Elliot stood at the window, sipping a hot cup of tea. First hot cup since it had all started. He looked over to the bed. London had been asleep for a couple of hours. He was curled on his side, his arm hanging out of the blanket, the antibiotics and anti-nausea meds seemed to finally be working. Cruz was lying beside him, fist tucked under his chin, snoring.

London heard voices. Elliot – exhausted, tense, too much garlic. And Cruz – even more exhausted, too much coffee, worried. They were arguing. He slowed his breathing, to make sure they’d think he was still asleep. He probably was still asleep. As the drugs leeched out of his body, his dreams had become more and more real. At the same time his reality became more and more dreamlike. He almost smiled at his clever wordplay – in his defense, whatever they were giving him to combat the withdrawal, the nausea, the madness, made him fairly cozy.

“I don’t care if he’s got the bloody map of England in there, he’s too weak.”

“He’s stronger than you think. And if we want a fair chance in hell of leaving this place, we’ve got to find out what happened to him.”

Him? Ah him. They were arguing about him.

He, him, me, myself, moi.

But why would they care if he had a map of England.

Surely even Angelo could find a London A-Z?

“Elliot, the Inspector is right. We need that information.”

Of course.

Alexander.

Cake for breakfast, concerned, new housekeeper. Sleeping at his office desk. 

“I am his doctor. And I say we wait. He’s barely been coherent for more than an hour at a time. Just what do you think he’s going to tell us?”

“Really, Elliot?”

The Consulting Criminal noticed Alexander's drawl lengthened when he was trying to be condescending and polite at the same time.

“Elliot, you know we have to do this. He’ll be okay.”

Ah, Cruz. Yes.

He heard Elliot walk toward the bed. Felt Elliot’s hand on his forehead.

Nice.

“I think he’s awake.” Elliot’s fingers circled his wrist.

“I am not awake. My eyes are closed.”

Elliot leaned close to his ear. “You’re smiling, Holmes. Nice try.”

London opened his eyes. “Are you waking me up to tell me you’ve got what I need?”

Elliot sputtered and dropped London’s hand. “I don’t think...”

“He’s talking about drugs, Elliot.” Alexander walked over to the bed. “Brother mine, I’m taking Elliot out for a bit. Gregory will stay with you.”

London closed his eyes again. Cruz. Great. No chance of turning him. “I need Elliot.”

The Inspector snorted. “You need him because you think you can convince him to get you drugs.”

“I wouldn’t get him...”

Alexander pushed Elliot towards the door. “We will be back in an hour.”

Elliot stopped at the door. Looked at London. “Okay?”

London felt something ping in his chest. Elliot looked stressed. Tired. Worried. Scared. Must be the drugs. No. The lack of drugs. Was that a new jumper?

“Holmes?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine, really. You should go. I’m sure Cruz has many questions for me.” London closed his eyes again. Tried to imagine other things besides Elliot.

When he opened them, Elliot and Alexander were gone and Cruz stood above him.

“Think you can sit?”

“Why?”

“Because, you need to move around. I know Elliot means well, but he’s a bit of a hen. You could sit for a bit, maybe have a wash.”

It took an hour, but London had a shower, 2 cups of strong black coffee, and three butter tarts. He sat in one of the hard back chairs, hands on his knees, staring at the wall. Trying to determine if the skittering insects on his back were a side effect of the drugs or a side effect of the drugs he was taking for the drugs.

Cruz brought him another cup of coffee and pulled up a chair. Sat staring at him for a moment, sipping his coffee.

“Your interrogation pose?” 

London matched sips of coffee.

“Just gathering my thoughts.”

“I guess there’s no chance I can talk you into running a little errand for me?”

“Don’t waste your breath. As I’ve told Elliot a dozen times this week, this is not my first turn around the dance floor with you.”

“Oh, we’re dancing?”

The Inspector sat the coffee cup on the floor next to the chair and leaned forward, his knees touching London’s. “No dancing. Just talking. You know what I need to know.”

London shifted in his chair, stared at a spot on the wall above the Inspector's head. “I don’t remember.”

“Yes you do. You remember everything.”

“I was drugged.”

Cruz kept his gaze on London’s face. “You’ve been drugged before.”

“Not like this.”

London crossed his arms in front of him.

“What happened? Why don’t you want to remember?”

“Not want, can’t. Cannot.”

“Then go to your Mind Palace – you know it’s in there. An address, a name, something we can use.”

“No.”

“If you’re holding out, thinking I’m going to fold-“

“NO!” London’s voice rose and he leaned forward.

“No Mind Palace. I can’t. Not this time.”

The Inspector moved back, surprised. “Okay, then. It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine.”

London rubbed his palms against his legs.

