(sorry for taking so long, I usually post a lot more and a lot more frequently ;) )

[i]JM[/i]. So the question about whom was behind all this was cleared. Definetly Moriarty. And definetely having some fun playing one of his sick little games. The sear for any property of their victim had come out negative. Nothing. Greg sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face and suinting into nowhere as he tried to think properly. If Sherlock had been taken here, almost right in front of his home, it had to have been minutes after Lestraed had called to inform him of the crime. And Lestrade had waited about 35 minutes before calling. It had connected back then, so he had already likely been captured then. Shortly afterwards he had got into the car and come here. So, Mariarty didn't have more than half an hour to grab Sherlock, get to the place they were right now and inflct all those bruises and everything. Half an hour, yes. 
Lestrade picked up his phone again, taking a closer look at the picture, zooming in along the edges and taking a closer look. He had barely 25 minutes left, he only had this one shot. Who knows what might happen to Sherlock. He could think about lots of things that Moriarty was capable of. Way too many. He called the tech guys back at Scotland Yard, giving short and definite orders. "Get me any unused warehouse or factory building I can get to in about thirty minutes from Baker Street." He did not have the time to be nice. But there was no need to gt rough with the guys at the other side of the line. It barely took a moment for them to assemble the list of ten possible places. Lestrade clicked his tongue in annoyance. That were too many. He would barely have to time to check two of them, if he didn't pull any of his people into it. "Any kind of connection to our recent victim? The one I got assigned to this morning?" They searched but couldn't found anything in particular. "Call Donovan and check with what she found out. Which ones are the closest?" He was given three addresses, noted them down and stared at them for a moment. The last, an old warehouse, seemed in some way familiar to him. Or maybe it was just a hunch. And it wasn't like he could just sit there and do nothing while his time ran out. So he started his car, made a u-turn in the middle of the street and sped off, hoping he was right.
Somewhere along the way, Greg had gotten seriously annoyed with the traffic and had put on the siren-lights, but turned them back off when he got closer. Wouldn't want to alarm a madman kidnapper, especially not Moriarty. And once he got the first glance of the building he remembered why the address had seemed somewhat familiar. Some time ago, he could not say exactly when, unfortunately, he had been called here. A dead body had been dicovered. Of a salary-man in his late 50's. With suddenly vanished debts. He cursed and stopped to park his car a good distance away from the place on a side-street. His phone vibrated, but he ignored it. He had a gut feeling he was already at the right place. A look at his watch told him he had not a minute to spare though. With his hand on the gun, in its holster at his hip, he slowly closed in on the warehouse, eyes scanning the surroundings. Maybe, he thought for a second, coming alone had been really stupid.