"Hah! Hey, Sherlock, take a look at this." A small, sturdy man with a good-spirited air about him stepped quickly for us, his footsteps echoing off the high-ceilinged cavern walls. He put the petite flashlight he had been holding in between his teeth to free up his hands so he could untie us. You see, my friend and I were in a rather compromising position, bound back to back by thick, quite irritating, ropes. A second, taller man appeared around the corner. He was armed with a standard handgun and a similar flashlight. The moment he saw us he spun around with a flourish of the long coat he was wearing and aimed his weapon outward. I decided he was keeping watch for our captor while we were in the process of being freed.

"Don't these lot remind you of anyone, Sherlock?" The man continued, struggling with our restraints. Sherlock barely turned around and only 'hmmed' in response.

"Namely... us?" The man coaxed.

Without missing a beat, Sherlock retorted, "Those are females, John,"

John pursed his lips. "Yes, but.. nevermind. Git."

A few seconds went by as I pondered the identity of our saviors. "Aren't you-" I began, before I was curtly cut off.

"Consulting Detective Sherlock Holmes and assistant Dr. John Watson, yes." Sherlock interrupted, not bothering to so much as glance at us.

"Well," I said, awkwardly, "I was actually going to say, 'from the papers,' but yes. You are." I grinned, despite my situation, "You two are brilliant! My name is Heidi Pucket and this is-"

"Brienna Lancaster," My companion, Brienna, introduced herself. John looked up at us briefly then quickly resumed his rope-working.

"I'd shake your hands," I offered them, "But, unfortunately..." I looked unsatisfactorily down at my bindings. Dr. Watson smiled warmly and assured us not to worry. Suddenly, a chorus of distant shouts echoed in from another part of the cavern. Sherlock scoffed. "Damn them." he muttered; then, loudly, "Quit blustering around!"

"Sherlock!" A muffled man's voice. "Where are you?"

"The kidnapper is still here!" Holmes called lazily. The footsteps abruptly stopped. As they did, Sherlock shot us a quick glance and rolled his eyes at us giddily- almost the way a son or daughter would roll their eyes at a friend in the room while they spoke on their mobile to a parent. Nevertheless, John stiffened and hastened his work with the knots.

"And he's armed!" Holmes continued. "With a... cutlass?" he mused, his curly head of dark hair bobbed a little in curiosity.

"No, actually-" I started to correct him but he waved an impatient finger behind his back at the three of us.

"Don't say it!" He warned. "TWO cutlasses?"

"Yeah!" Brienna confirmed in amazement. "And they-"

"-take the place of his hands. Brilliant. He must have lackeys somewhere."

John was working at top speed now. "There are more?!" He breathed. We were almost free.

"Well!" Sherlock dropped his gun arm to his side and turned to John with narrowed eyes. "Don't be daft." He practically sang. "Who else would have tied them up?"

"Yeah, John. Don't be daft." I echoed lightheartedly. "Who else COULD have tied us up?" I meant it to be a joke, but right at that moment I saw the understanding in Sherlock's eyes. Luckily for Brienna and me, our bindings had just fallen to the floor. It was time for us to act.

"Vatican Cameos!" Sherlock barked.

My, he was quick wasn't he.

His faithful John Watson spun toward his warning, foolishly convinced the threat was from the opposite direction. Unfortunately for him, it gave Brienna and me the perfect opportunity to draw our pistols and aim them both at his good-natured temple. Both he and Sherlock paled in unison.

"What..." John whispered. Sherlock kept his gun trained on us.

"Come closer, Sherlock, darling." Brienna cooed at him. "We don't bite."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing as he took a few distrustful steps forward.

"Wait." I uttered, sharply, stopping the man dead in his tracks. It was rather fun. Toying with him like that. "Place the gun on the ground."

Sherlock did so, then straightened up and placed his hands slightly in the air, his coat shuffling to accomodate his movements.

"Good... now. Closer."