"Take a breath. We can just talk.”

London nodded and closed his eyes. Took measured breaths until he heard Cruz’s voice.

“So when you were in the basement, how many people?”

“I don’t know.”

“Holmes! How many people?”

“I was blindfolded.”

“Okay, so how many voices – you can tell me that right?”

London sighed. How many? Three, four? “Three, maybe four.”

Cruz frowned. “Okay, so what else?”

“I don’t know what else.”

“Yes you do.”

“I can’t remember.” London’s voice rose again.

Panic joined the insects crawling up his back. 

“Do you understand what that means?”

The Inspector sighed.

“Yes I do. Means you’re human.”

“Human?” The disgust in the Consulting Criminal's voice was so evident that the Inspector had to suppress a smirk. He knew exactly how much London despised being reminded of his humanity. 

“Very much so. You’re reacting like everyone else reacts who’s been through this kind of trauma. Sorry to disappoint you.”

London tried to take a deep breath, but the panic was making its way back up his chest, tightening around his lungs. He couldn’t let it take over. With a strangled shout, he threw the coffee cup against the wall behind Cruz’s head.

It shattered.

London stared at the drip pattern and managed to get his breathing under control. Cruz shrugged his shoulders. “Okay, so you got that out of your system? Good.”

London looked at him, hoping he looked and sounded genuine. He had to fool Cruz. “Please. I do believe I could remember if I just had...”

“Three voices you said – accents?”

“I don’t know. But if I only had a...”

“English? Russian? Did any of them have names?” The Inspector was not letting up and the Consulting Criminal had to think as fast as his mind would let him at the moment. He had to make Cruz stop and he had the perfect trigger.

“Please, Gregory...” It was a low blow, London knew it but he really had no choice. He was going to get the Inspector to breakdown and do what he wanted. Just like he had so many times in the past. Something so simple as him using the Inspector's name was a sight to behold. It had gotten him many a thing all those nights ago when it was just him and Cruz alone at the Inspector's house when he was doing everything and anything to save the Consulting Criminal from himself when in reality it was the Inspector that needed saving.

“That was low, even for you.”

“What?”

The Inspector stood. “Don’t start with me. It’s not going to happen. Regardless of what you call me.”

London stood as well. “You know I’m right, though.”

“I know you’re a god damn nightmare.”

London took a step toward Cruz. “Come on, you know how this works...” He moved closer. “I’ll do anything...”

Cruz took a step back. “No, stop it. Now. You know it won’t work.”

“It's worked before. Many times in fact.”

The Inspector took a step to the right and circled around London’s empty chair and motioned that he sit back down. “Then you know why it won’t work again. Now, can you please sit down and act like a grownup for me just for a minute?”

London turned around. Held out both his hands, palms up. “I will beg if I have to... I know how much you enjoy that.”

Cruz scrubbed his face. “You understand your reluctance to talk to me is putting Elliot in danger?”

The Consulting Criminal stopped moving.

“What do you mean?”

Cruz rolled his eyes. “Yeah, knew that one’d get ya.” He moved a step closer to London. “I mean, every day we don’t catch these bastards, the price on Elliot’s head goes up. Now I know you don’t care about yourself, but for God’s sake, can’t you try to help me for Elliot?”

London sat back down in the chair. Fuck. He needed to save Elliot. He’d forgotten that detail. Or he’d deleted that detail in his all-consuming need to convince Cruz to go find him a needle. A fix. But he wasn’t lying when he said he couldn’t go back to his mind palace. Wouldn’t go back. Back to the place where Elliot died, over and over and over again.

“Holmes, tell me.”

London slowly looked up. If anyone might understand, it would probably be the Inspector.

“If I try to remember – you have to promise nothing I say leaves this room.”

”You have to ask?”

London shook his head. “No, I know. Sorry.”

“First Gregory, now sorry – you’re starting to really scare me here.”

Cruz sat back down in the chair. “You want me to ask you questions?”

“No, just...just... be here."

Cruz nodded and London closed his eyes. For a moment he thought he might throw up. He thought his heart might stop. But then the fog cleared a bit and he moved into a hallway. He drew a sharp breath when he saw that the walls and ceiling were covered in graffiti. Angry slashes of red and black paint. The word Elliot scrawled over and over. He leaned against a wall. He hadn’t done this. Who, then? Who indeed, dumbass. Thought you’d never come back. He ignored the voice and opened the door to his right. He stepped into the room and closed the door. Walked to the window. Flames shot out of the floor, peeling the wallpaper, sparked all around him. He curled his fingers into his palms, digging his nails into his flesh, trying to remain alert as the smoke and heat rose around him.

“Who are you?” He whispered and turned toward the voice.

