Today was just not his day. First Sherlock had decided that he was bored and had so immediately set about shooting the yellow smiley face on the wall, and now his Izzy was not picking up her phone.

'Izzy, it's me, John. Would it kill you to pick up the phone sometimes? Where are you? You said you'd be here by 9 and its already gone 10. Just-just call me back when you get this.' He had just hung up when Sherlock's phone rang and the shooting abruptly stopped, only to be replaced by the voice of the elder Holmes.

'Sherlock, John. There is a car outside to collect you.' John rolled his eyes, moving towards the phone so as to speak to Mycroft.

'Mycroft, I can't really talk right now. I need to locate my sister.' He turned to called her again only to hear the words that made his blood run cold.

'Well you see John, it's about her.'

…

Both Sherlock and John had been taken to an empty, cold office, all white walls and angles. Sherlock was perched on the edge of his seat, looking out of the open window and towards the iconic landscape of London, obviously in his mind palace, while John was pacing, waiting for anything. Soon enough Mycroft entered the room, nodding to his brother and partner in crime before seating himself leisurely behind the desk.

'Mycroft. Where is she?' John got straight to the point, glaring at the composed man sitting in front of him.

'That's why we called you here. It pains me to say this but… I don't know.'

'How can you not-'

'Ran off with the secretary. You have a temp, first day, doesn't know his way round the office. He was packing up the desk from the previous owner. There were more than a few photos of a woman with a very similar bone structure to John.' He turned to John, ' Blonde hair, Brown eyes same as yours. Am I correct?'

Just as John said 'Yes.' Mycroft spoke, shaking his head.

'No. Close though, little brother. Jake Tyler, the secretary, he died. Yesterday. From what we can tell, he was shot protecting Isabel.'

'Why would someone be shooting at Izzy?' John asked, confused. This prompted an eye roll from both brothers as Sherlock stood and began pacing, almost imitating John's earlier movements.

'They weren't shooting at her; he just got in the way. They need her as a hostage, meaning she is important to you, Mycroft, and so to the government. No ordinary girl would be taken, that happened every day; and from the car journey and the view I would guess that we are in the Shard; or more accurately, the floor bought by MI6 just over a year ago. That would mean that the girl, Isabel, is part of the Covert Operations. Yet that leaves us with the question, John, of why you didn't know your sister was a spy.'

…

Watson was sat, his mouth gaping at the revelation of his sister's true occupation. Sherlock had given up on finding an answer from him, assuming that he was just not observant as always, and had turned to question Mycroft. 'And you- why are you recruiting them so young. Unlike trashy novels would have humans believe there is no need for children in the secret service. So why?' Mycroft sat back, toying with his signature umbrella in his hands before speaking slowly and deliberately.

'She was … gifted, and so was noticed by the wrong people. We brought her in, trained her up and sent her out into the field.'

'Wait-' John interrupted, 'my sister is 22, she just graduated. How would you have had the time to do that after her leaving school?' This caused an instant reaction from Holmes as he whipped around to stare at his partner.

'John, John, John… they got to her much earlier than that. From the age of say… 14?' He glanced at his brother who nodded.

'But she's a child!-' He was cut off by Sherlock who had fully turned back to Mycroft and was already assessing the situation.

'Do you know who she was taken by?'

'The Pravda have owned up… They also left a couple of messages.' He turned his computer screen at an approximately 45 angle, so as to face Sherlock and John. 'This is the second.' There, sat on the screen were just two lines of writing, sent from an, obviously fake, email address.

Tick Tock goes the clock

Till your agent's heart stops

John stared at the screen, trying to process everything he had just been told, while Sherlock merely spared a glance at both him and the email before turning to Mycroft.

'What was the first message?'

'It's in her apartment. The car can take you.'

'Aren't you coming?' John looked at the elder Holmes. Though he admittedly scared him, it was his sister's life at stake and he knew that one Holmes was better than anyone, and two Holmes' would be even better.

'No. If anything else appears I will be sure to notify you. I don't particularly like going out in the field, though I'm sure Sherlock could tell you that.' He raised an eyebrow at his brother who merely grabbed John's upper arm and marched him through the building and out to the car.

The car ride was sat in a painful silence, only interrupted by the sound of Sherlock franticly typing on his phone, searching for something John had not been privy to. When they finally arrived at the house they were unsurprised to see that not of the usual team was there, all having probably been ushered out by MI6's own 'crime squad'. They were marched up the stairs by a tall, greying man, who didn't speak, and left in the apartment alone. They did not have to look hard to find the first message; it was scrawled across the wall in red paint, an obvious attempt to scare the people involved due to its association with blood.

Eeny, Meny, Miny, Mo

Caught the agent by her toe

If you wiggle we'll let her go

Eeny, Meny, Miny, Mo

Sherlock grinned and spun on the balls of his feet, clapping his hands together and smiling like a child.

'Ah, finally. Someone who has half a brain.' John's eyes narrowed as he spoke quietly.

'You're enjoying this.'

'Well now John you've known-' He was cut off as a hand sailed into his face, sending him flying back onto the floor. He looked up in genuine shock, 'You hit me.'

'This is my sister's life on the line! Not some faceless person, Sherlock!'

'You hit me.' He repeated, standing slowly and staring at his friend.

'You deserved it.'

'Fine.' He turned and reached out to touch the wall, examining it for a second before taking his phone out of his pocket and typing furiously.

'Are you going to tell me what's going on?'

'No, now shut up.' He muttered, finding what he was looking for before striding out the room and nodding to the agent that had led them up. 'John, go to the house. I need you to find everything you know about the Pravda. You,' He nodded to the agent, 'With me.' His attention was diverted once again as he received a text.

Hickory Dickory Dock

You know where to find us Sherlock

When the clock strikes one

You better run

Hickory Dickory Dock

He glanced at his watch, noting the time of 12:45, before striding along London Bridge Street, followed by the agent. 'It's simple really. The paint had to come from within walking distance, it was freshly mixed. The emulsifiers in it had not been needed yet and there were still small amounts of the original colours seeping through. That means it needed to be within 10 minutes, so on this street. The only DIY shop on this street that mixes its own paint.' He stopped outside a small shop named Truth's DIY, putting a hand on the gun hidden in his jacket as he nodded to the sign. 'No average human would have noticed. The Pravda in Russian translates as either 'The Truth,' or 'The Justice,' they chose the less conspicuous. They knew both my brother and Watson had a link to her. They wanted me, and now they are going to get me.' He stepped into the shop, pulling out the gun and searching the seemingly empty store for only a few moments before muttering under his breath, 'Stupid, stupid.' and moving to an empty shelving unit, 'Why would there be an empty shelf in a store other than to do this!'He picked up a shelf, moving it out the way before drawing his leg back and kicking through the back of the unit into a dank, hidden hallway. He headed down the hallway, keeping his gun pointed ahead should anyone try to attack. He was not disappointed. A huge beast of a man barrelled towards him, wrenching the gun from his hand, allowing him a millisecond to jab the man in the solar plexus, quickly followed by the nose then groin, before pushing him towards the agent who chopped him in the neck, effectively incapacitating him.

They finally reached the end of the hallway, with only one door, which looked like it was falling off its hinges. 'One way in, one way out. This is getting easier by the second.' Sherlock muttered, opening the door after typing a quick text. Inside of the room he was met with the surprising sight of the girl he was looking for surrounded by a pile of bodies. She turned towards him, hands on hip and raised an eyebrow humorously, 'You're a bit late aren't you?'