It had seemed an evening much like any other. After a late supper, Holmes had settled himself at his desk, busying himself with some chemical experiment the nature of which eluded me but seemed to involve several test tubes of clear, odourless liquids, strips of litmus paper and a fair amount of quiet under-the-breath swearing upon the part of Holmes as it steadfastly failed to yield the results he had expected.

For myself, I was content to amuse myself with one of those yellow-back naval novels of which I was so fond and which Holmes preferred to heap scorn upon; I was all too aware of his low regard for the genre, but he was content to leave me to my novel as I was him to his (now somewhat odoriferous) experimentations.

Neither of us were expecting company; thus it was that we both glanced up in some surprise as the bell rang downstairs, announcing a visitor.

"Who the dickens can that be at this hour?" I wondered, glancing up from my novel.

"I fear it may be some unfortunate soul come to seek your professional capabilities, my dear Watson," remarked Holmes, rising to his feet and wiping his fingers on a piece of stained rag. "Come, bestir yourself from your book - I shall fetch your gladstone."

I did not question how he had deduced this; instead, I did as bade and rose to my feet, reaching for my coat and cane just as Mrs Hudson knocked upon the door. "Dr Watson, there's a messenger here for you sir-" She paused as Holmes reappeared, handing me my bag. Just behind her in the doorway stood an anxious-looking fellow, quite broad in the shoulder with an ill-at-ease countenance.

"Yes, yes, I am ready," I remarked, donning my hat. "Where is the patient?" I asked, addressing the man.

"South of the river, in Lambeth I believe?" remarked Holmes before the man could answer. "The colour of the mud upon your boots is quite distinctive to that area."

The man paused before answering, eyeing Holmes with a peculiar look in his eye. "Yes, I've come from Lambeth," he agreed, before turning to me. "Doctor, we must hurry; I've a carriage waiting downstairs."

"Ah yes, the Tilbury gig just across the street," drawled Holmes. "You should have the mare looked at by a farrier, my good man; her fore left shoe is loose."

The man's expression now was one of open suspicion. "How on earth did you...?" he began.

"The peculiar squeaking of the Tilbury gig is quite unique due to the arrangement of the seven carriage springs; no other two-wheeler makes a sound quite like it - and the sound of the mare's gait indicates clearly that she is favouring her left foreleg but not for reason of lameness and the sound of her footfall on that side has the distinctive muffled ring of a loose shoe. Yours is the only vehicle to pass down Baker Street in the past fifteen minutes therefore it was a matter of simplicity itself to identify it as that which bore you here." He gave one of his brief, tight little smiles.

The man seemed if anything more ill at ease after this explanation, bat used as I am to Holmes' methods I simply smiled. "I shall be quick as I can," I assured him. Holmes gestured with his hand, turning back to his chemicals and test tubes. "Take your time, take your time!" he cried. "Your patient needs your company more than I and my baneful chemicals, Doctor!" The slight smile he gave me as he glanced briefly over his shoulder at me took any sting out of his words; thus reassured, I nodded and then indicated to the man to precede me down the stairs.

The two-wheeler was, indeed, a Tilbury gig as Holmes had deduced, it's paintwork black with blue leather fittings and upholstery. I climbed up onto the broad bench as the man took his seat beside me; barely was I seated before he whipped the mare up into a rapid canter. "Where are we going?" I shouted over the cacophony of the horse's hooves upon the cobbled streets. The driver shook his head and urged the horses on faster. Frowning, I glanced around. We were not heading south, as I would have expected, but rather east.

"I thought the patient was in Lambeth?" I shouted, trying again to elicit some response from the driver.

"We're not going to Lambeth," he replied tersely.

"But then where-"

I got no further as he suddenly pulled hard on the reins, causing the horse to swerve and dart down a dark alley where a carriage stood under the light of a gas lamp. I stared at the carriage as we halted, then at the driver. "What's going on? What is this?" I demanded as three fellows leapt out of the carriage and approached us. I grasped my cane and turned to face them.

And then I felt a sudden, sickening blow to the back of my head. The world tilted crazily and I felt myself falling, losing my grip upon my cane. I fell from the gig and landed hard upon the ground, the breath knocked from my body, leaving me dazed and gasping. Yet though I was dizzy and disorientated from the blow, I struggled back to my feet, determined not to let them take me without a fight, and as the first man grappled at my arm I managed to land a solid right hook to his jaw.