“Forget me already?” Elliot stood, covered in blood. “You know you’re burning alive, right?”

“No!” London stumbled against the window. “I have to save you.”

Elliot laughed. “Save me? You killed me. Remember? Why can’t you remember? Don’t you want to remember?”

London closed his eyes. He willed himself into another room. Empty. No graffiti. No windows. One grey file cabinet. Locked. He felt in the pocket of his robe and found the key. Opened the top drawer.

“Too late, Holmes. I’m dead already.” Elliot appeared at his elbow, peering into the file. “Although that little fact might have saved me. Shame your beautiful mind has dissolved into mush. Could have used it before you got me killed.”

London grabbed the file and turned swiftly. “You are not dead.” He ran out of the room and down another hall. Out to a garden. Dogs were barking. Children were playing. Alexander walked up to him and slapped him across the face. 

He opened his eyes.

“Holmes!”

He was on the floor on his back. Cruz knelt beside him, shaking his shoulders.

“Come on!”

London grabbed Cruz’s arm to stop him from the unnecessary shaking. “I’m fine. Fine.”

Cruz rocked back on his heels. “What the hell was going on in there?” He stood and offered his hand. London reached up and managed to pull himself off the floor and the Inspector guided him to the bed. London rolled onto his side and lay quiet for a minute, breathing. 

Thinking.

He turned back to Cruz. “Pen and paper.”

The Inspector raised an eyebrow.

“I’m only going to be able to do this once.”

Cruz nodded, found a pen in his pocket and grabbed a piece of paper from the bureau and pulled the chair close to the bed. “Okay, go.”

London laid his arm over his eyes and began speaking. Softly at first, but as he forced himself to recall each detail, his voice grew stronger, more determined. He had managed to drag the file out onto the edge of his memories – mind palace adjacent he liked to call it – and was able to fill in most of the details without having to climb the steps back inside. He could see a dark figure at one of the windows, flames glowing behind him. He stopped, frozen by the thought that he might never get it back. 

His mind. 

His memories. 

His life.

After about ten minutes, his voice raw, his body trembling with fatigue. The Consulting Criminal finally fell silent.

“That’s good for now. You need to rest.”

“Enough?”

Cruz scanned his notes. “I think so. If your brother can’t fix this now, no one can.” He stood. “You need anything?”

London raised an eyebrow.

“You know what I mean.”

London sighed. “Where’s Elliot?”

“Alexander nicked him remember?”

The Consulting Criminal frowned. “Yes, of course I remember. I mean, where do you think they went?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. They should be back soon. So are we done? Nothing else you need to tell me?

“We’re done.” London said. 

He just hoped it was true.

Elliot scrubbed his face. It exhausted him thinking about how they had gotten from the bathroom at their apartment to this bathroom, in this horrid little room above Angelo’s. He watched as London gingerly lowered his left arm, still a mess of track marks and bruises, so he could wash it in the warm water of the sink. The Consulting Criminal hissed as the water touched the wounds. Elliot’s chest felt tight as he thought of those men, injecting London over and over. He knew if he was ever in the same room with any of them.

His face felt hot and he could feel his heart beat faster as he imagined a thousand ways to kill them, torture them, tear them apart piece by piece.

He heard the water stop running and looked up the see London white knuckled and gripping the edge of the sink. Avoiding looking at his reflection in the mirror. Something he frequently did. He didn't like looking at himself at the best of times. It wasn't a "body" to him, it was just "transport" and was treated as such. Others looked at him. He had no need. 

Elliot wanted to throw something. Kill someone. He recognized these feelings. He had become intimately acquainted with this rolling murderous rage when he was in Afghanistan. People dying all around him for no good goddamn reason. That, more than the fear and the violence, was what had sent him to Ella Thompson in the first place. And now someone had done this to London. 

And all he could do was...

“A little help?”

It was more plea than command. Elliot wasn’t even sure he had heard correctly. London hadn’t moved, still shivering, still breathing. But he took a washcloth and soaked the cloth under the hot water. London flinched when he put it against his back, but then sighed and his shoulders relaxed. Elliot took a deep breath and stood straight. He then made circles on London’s back. He massaged his shoulder with his other hand, kneading the flesh. He noticed a line of raised bumps. Surely they didn’t inject him – no – these were bites. He lifted the washcloth and looked at the rest of London’s back. Little red, inflamed bites dotted his spine and across his shoulders. 

What the hell?

Elliot traced the bites with his finger. “How did you get these?”

London sighed. “Fleas, I think. Not exactly the Savoy. Room service was rubbish.” London smirked, but Elliot felt the shudder underneath.

Fleas? Where the hell had they kept him? He realized he didn’t know. Although they had the address and the names of the main players, that's all they had.

