A/N Hey My Lovelies!!! Here is the next chapter!!! Hope you like it!!!! Enjoy <3
** I am posting this from my phone so if it's weird that's why lol.**

"Mr. Watson!" John couldn't stop the frustration that made the hair on his neck stand on end. The well-dressed man, Mycroft Holmes, hurried to his side, looking a bit put-out that he had to move that quickly.

"I thought I asked to be called John?"

"My apologies. I have an offer for you." John rolled his eyes and leaned against his car, sending an amused smirk towards the posh man.

"Let me guess, you will double whatever New Scotland Yard is paying me if I bring your brother to the facility of your choice?" John almost laughed at the shock that painted the man's cheeks. "You think you're the first person to try to buy the safety of a loved one?" Mycroft looked affronted and this time, John didn't hide his laugh. Doesn't like being considered common then.

"I was going to offer you thrice what The Yard is paying you."

"Forget it." John pushed off his car and stepped closer to the man, shoving his hands in his pockets and throwing back his shoulders. He had sensed that the man had issues handling his presence, as most people did, and decided to test how much Mycroft Holmes could handle.

The man caved almost instantly, his eyes lowering to the ground and backing away slightly.

"Your little brother is wanted for murder. I don't care if you think he is innocent, the law doesn't."

"You don't work for New Scotland Yard. You work for the highest bidder-"

"Which is The Yard, in this case."

"My brother may have killed that man, but he did so for good reason-"

"You've talked to him." Mycroft snapped his jaw shut and glared at John, giving away everything the Bounty Hunter needed to know. "If you want someone to find your brother for you, then I suggest you call another Hunter. I'm bringing him to The Yard." John turned and climbed into his car, speeding away from the wealthy man.

There is a Bounty Hunter on you tail – M

Please come back, Brother Mine – M

I won't be able to help you if he catches you – M

Sherlock growled and threw his phone against the wall of the tiny motel room he was in, tugging roughly at his hair. He didn't need help, especially not from his brother.

His entire world became that man, Sebastian Moran, panic and fear the only things he could feel. He flinched at the sound of a gun, watched in horrified glee as Moran's face went slack, blood running down over his face as he hit the ground.

'He deserved so much worse.'

'Sherlock!'

He was shocked from his thoughts by a hand gripping his wrist.

"Sherlock! Hey, drop the blade Kiddo." Irene Adler, an old friend of the Holmes family who had agreed to hide Sherlock, was kneeling before him. Her face was painted with concern and fear, and Sherlock winced as she pinched his wrist tighter. He glanced at the wrist she was hurting and felt a wave of nausea swell in his throat.

A razor blade, the tip colored red with blood, glistened in the pale light. He dropped the blade as though it was burning him and sobbed into Irene's chest, clinging to her as his body went through the motions of panicking.

"I-I killed him-"

"Hush now. You did what you had to do."

Memories of pain and fear filled Sherlock's mind. He could still feel the cigarettes burning his skin. He could hear Moran laughing, calling out vile things.

"I-I'm going to prison, aren't I?"

"If they find you, then most likely." Sherlock nodded, exhaustion filling his body and mind as he started coming off the panic attack. "I brought you some food."

"I'm not hungry."

"You need to eat, Cheekbones-"

"I said; I'm not hungry!" Sherlock shouted, shoving the woman away and scrambling to his feet. His vision was tinted red and he could feel his mind pulling away from his body. "Go away."

"Sherlock-"

"Go. Away." Sherlock locked himself in the tiny closet of a bathroom, sliding down the door and tucking his knees against his chest. He tugged at his hair as he heard Irene sigh and leave, praying she took the blade with her.

Irene walked into the small coffee shop, the only one in the neighbourhood that was open twenty-four hours, and took a seat by the window.

She didn't want to be doing this, but Sherlock was going to kill himself if she didn't stop him. She refused to watch the brilliant boy do this to himself. He had been through too much already.

She ordered a latte and settled in to wait. It was a power play, showing up early like this, but considering who she was going to meet, it was only fair.

Mycroft would be mad, but that couldn't be helped. At least, if Sherlock was in custody he could get the help he needed. Mycroft wanted to ship the boy off to whatever fancy island the Holmes family was supporting now and pump him full of sedatives until the charges were dropped.

If Sherlock were handed in, then maybe James Moriarty could finally be put to justice.

"Ms. Adler?" Irene looked up and met the eyes of a man who looked far too kind to be in the profession he had chosen.

She smiled and motioned for the man to sit. No room for pleasantries, when what she was about to do made her nauseous.

"You told Dispatch you had some information for me?" Irene sighed and swallowed thickly around the lump that had formed in her throat.

"I can give you Sherlock Holmes." The smile that crossed the man's face was a strange mix of wolffish and understanding, and it sent an unpleasant chill along Irene's spine. "On one condition." The man, whose name she knew to be John Watson, leaned back in his chair, eyes glinting dangerously.

"I already told Mycroft Holmes I'm taking him the The Yard."

"That's where I want him taken." John tilted his head to the side, clearly trying to read her.

"Then what is your condition?" Irene felt her breath catch in her throat and coughed to hide the pain in her heart. "I won't give your boyfriend any special favours just because you batted your eyelashes."

"Sherlock Holmes is not my boyfriend. Something tells me my girlfriend wouldn't like that too much."

"Then why do you care so much for him?"

"Because I know what he has been through." John huffed a laugh and leaned forward, fixing Irene with a dark stare.

"They all have a sob story, Ms. Adler, that doesn't excuse what they did."

"I know." She whispered, dropping her gaze and allowing the man to believe he had the upper hand. He was dominant, but not quite as dominant as she could be. "Just, ask Sherlock about James Moriarty. That is my only condition." John smirked, sending her a look that said I pity you.

"Fine. I will ask about James Moriarty. Where is he?" She slid the keycard to Sherlock's room across the table.

"Take care of him. He tried to hurt himself today-" John rolled his eyes and grabbed the key from the table, standing and starting to walk away.

A voice in her ear startled her out of her thoughts.

"It's not my job to care about Sherlock Holmes."