. "Are you frightened?" they asked.

"No." he answered, voice more wobbly than he anticipated.

There was a wicked smile in the reply. "Then you are a fool, where are your parents?"

"I don't know-," Hamish's retort was cut short by a heavy slap across his cheek, turning his head the other way and leaving him gasping at the pain.

"Where are your parents?" the question came again. "We searched the flat, they are not here."

At this Hal felt the tendrils of horror curl around his heart. Had his parents heard them enter and had they escaped? If they did then why did they leave him here? He looked back in the direction he assumed the person was and shook his head. The numbing feeling of what he knew to be panic was overcoming him. What if father had lied, what if they weren't coming… how could they know that he was in danger? "I don't know." He repeated.

This time it wasn't a slap, but a punch to his stomach. Hamish sputtered for air and his head lolled back with vain effort to breath. "I don't enjoy killing children, where are your parents."

"I told you I don't know!" he pleaded, father would be ashamed of him, he was panicking and that was unacceptable. He took a few deep breaths and tried to calm his mind. "Even if I did I wouldn't tell you." Hal was pleased with how brave he sounded, braver than he was.

The light was moved away from his face and the blonde man who had dragged him down the steps rubbed his cheek against his pistol, clicking his tongue in disapproval as he lit the cigarette that had been previously tucked behind his ear. "Hamish," his tone seemed gentler as he took a drag and flicked ash onto his dad's nice rug. "Do you know who I am?"

For all the fear Hal was experiencing he was still his father's son. "I believe that's an awfully pretentious question, don't you?" he quipped.

The blonde man chuckled. "You're a quick one." He complimented, lashing his hand out and smacking him once more, the smile gone from his face. "But now is not the time for jokes, little one. My name is Sebastian Moran. I have been sent here to find your parents but instead I found you. I will make you a deal, if you tell me where they are, or could be, I will not tell my boss that you exist. I have left information concerning you out of the reports because I believe it is unnecessary to my assignment but you refusing would mean you interfered with my mission and now my employer will have to know about you. You do not want him to know about you Hamish, because when he does he won't want your parents anymore, he'll want you." As if to accent that he poked Hal gently in the chest. "My boss is a very greedy man, do you know who he is, if not me?"

The boy shook his head, watching Sebastian Moran take on last drag off his cigarette before putting it out on the floor with his boot. "No I do not." He replied.

Moran cocked his head at him. "Then perhaps you are not as intelligent as I once believed, I've been watching you for a very long time and I would've thought you'd have picked up on such a magnificent rivalry. I have been wrong before however."

Hamish was curious now, it burned hot against his mind, overtaking the terror, he leaned forward in his chair. But before the question could leave his lips there was an enormous clattering downstairs and Sebastian Moran and his goons stood at attention, several firearms were pointed to the entrance of the living room.

A cell phone went off.

The tall man's eyebrows twitched as he answered it on the second ring. "Yes?" his tone was that of heavy frustration. "I told you to give me notice you idiot, is that them now? Call Jim, tell him, I have the boy." He looked over to Hal and smirked. "It'll be a surprise."

Hamish bit his lip and ever so quietly there was the sound of a key turning and light footsteps. "Sebby… one of your peons told me that you have a present." came a lilting singsong. The guns stood down and a figure came strolling up the stairs, a smile on his face and a finely cut suit on his back. The moment the two made eye contact he stopped moving, eyes going round with fascination. "My goodness, it's Christmas." He breathed, eyes flitting to Moran. "Adler and Holmes?"

"Watson-Holmes," Sebastian replied, pleased with himself, like a child who had solved a difficult maths problem and was awaiting praise. "Married."

"I've been gone an awful long time then, haven't I? Last I heard Mister Holmes was still very single and wasting away in hiding after jumping off a building." The man in the suit crept forward and raised a hand to touch Hamish, who flinched against his will. "Tell me, do you know my name?"