“We should put something on these. Stop them from itching.” Elliot began rubbing again, trying not to think about all the things he still didn’t know.

“Wouldn’t matter. Everything itches. Side effect, you know.” 

Elliot’s chest grew tight again. He felt helpless. All he wanted to do was to take the Consulting Criminal far away from here, far away from the pain and the withdrawal and the memories of whatever hell he had been put through. And all he could do was wash his back. 

Take his temperature. 

Make his tea.

He stood suddenly. “I have to...” He opened the bathroom door. He had to get out of there. He couldn’t breathe. He just kept seeing London, lying on the floor, a man tying his left arm and his right arm, injecting him, torturing him. He bent over and tried to breathe.

“What?”

Elliot heard London's confusion and tried to stand up straight. He couldn’t. He dropped to a knee as the familiar symptoms of a full blown panic attack overcame him. He rolled into a ball, pulling his legs to his chest, and willed himself to keep breathing. He really didn’t need to pass out here. He recited the alphabet forwards and backwards. He felt his heart slow down just a beat or two. The rush in his ears subsided a bit and he heard more splashing and a string of curses from the bathroom.

“Elliot!” London appeared in the doorway.

Elliot raised a hand. That was the extent of his energy. London would have to suss this one out himself.

The doctor had become the patient.

Somewhere deep, far away from the nerve endings that were threatening to stop his heart, he thought it was a bit funny. He and London locked in an endless dance – I save you, you save me, I save you, you save me.

But who was going to save them now?

London stumbled over to Elliot and Elliot felt him shake his shoulders.

“Are you alright?” London grabbed Elliot’s wrist and was still for a moment. He sank to the ground next to him, leaning on one arm. “Oh, panic attack. You scared the hell out of me.”

Elliot could hear London’s ragged breaths and tried to concentrate on them, match them with his own breathing, anything to clear the fog and unclench his muscles. He felt London’s hand on his back, rubbing. Heard his voice in his ear, soothing, whispering. Not bad. Usually the Consulting Criminal’s bedside manner was all kind of shite, but this was...helping.

He listened to the timbre in London’s voice and his breathing slowed and London sat down beside him and his head was lifted into London's lap. The Consulting Criminal then reached over and tugged the blanket off the bed, spreading it over both of them.

London spoke in low tones, describing each of their last three cases in vivid detail.

Odd choice, Elliot thought, but it did the trick.

Murder as lullaby.

Elliot snorted at the image and London sighed and wrapped his arms around him and they drifted off together.

Neither one noticed the figure in the shadows.

“Tarek! Look at that, we found his boyfriend after all.”

London tried to break free, but hands were pulling him away. He opened his eyes to see Tarek jabbing a needle into Elliot’s neck and he lunged forward.

"Dammit, Nikolai, put a leash on that dog."

The Consulting Criminal was punched him in the face by Nikolai. He fell backwards and rolled, his mind jumping five steps ahead to where he could break every vertebra in his neck and then falling back five steps to where he realized he could barely lift his head off the stained carpet. He opened his eyes as Nikolai dragged a semi-conscious Elliot to a chair and lashed his arms behind him.

No, no, no, this cannot be happening again. He struggled to get to his feet, but Tarek had made his way over to him, grabbed him and hauled him to the bed, shoving him roughly against the headboard.

Part of his brain told him to disappear into his Mind Palace. He knew what was coming next.

A needle.

A rush.

Oblivion.

He shook his head and rolled onto his back.

The Consulting Criminal concentrated on Tarek, the one apparently calling the shots, the one with the brother and the vendetta and the gambling habit (and the cheating wife, and the shellfish allergy, and the impotence).

“Stop it, stop it.” He was not going to be able to get Elliot out of this situation if his mind continued to make irrelevant deductions.

“It's okay... I'm fine.”

He turned to see Elliot struggling against the ropes at his wrists.

“I’m fine.” Elliot repeated. The Consulting Criminal didn’t believe him.

Nikolai walked over and punched Elliot in the stomach. London’s stomach rolled in sympathy.

“You will regret the day you were born for that one.” London looked at Elliot, who was struggling to breathe.

Nikolai walked toward London and held out his hand. London raised his chin.

Something gleamed in Nikolai’s hand.

A needle.

He closed his eyes and struggled to sit up. “It won’t do any good now. I’m clean.”

“Not for long.” Tarek joined Nikolai at the bed. He grabbed London’s arm and held it still as Nikolai wrapped a rubber tube around his bicep.

London struggled, but it didn’t make a difference. His body shook and his mouth watered. Biological responses he couldn’t control. For a moment he couldn’t tell if they were holding his arm or he was holding it out to them. 

