I was honestly starting to question all scientists' discoveries about human defence mechanisms. Apparently, my sympathetic nervous system had a few wheels missing. After being jettisoned in a cell and almost torn apart, I found myself unable to move. I felt paralysed - the single motion I was capable of was rolling my eyes out of agony. The skin on my upper torso began to detach and I imagined myself, due to the torture-induced hallucinations, tangibly seeing my epithelial cells. My cuts and bruises belonged to a bloody war prisoner, for they had such a definite degree of destruction that my limbs were molten and unresponsive.

My mind, despite the limited moments of chimaeras, was lucid enough to ponder on my situation. If Rhea had initially managed to track me down, she would not be even close to compiling my current location. It was impossible. My highly-perceptive senses could not identify a single element that could frame the jail to a restricted area. I was doomed, in every possible way.

"Hello, mate, how fortunate of me to make your acquaintance!" A rugged man cheered from the adjoining cell, raising his hand and waving it peacefully.

I was sitting on my sides – the male equivalent of "love handles" – and was able to portray him well enough. He was in his thirties, most likely a few years younger than me. His shirt was stained with blood splatters that extended from the crook of his neck down to the pelvic area. His cheeks were tumefied and extremely protruding, as if he had been deprived of nutrients. His eyes, on the other hand, were the only remaining body parts that held a light. Not a pure one, but a spark that could have lit an entire field of poppies because of its strength and survival. Who was he?

"I see you are too pained to utter any words. Let me explain myself. I am one of the twenty insurgents that collapsed all governmental technology for a full week. Their core practically vanished into thin air. We have replaced all information with juicy details about them and their acolytes.

I am sure you can imagine the shock on their faces as they watched thousands of running programs showing off their dirtiest secrets. I am not referring to who-slept-with-who or any other teenager dramas. I mean serious implications in all sorts of webs and schemes."

My pupils dilated to the point where my orbs were raven-black. He must have been John Johnson, then. I studied his rebellious accomplishments ever since he started taking matters into his own hands. He was a relevant mentor for every citizen who was repulsed by political deception. However, I did not understand how I was involved into any of those events.

I cleared my throat and coughed a few times – as you can imagine, I spit blood – before managing to articulate some words.

"Why am I here?" A simple question, yet its answer insanely demolished my grounds.

Johnson laughed, clutching on his belly. He soon stopped because one of his cuts opened up. While cleaning it, he spoke in the firmest voice I had ever heard.

"You spent a great amount of time with Rhea Adair. You were under their radar ever since Mycroft told you about her. She is, indeed, a teacher, but that is not her only field of expertise..."

He paused for a few seconds, furrowing his chipped eyebrows as if trying to make his statement gentler. Why did he refer to my brother on his first name? What on bloody Earth was Mycroft's and Rhea's liaison with this man?

"... she is one of us, Mr. Holmes. Mycroft is only an associate, he sporadically helps us with entrance to political gatherings. Rhea Adair is not a pawn in our insurgence, she is the bloody queen."

If I was in my right state of body, I would have launched myself to him and rip the bars of the cell just to get a feeling of his neck strangled by my hands. Rhea was not an insurgent, she was too bloody innocent to kill a bloody fly, let alone take part into system collapse - the same system I had attacked, yet she owned the audacity to accuse me of cruelty and ill-manners.

"How is she the queen?!"

"I have no intention of creating a spooky aura by confessing movie-like outcomes, but her body is the key."

I growled, ignoring the bitter feeling of strained muscles and lungs dysfunction. Those explanations were not fiction movies, but they surely seemed like ones. The whole situation was transforming into a bloody cliché and everyone knew how much I hated stereotypes.

I never ignored possibilities, but Rhea's involvement was too improbable. Nobody belonged to a sect where someone's blood opened a fantasy door to heaven. Was there a magic button that could be pressed only by her hand? Please, that was too ludicrous! Was that button the opening of hell's gates so that all dirty politicians fell into dark pits? Humanity needed some urgent common sense, or more likely, a simple ounce of sanity.

"Is this a joke, Mr. Johnson? I can assure you it is not hilarious at all. You are staining Miss Adair's reputation and I dislike your approach profoundly."

The broad-shouldered man heaved thoroughly. "I would not disregard Rhea, Sir. Ever. She has gained everyone's respect and still surprises us. But she is, indeed, part of our team. She is the glue, if you prefer a more palpable term. We find the energy to continue this battle because of what she owns."

"What does she own?" I inquired, feeling my irritation increase by the second.

"Walls have ears, Mr. Sherlock. I already spoke too much, God knows what they heard." He scanned the cell as if searching for hidden cameras. Was he paranoid or was his anxiety justified?

"You speak of God in these moments?" I knew it was a figure of speech, but he seemed to share Rhea's beliefs. I did promise to reconsider my faith if I survived my initial torture, so I was more than available to analyze his opinion.

"I would have killed myself in the first few days of incarceration if it wasn't for Him. I know you are not religious, Sherlock, but faith is the only lasting aspect that binds us."

"Really? Because I had seen a lot of believers lose faith and turn their backs on this God."

"This is because they were not strong enough. Faith is never wilting for people who strongly believe. They cannot be redirected from their path. I will tell you something about Rhea, though. A religious aspect. Her discovery of faith."

I shifted and turned on the tap water to dampen my lips. I thought religion was a personal view, not something to be shared. How could John Johnson choose to confess Rhea's faith instead of her insurgent involvement?

"I am her childhood friend. We were extremely devoted to knowledge and bonded because of it. We studied at the same school, but teachers, as you expect, did not recognize our intricate talent and chose to ignore our abilities. We were bored out of our minds. We left the school perimeter one day and randomly reached a concert. It was the middle of the day, but music was too loud to take no notice of. We were still children, so we were allowed to enter without paying a ticket. It was a classical music concert."