The boy shook his head, it had been different with Moran, he was clever, but not too clever. He was simply asking questions and expecting answers. This man, he was cleverer than any others he had seen except for father, he wormed his way into your mind and found the answers; the wasted breath for questions wasn't needed.

The man frowned, appearing puzzled at his response. "My name is Jim, I'm very happy to meet you, what is your name?"

"H-Hamish." His voice broke, Jim grinned as he patted his head.

"How lovely to meet you Hamish, you certainly are a delightful child." Jim cooed, turning to Moran. "Sherlock and John are not here, as I understand. First day back on the job and I have to deal with tardy victims. So sad, at least I made a new friend." He smiled over to Hal as he continued talking to Sebastian.
"Please leave a reminder to them that I'm here to stay once more and the games have begun." And with that the man was gone, giving the boy another shark toothed smile and skipping down the stairwell.

Sebastian nodded after Jim and looked over at Hamish, raising an eyebrow. "Well then, I'm truly sorry about this." He murmured.

"Sorry about-," the butt of a pistol smacked him in the head and Hamish went limp.

The sounds of shouting made him come to, his chair had fallen over and there was the faint aroma of dried blood somewhere in the room. Hal crinkled his nose, he hated that smell and he was familiar with it due to his parents' occupation. Long hands grabbed his face and he recoiled, vaguely aware that his own hands were free and he began to claw at the person touching him. More hands pulled him up and he fought harder, his head hurt and his eyes burned from tears but he still found energy for his teeth to find purchase on someone's arm and his jaw clamped down.

"Hamish!" a voice snarled his father's voice. Hal opened his eyes and saw Sherlock, eyes crazed as he looked over his son; the boy quickly released his hold. His dad was there too, he heard his voice, high and frantic and very unlike the John Watson-Holmes he knew. "Hamish are you okay?" the consulting detective's voice stopped his thoughts from wandering too far.

"There was a man," he croaked out, trying to sit up. The side of his face stuck to the floor, he brought a hand to it and when he pulled it away there was red all over it. Blood, the dried blood smell was coming from the floor where he had been laying, Hal felt sick. "There were lots of men, they-they grabbed me. Wanted to know where you were." He was so confused, lights and policeman and more shouting. Sherlock didn't seem to be listening to the boy on the floor; he was yelling something at a crowd of people who stopped what they were doing and came to Hal's aid.

John saw his son moving and collapsed at the boy's side, hugging him fiercely. "Oh Jesus I was so scared." The man said. More and more hands were beginning to prod and Hamish wiggled away, his head was killing him, he pressed it and warm liquid trailed its way down the back of his neck.

"He's injured! I need medical attention here right now!" Sherlock demanded, and Hal felt his shirt being pulled off him and he had little fight left to resist, with a sigh and a lazy blink his clothing was stripped off, where gasps silenced the room.

The child looked up at their faces, all mirroring horror and disgust except for his father's whose face had gone completely white, devoid of all color and his dad, who seemed to have found it and his cheeks were heavily red. "What?" he asked slowly, following their eyes and on his left shoulder where acute pain was he saw scratches.

Only a few angry red lines that bled freely, in the vague shape of a J and an M, a note pinned to the shirt on the floor was snatched up by Greg Lestrade. Please leave a reminder to them that I'm here to stay once more and the games have begun. The Irishman's words rang in the boy's head.

"Jim, his name was Jim." Hamish said, his voice faint as he leaned against his dad, who was rocking him slowly and running his fingers through his matted hair.

"I know Hal, you were very brave, you did a good thing not telling them anything." John murmured, his hands trembling.

"I-I panicked. I let you down." His son slurred, still feeling shame for his inexcusable behavior.

Sherlock's face invaded his line of vision, serious expression fixed over the high cheekbones Hamish shared. "You did better than most would, I am proud of you." His father stated firmly. The man looked up, to a figure the boy couldn't see. "Please call my brother and alert him that there's been a break-in. James Moriarty is back."

Hamish couldn't recall another time he had heard his father so frightened.