He took a last look at Elliot, who was staring at him.

“Mind Palace,” He wheezed.

London barely made out the words as Elliot repeated them.

"Mind. Palace.” Elliot’s head fell forward and he was quiet.

London felt like laughing. Dear, dear Elliot. If only he knew, if only there had been time to tell him, to make him understand the worthless wasteland his Mind Palace had become. 

There was no way he could return there.

He turned away from Elliot and watched as Nikolai lifted the syringe, plunged out a bit, flicked the needle, and felt his arm for a vein. He doubted they could find any vein that hadn’t been plundered already, but then he felt the sting, the warmth and his body collapsed onto the bed, giving in. 

Giving up.

Elliot heard mumbled voices and smelled cigarette smoke. He cracked one eye open and noticed long shadows stretched across the carpet. He’d spent so much time in this room he could tell the time of day by the shifting sun through the window. He calculated he’d been out about 2 hours. He tilted his head a bit and saw two men sitting at the table by the window, both staring at their phones. He tried not to move too much as he looked to his right. London was curled in the bed. He heard his labored breathing, watched his leg twitch. Saw a syringe on the floor by the bed. Fuck fuck fuck. They had dosed him, too. With what?

He closed his eyes when he saw that the bigger man had pushed away from the table and was turning toward the bed.

“What I don’t understand is why we don’t kill these pricks and get out of here? Isn’t that what your brother wants? Plus the longer we stay here, the more likely someone else shows up.”

“We will kill them – be patient.” Tarek stood and walked over to the bed and tugged London onto his back. London moaned and covered his eyes. That’s when Elliot saw the rubber tube wrapped around his arm. He struggled not to make any more movements, but he couldn’t breathe. His knew his own ribs were bruised, probably broken. That and the fact that he needed to get up and kill these men, right now, was restricting his airway. He shut his eyes and concentrated on pushing oxygen into his lungs.

When he opened them again, he saw that the other man had walked over to the bed, holding another syringe in his hand.

“Now what, Tarek? Recording this for posterity? You got a kill book somewhere?”

Tarek turned around and slapped the other man across the face. “You talk too much, Avi – hold him up.” Tarek reached for London’s arm.

Avi didn’t move. “His brother? Jesus, Tarek. Tell me you’re not using him as bait – I want no part of his brother. Jusuf would not approve of this. Think, man. In and out. Quick and clean.”

“His brother is the reason my brother is in prison. His brother broke a vow. His brother sent him,” Tarek pulled London’s head up by his hair, “to destroy our business.”

Tarek slapped him and London sank back onto the bed. Elliot pulled hard at the ropes binding his arms. If he could just get free, he could walk over and break Tarek’s neck with his bare hands. He wished he could let London know he was awake.

Let him know it was going to be okay.

He wished he could believe that himself.

Tarek sat down on the edge of the bed, patted London on the thigh. “Your brother should be here any minute and I will kill you in front of him. And then I will kill him.”

Avi had crossed the room and was sitting back at the table, arms crossed, pouting. “What about him?” He nodded towards Elliot.

London lurched at Tarek.

“No. He is no... concern of...yours.”

Elliot shut his eyes and willed the Consulting Criminal to be still. He almost had one arm out of the ropes. He watched as Tarek held London back with one hand and leaned down to pick up the syringe.

London stopped struggling and Elliot watched him pull his arms away from Tarek, tucking them under his legs. No, breaking his neck will be too kind. He was going to have to gut him throat to crotch. His chest tightened as he watched as Tarek held out the syringe and London closed his eyes and lifted his left arm.

Bloody hell.

He was practically asking for it.

For the fix.

Elliot couldn’t stand it any longer.

He used every bit of energy he had left and surged against the ropes.

“NO!"

Everyone in the room turned toward Elliot. He was half standing, one arm almost free of the ropes and he lunged toward the bed.

“Shoot him,” Tarek commanded, and London moved and rammed his head into Tarek’s back. Tarek tumbled to the floor and Elliot leaped, the chair still attached and landed on Tarek’s chest, broken chair pieces scattering around them. London rolled off the bed and crawled toward the needle that had flown out of Tarek’s hand.

Avi reached for his gun on the table, whirled around and aimed at Elliot, who was now on top of Tarek, using his head to pound Tarek’s nose into pulp. Avi swung his gun towards London, who was at the end of the bed.

“London, get down!” Elliot shouted and wrapped the rope around Tarek’s neck.

“Shoot them, shoot them,” Tarek howled with his last bit of air. He struggled against the rope and passed out.