"What is going on, Sherlock?" John breathed through clenched teeth.

"Quiet!" He scolded in return. "Need to think." Sherlock's gaze fluttered here and there, undoubtedly checking for scuff marks, stains, miniscule holes, stances, positions, past hints-anything.

"Sherlock doesn't know!" I informed the room.

"And Sherlock Holmes doesn't like not knowing." Brienna added sassily.

"Shut up! Who do you work for? Where's the sword-handed man?"

We ignored his questions, only, "Closer, Sherlock." When he stopped, a mere few inches from John, I moved my gun so it was pointed at his head and Brienna moved closer to John.

"Have you figured it out yet?" I clicked the hammer of my pistol menacingly.

"Sherlock!" John looked furiously between us. A few moments ticked by as Sherlock gazed down at his frantic friend, deep in thought.

"I..." he began helplessly. "Oh, yes! I've got it!" He looked happily to Brienna, and then me. "And, no. Thank you very much." Sherlock dropped his hands to his side and glided away from us and our guns.

"No?!" questioned John.

"Yes, John, no! I've deduced it! Although I'm not quite sure how Cutlass-Man relates to this just yet, but I do know neither he nor his non-existant minions tied you up because YOU tied you up. As bait. And, really, tying oneself up isn't an easy task so I appreciate your effort. Moving on to why." He was gibbering a million miles a minute, "Why all this? One could assume your actresses hired by your employer to get to me. But WHY, then, not just show up at Baker Street posing as clients or.. bloody solicitors for that matter? So then it's safe to conclude that you lead me into a trap." Sherlock spun and danced about the cavern like a giddy child showboating as he rattled off deductions.

"But!" He shot us a bright look, "Where's the trap, then? Why make me guess? Why drag John and I out on this long chase-"

"We figured you'd enjoy the chase." Brienna admitted, taking a hold of John's arm and pressing the gun to the side of his head.

"But you also knew the Yard would tag along-" Sherlock blustered on. "Ah! Hence the Cutlass-Man! He's going to slaughter those blokes." He made a face suddenly as he realized what he just said.

"What!" John yelped, "You've got to stop him Sherl-"

"Stop." Sherlock put up one hand. "This is ludicrous. Why are we doing this?"

Brienna and I sighed and lowered our plastic guns. "You almost had it!" I claimed in exasperation.

"No." Sherlock corrected. "I did have it-"

"Wait!" John appeared miffed. "So what was it?" he inquired impatiently. "What was the trap? You guys had me going!"

"They wanted us to kiss, John." Sherlock relented into his steepled hands. John looked at him blankly.

"Wha... Kiss? Each other?" Then he promptly wheeled on us, hands thrown in the air, "Jesus! You two are worse than Mrs. Hudson!"

Suddenly, we all glanced toward the kitchen, having been transported back to 221b Baker Street. Indeed, the vibrant, aging woman was silently and curiously peering at us from beside Sherlock's table of chemicles and lab equipment. The moment we noticed her presence she straightened up, and having been caught off guard, practically shouted,

"Oh! Keep going dears, it was getting good!"

"You WOULD say that you little-"

"What was that, John?"

"I said, 'still waiting on that tea, Mrs. Hudson!'"

"Not your housekeeper, dear!" Though, of course, she retreated back into the small kitchen to fill the kettle. "Sherlock," she called, "You never told me you were a fan of pretend games." Amusement was spilling from her tone. We all cackled as Sherlock shifted toward her and inhaled loudly.

"Not pretend, Mrs. Hudson, theoretical scenarios. And I'm not a fan, they tend to reduce my endless torrent of boredom to a trickle if they're not... mediochre." Sherlock slid his ice-blue gaze to us. A few moments of silence passes as two identical foam darts bounced off of Sherlock's perfect hair and onto the carpet. As John spun around and attempted, in vain, to pretend he wasn't having a good laugh, Sherlock tipped his head forward, pushed his hands into his hair and gave his locks a hearty Sherlockian Shake.