While speaking, John's lips curled into a bright smile, as if reliving those memories and drowning in the feeling of childhood.

"I heard concerts before, but Rhea had no previous contact with classical music, even though she knew its history. She listened carefully, almost like dressing herself with an acoustic coat – safe and sound. We were supposed to return to school after half an hour, but Rhea's mesmerized mien convinced me to stay longer. We missed the entire school program that day. It was totally worth it, though. After the final notes came to an end, Rhea jumped out of her seat and approached the conductor. One of the bodyguards planned to dismiss her presence, but the man holding the baton smiled tenderly and invited her on stage. I could hear his voice and I still remember every word he uttered.

<<God plays through me, little girl. I follow what the initial musicians created. Indeed, nowadays we are more evolved, due to science and practice, but that first muse could not have appeared if not delivered by a higher entity. It was God that planted such divine talent in those initial musicians. He made them use notes in order to satisfy people and make them happy. I believe you have a special talent as well. God put it inside you, little girl. Every accomplishment you will ever have is due to God's presence, who watches over you and makes sure you always come back to the right path. One day, when you understand my words, you should thank Him>>.

He was unaware of Rhea's ample intellect, so he could not predict that she actually understood him. She did, honestly. From that day forward, she conquered obstacles with a positive heart, because she knew that God would not allow hardships that she could not handle."

My throat instantly turned dry. I thought Rhea needed more than just a speech to form her beliefs. Despite a person being unripe and prone to manipulation, how could someone be so life-changing?

I breathed in a few times before being able to pronounce any coherent words.

"I cannot believe that during these times we speak of religion." I managed to utter, my throat still pierced by needle-like sensations.

"There is a difference between religion and faith. I am referring to faith, which does not have a specific time to talk about it. It is present in our lives at all times and none of us is able to switch it off whenever we feel blue."

I scrutinized him carefully, spotting any trace of lie or omission. I could not find any. His speech was as pure as an infant's and I felt rather ashamed for questioning the credibility of his words. When did I turn into such a wanker?

"You are right. I am sorry."

John quirked his eyebrows and the right corner of his mouth went upwards. He winced terribly. I told him to have some rest, but he responded that the government slash Moriarty have no intention of letting him sleep. I was more and more intrigued by how all of these characters' lives interconnected: Moriarty's, John's, Rhea's. I was Sherlock Holmes, I figured out everything in a blink of an eye, yet grasping the meaning of those events was unearthly.

"Rhea told me that you have changed, but I had to see this change on my own. You could say that I am a doubting Thomas, but even the strongest beliefs need some degree of reassurance from time to time. You did change, Sherlock."

It was my turn to be skeptical. I had not transformed into someone unrecognizable, hadn't I? Even if Rhea painted the canvas of my life in more ways than one – welcome to clichés – I was still the same.

I had to pace up before going mad. I tried to stand up, but my knees chose to disobey me. I collapsed on the bed, the numerous wounds pulsating menacingly under my dirty shirt. We would have continued that conversation, for sure, if not for the scarred man that appeared in front of the cell bars.

"Did you sleep well, Mr. Holmes?" He grimaced, exposing repugnant beer-stained teeth.

"All I can say is that I surely did not dream about you. You seriously have no brain matter if you think Moriarty thinks of you as more than a disposable pawn." I spat disdainfully. He screeched his teeth so violently that I almost heard some molars breaking under the pressure. Of course he was a pawn. Moriarty's acquaintances were always pawns.

"Shut up. He told me that you have the right to get one single answer before reaching to the funny part of the day."

I laughed him off, quite nervously, I have to admit. "You make it sound like one of those Hollywood death penalty movies. Get a life, will you?"

The scarred man punched the bars and bent them quite artistically. I had such a talent for pissing people off – probably not the most fortunate timing.

"Where is Rhea? Did you leave her with your friends or is she here as well?"

"Sweetheart, those are three questions. Pick one, alright?"

"I am so glad you know how to count. I am sure your... father would be so proud of you."

He punched the bars more forcefully and was so close to creating a gap to fit in. Why was my mouth so irrational?!

"Pick one!"

"Alright, bloke, where is Rhea?"

"She is with the doctor of this facility. Proudly waiting for some torture."

I launched myself at him and only managed to scratch his face, leaving trails of blood down to his neck. I would have acted more, but I heard John's complaint and stopped.

"Sherlock, there is no point in wasting your energy. One of your cuts already opened. Set aside."

I closed my eyes, turned my palms into caged fists and prayed to... to... someone to keep me sane during those bloody awful moments.

"If any of you dares to hurt her, I will personally exsanguinate him."

The scarred man simply snickered, gluing his chewing gum on one of the cell bars. He turned around and planned on leaving, but Moriarty showed up and motioned him to stop.

"Hello, dear Sherlock. I have missed you! Well... not really, but you get my point. I would like to show you something. Actually... someone." He uttered, removing an IPad from his coat. His motions were as confident as before, laced with pure evil.

The person of interest was Rhea. Her hair was not only blood-stained, but almost glued to her forehead due to heavy perspiration. Cuts and bruises were plastered on the skin I once kissed. I was more than troubled - I was enraged. Seeing her in such a state made me realize that no matter how hard I tried, I would always have an unbreakable bond with her. And it was that bond which made me swear that Moriarty and his acolytes would pay thoroughly.

That time I mentally expressed a Latin quote, careful not to unearth any of my payback intentions.

"Ultio dulcis est."

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"Revenge is sweet."