Elliot heard a shot. “Holmes!” He was out of his head, trying to untangle from the chair and the ropes, trying to get to London. “No!” He turned back to Avi and watched in shock as the big man dropped the gun and crumbled to the ground, a bullet hole in his forehead. He was confused. How did the Consulting Criminal get a gun? He turned back and saw that London hadn’t moved. He still lay crumpled against the end of the bed.

He untangled himself from Tarek and dragged the pieces of chair with him towards London. He felt his pulse, his chest, his head. No blood. “Fuck, I thought he shot you.” He pulled London upright and held him and watched the syringe fall out of the Consulting Criminal's palm, unused.

There was a large boom and he turned toward the door as Cruz rushed through, gun drawn. He swept the room with a glance and yelled. “Two down. All clear.” Cruz looked over to Elliot and London. “Send me an ambulance. Now!”

He leaned over and picked up the gun that had fallen next to Avi’s body. “You okay?” he said to Elliot as he walked by Tarek towards them. He poked Tarek with his foot and the man stirred a bit. Cruz lifted him from the floor, punched him in the face, and let him drop.

Elliot kept his hand on London’s chest as the Inspector joined them. “They dosed him. I don’t know how much, I don’t know how long.”

“How long is about four hours. Angelo missed his 2 o’clock call. Alexander is on his way. Is he conscious?”

Elliot brushed London’s hair from his eyes and leaned down. “Holmes, you with us?”

London moaned and opened an eye.

“Did you miss me?"

Cruz rolled his eyes. “Yes. I’ve got an ambulance on the way-“

“Not for me I hope.”

“No, for me. Bit knackered after running up the stairs and shooting the man who was about to shoot you.”

“You shot him?” Elliot’s chest felt tight again, this time at the realization that if Cruz had not shown up when he did, it could have all gone so wrong. He blew out a breath and rested his head against London’s shoulder.

“I do keep up my qualifications with you two around – never know when I’ll have to pull your arses out of the fire.”

“Jesus.” Elliot hid his shaking hands under London’s arm.

Delayed shock.

Had to be.

The Inspector squeezed Elliot’s shoulder. “You’re both safe now. We arrested the rest of the lot downstairs.”

Cruz rubbed his hands together. “Now let’s see if I can get you untangled from this.”

London sat up a bit and let Elliot lean against him as Cruz started unwinding and untying the rope and the chair pieces from Elliot. Elliot winced when he realized that some of the pieces had splintered into his arms.

“This is going to hurt a bit,” Cruz warned before he pulled a 1/2 inch piece of chair out of Elliot’s forearm. It started bleeding and the Inspector ripped a strip from his own shirt and held it against the wound. “Christ! Ow!” Elliot jerked back into London. The Consulting Criminal held Elliot as Cruz continued to untangle and untie.

He picked out a dozen more pieces of wood. The room was suddenly full of people - police officers, technicians, medics. Angelo. The medic hustled towards them, but Cruz held up a hand and he stopped. Angelo didn’t stop. He rushed over and fell to his knees in front of Elliot and London.

"Oh thank god you are all right. I was so worried. They showed up at lunch, put me and Tony in the freezer. I thought you were dead. Thank god Janine came looking for her afternoon sandwich or we’d still be in there – big Angelo Popsicle.” He finally stopped talking and leaned over and kissed Cruz on the cheek. “This brave man. Just walked up the stairs and boom. Bye, bye bad guy.”

The Inspector smiled. “It wasn’t all me, Angelo – I’ve got a whole team.” Angelo patted Cruz on the arm. “Yes, and your whole team eats here tonight. On me. Anything you want, I cook. Brave, brave boy.” The room emptied as quickly as it had filled. Angelo struggled to his feet and with a wave, headed back downstairs. Cruz stood and looked around the room. The other police officers had moved Tarek, who was barely conscious, to the chair by the table. He was handcuffed and an officer stood behind him.

“Lazarus is go,”

Cruz helped Elliot and London to the bed, where they sat side by side like a pair of rag dolls. With the adrenaline quickly leaving his body, Elliot was starting to feel the after effects of the drugs and the fight. He leaned against London’s shoulder. Elliot knew neither one of them were in any shape, nor, when he glanced at London’s grim expression, any mood to deal with...

Lazarus.

Whatever that bloody meant.

"Right up here, sir.” Elliot heard voices in the hallway, then dead silence as Alexander walked through the door. Alexander eyes took in the room, stopping when he saw them on the bed.

Elliot watched him hesitate, take a step towards them, but Tarek moaned, and Alexander’s face hardened and he took two steps toward the table.

"Alexander, he’s barely conscious. Maybe you shouldn’t.” Cruz stepped in front of the older Holmes, put his hand on Alexander’s shoulder. “Let my guys pull him in.”

Alexander smiled, his eyes never leaving Tarek. “I think not.” He moved past the Inspector and stood behind the chair at the table. Tarek looked up, frowned, and cursed in Russian.

Alexander brushed off the seat and sat down across from him, elbows on the table, fingers steepled in front of him. “Yes, yes, my mother the whore. Charming.”

Elliot felt London tense beside him and grabbed his wrist, forcing him to stay. He didn’t have the energy to stop him from doing whatever idiotic thing he was thinking about doing. Cruz gave a nod to the officer standing behind Tarek and the officer slipped out of the room. The Inspector stood at the table between Alexander and Tarek. Elliot watched as the Inspector unsnapped his gun holster.

Elliot swallowed and closed his eyes. What in the hell did Greg think Alexander would do? Beat him over the head with an umbrella was the only thing Elliot could think of and he knew Cruz could disarm him in two seconds. Alexander glanced back at them and Elliot saw the look in his eyes and he was suddenly glad Cruz had a gun.

Alexander turned back to Tarek. “Your brother is unhappy with you, Tarek.”

"Fuck you.”

"Yes, well, colorful vocabulary aside, I do believe your life as you know it is over.” Tarek struggled to keep his head up but still managed to stare defiantly at Alexander. “You’re the one who’s over, Holmes. I will kill you and your brother. It will never be over.”

“That is what I am afraid of. And when I say afraid, I mean just the opposite. You, my friend, are headed somewhere very dark and very far away. For a very long time.” 

Alexander leaned forward. “And make no mistake – it is over. For you. For your brother. For your entire criminal enterprise.”

Alexander reached across the table and wrapped his hands around Tarek’s neck, pushing his thumbs into his throat. Elliot was sure Cruz would step in, but he stood still, one hand resting lightly on the butt of his gun. Alexander lifted Tarek an inch off his seat. Tarek struggled, but Alexander’s grip was strong.

It was then Elliot realized the older Holmes could indeed kill Tarek with the slightest of increase in pressure and the older Holmes knew it.

“You are a very lucky man. I am restricted by law, by witnesses, and by my vow to always set a good example for my brother... “

"Oh for god’s sake, brother mine. Don’t do anything on my account. Strangle the bastard. Or I will” Alexander ignored his little brother. 

"But if any of these restrictions were not pressing upon me, rest assured, you would be dead.” Tarek kicked at the table, scratching at Alexander’s hands, gasping. The Inspector finally took a step forward.

“Alexander enough.” Alexander kept Tarek in his grip for another few seconds and then let him go and sat back down in the chair.

He then folded his arms in front of him. Took a deep breath. He held up a hand and two large men in black moved in quickly and dragged Tarek out, wheezing and gasping, still able to spit out a few curses.

Alexander sat at the table, his head bowed. Elliot felt London move beside him and helped him to his feet. Cruz came over and put his arm around the Consulting Criminal and brought him to the table.

London sat heavily in the chair and Alexander looked up. “How many?”

London scratched at his arm. “Three.”

“Including the one in your pocket?”

Elliot looked on the floor where the syringe had been just a minute ago. He looked back at the table. How had London pocketed it so fast?

London withdrew the syringe out of his pocket and laid it in front of his brother. Alexander picked it up, looked his brother straight in the eyes as he plunged the contents onto the floor, and tossed it against the wall.

“Now, do either of you require a hospital visit?”

Something in Alexander’s voice was not quite right. Elliot stood and stumbled over to the table, the last of the rope falling to the floor.

Cruz moved to help him. “Elliot, we should take you both in. As a precaution. No telling what they did to you.”

“A rather weak solution of propofol and heroin, I believe. Judging from Elliot’s recovery time.” The Consulting Criminal stared at the syringe on the floor.

“And you, brother mine?” Alexander’s voice was tight.

“Oh, you know, the usual. Heroin, cocaine. Not a precise solution. I can do better. It did the trick, I suppose.”

Elliot leaned against the table. “I think we’re okay.”

Alexander let out a hollow laugh. “Oh yes, Elliot, always the optimist. Please do disregard everything we've done and continue to do to bring my brother back from the abyss.”

The older Holmes looked at London. “I have your word that this is not a new beginning.”

The Consulting Criminal rolled his eyes. “You want it in writing?”

Alexander hit his fist on the table.

Elliot flinched.

“I want you to understand that I cannot always get here in the nick of time to save you.”

London stared at him “Dull. The nick of time is a miserable place.” He took a deep breath.

Alexander stared at London and for a moment no one moved. The Consulting Criminal let a whisper of a smile play across his face. Raised an eyebrow.

Alexander took a deep breath and the moment was gone. “Quite right.” He looked at Cruz. “Gregory, will you escort me to my car? There are a few... details we should discuss before any reports are written.”

Cruz nodded and walked over to Alexander. “Let me get these two sorted. We can’t just leave them up here.”

Alexander looked around the room. “Acceptable punishment I think.”

“Punishment? Brother, Elliot and I are the victims here.”

“Sod off, Alexander, we can make our own way home.”

Alexander held up a hand. “Cease the jibber jabber, both of you. A car will to take you back to Baker Street. You can make a statement tomorrow. I will dispatch what Gregory likes to call “extra muscle” until I am sure we have eliminated the rest of Jusuf’s associates. Does that meet with your approval?”

London stuck his lip out, crossed his arms. “Fine. But we’ve got to make a stop.”

Elliot sighed. “No way Holmes. You made it this far. You don’t need it.”

“If you think there’s a dealer within ten miles who has the guts to sell to you...” Cruz added.

“Typical. Dull. Disappointing, but typical.”

London pushed himself up and walked around the three men to the door. He stopped and turned to face them. “Please, you are all such drama queens. We need to make a stop because I promised myself that if we made it out of this alive, I would finally do something that Elliot has been asking me to do since the day he moved in. I'm going to prove to him that I know where a store is.” He turned and walked out the door.

Elliot laughed.

The Inspector looked confused. “Maybe it’s not a good idea to let him...”

“Is it?” Alexander raised an eyebrow.

Elliot moved to the door and looked back. “Yes, finally. See if he really knows where a store is.”

He watched as Cruz and Alexander caught up. He felt like hugging them. He felt like falling over. He felt like he could sleep for weeks. He knew it wasn’t all over. But as he turned around and headed out the door and down the stairs, jumbled thoughts raced through his mind.

London is fine.

We are fine.

London is safe.

London is...

“Angelo, what good was saving me if you are just going to suffocate me?”

Elliot heard London’s voice from the restaurant.

“Oh, we’re just so glad you are alive."

Elliot walked into the restaurant and Angelo spotted him. He shoved London towards him. “Here, take this boy home.”

Elliot took a step back as London bumped into him. They tipped a bit, but then Elliot pushed London upright. “I’m supposed to take you home.”

London raised an eyebrow.

“So it seems.”

They walked outside and saw Anthea standing by a black limo.

“Our ride.”

The Consulting Criminal rolled his eyes. “A cab would have been fine.”

Elliot looked at the car and then back at London. “This car is fine... oh. I see what you’re doing.”

“What am I doing?”

“A cab would take you to a store.”

“Of course it would.”

“You would say, please take me to the nearest store. I need to make a point.”

London opened the car door. “Yes, I am familiar with the way cabs work.”

Elliot motioned for London to get in the car. “Yes, but you are not familiar with where the stores are.”

“Rubbish. Who doesn’t know where the stores are?”

“Elliot, please, this is tedious. I have a headache.”

“So prove it.”

“Prove it?”

“Yes, tell the driver to stop by the store. Any store will do.”

London rolled his eyes and climbed into the backseat. “Don't be dull.”

Elliot smiled. “I’m right is what I am. Good thing you got kidnapped, otherwise you’d have had to admit that London Holmes the brilliant idiot has no idea where a store is.”

“9 Bridge Street, please.” The Consulting Criminal smirked at Elliot.

“How did you...” Elliot frowned and then rolled his eyes when London handed Anthea back a piece of paper. “That’s cheating.”

“Well, you said you wanted me to find a store. I found a store.”

“Yeah, but...”

“You know my methods. I am nothing if not resourceful.”

“Uh, yes, well...”

“Right.” London turned and looked forward as the car pulled away from the curb.

They drove for a while without speaking – the tapping of Anthea’s fingers on her daily planner the only sound in the car. Elliot settled his head against the seat and closed his eyes. He felt London moving beside him.

“You okay?”

The Consulting Criminal was looking out the window, rubbing his forearm. He turned back to Elliot. “I think we need to stop at Bart’s.”

Elliot frowned. “What’s wrong?”

London turned to Elliot and smiled weakly. “What is wrong is that I just devised no less than three plans to ditch you and this car and escape down to a little place I know in Hackney.”

“That’s not good.” Elliot swallowed.

“A bit.” The Consulting Criminal sighed. “That great cesspool into which all the loungers and idlers of the Empire are irresistibly drained.”

“Poetic, Holmes. But I think a dose or two of Buprenorphine wouldn’t be uncalled for.”

Elliot leaned up and instructed the driver to stop at Bart’s. Elliot sat back. He could feel the tremble in the Consulting Criminal's fingers, saw the sweat beading on his forehead. He wished he could take it all away. He straightened in his seat. 

He would take it all away. 

They would do it together.