Yet even as he reeled away from my blow, the other two men were upon me and though I struggled mightily, they rapidly had the upper hand as the driver of the gig grasped my arms from behind. Still reeling from the blow to my head, I was no match for three at once,and then one of the men punched me squarely in the stomach and I doubled over in pain. Indeed, I would have fallen but for the grip of my captor. I was in no shape to fight back as they began to drag me over to the carriage; and yet I still attempted to struggle weakly until they rained blows down upon my head.

I was barely half-conscious when they finally hoisted me up and threw me onto the floor of the carriage. I could feel my left eye swelling shut and could taste blood in my mouth. My ribs ached where they had struck and kicked me repeatedly. I was in no fit state to resist further as I was rolled over onto my stomach and my wrists tied behind my back with my own belt. I must have made some small noise of protest however, for one of the ruffians stuffed my handkerchief in my mouth, tying it in place with my own tie so tightly that I almost gagged upon it, the fabric straining at the edges of my mouth most painfully.

I was almost oblivious when the carriage lurched into motion, my senses swimming as I desperately fought to hold onto consciousness. I was vaguely aware I was being discussed by my captors as I lay there, my cheek pressed against the hard floor of the carriage. I felt beyond caring until a mention of Holmes shocked me into sudden awareness.

"He's not daft, that one," the man above me to my left was remarking. "Did you hear what Jimmy said? He knew he'd come from Lambeth."

"Then he'll have a wild goose chase, won't he?" replied the man immediately behind me and to my right. The others laughed. "Aye, that he will," replied the third man. "Gives us plenty of time to have fun with his precious doctor."

He kicked me sharply between the shoulder-blades, and I could not suppress my cry of pain, muffled though it was by the gag.

"He's still awake, then," remarked the first man. "Tough man, eh?" He leaned over me, leering. "Don't you worry your pretty little head, Doctor," he smiled. "It's not you we're after. You're just the sprat to catch the mackerel, in a manner of speaking." He sat back.

"Doesn't mean we can't have our own fun with him whilst we wait though," replied the third man.

"Oh, indeed," agreed the first man, staring down at me. "And fun is what we shall have, lads. Though I doubt Dr Watson here will enjoy it much."

Their laughter was cruel and mocking, and I closed my eyes. I was merely to be bait.

A moment later, they began beating me once more, and this time I embraced the darkness.

Consciousness returned only slowly. I gradually became aware that I was slumped in an upright position with my hands bound painfully tight behind my back; rough sisal ropes now replaced my leather belt. More ropes around my chest and upper arms bound me to a wooden post of some sort; at some point my shirt had been stripped from me as I lay unconscious, and the ropes bit into my bare skin unmercilessly. My legs stretched out upon the flagstone floor in front of me; I noted that I was barefoot but was clad in my trousers still.

I was grateful to find the gag had been removed from my mouth at some point; the nauseating coppery taste of blood still tainted my mouth however, and I could not open my left eye. This was somewhat irrelevant however, for I was blindfolded.

I did not lift my head, instead listening carefully for any clue as to whether I was alone.I hazarded a guess from the dampness of the air that I was below ground in a cellar of some sort; beyond that, I had no further idea where it was I had been brought. I could not hear any sounds of breathing other than my own; the beating of my own heart seemed abnormally loud in my ears. I realised I was panting, my chest heaving against the constraining ropes, my heart racing in fear. What did they want with me? They had spoken of having "fun" whilst waiting for Holmes to rise to the bait and come in search of me. I had no idea what their intentions were, but was certain they did not bode well for me.

"Well, well, well. Awake are we?"

I jerked my head upright at the sound of the voice unexpectedly close by. "Who's there?" I cried.

"Now, now, Doctor. You surely don't think I'm going to give myself away to you? You are, after all, only the bait for my trap." The voice chuckled dryly; a harsh, rasping sound. A hand cupped my cheek and I flinched away from the touch.

"What do you want with me?" I growled, wrestling futilely with the ropes that bound me. My captor laughed.

"Save your strength, Doctor Watson. You'll need it," he promised. I shivered in spite of myself as his breath ghosted over my bare skin, just inches from my ear. Then I felt a dry, rough hand cup my chin, forcing my head back,and the ice-cold edge of a blade was placed against my throat. I went very still.

"That's it. Stay still, there's a good boy," murmured the voice in my ear; and then I felt another pair of hands forcing my knees apart before starting to undo the fastening of my trousers. I could not restrain a gasp and tried to flinch away from the hands at my groin, but the knife at my throat pressed sharply against my flesh and then bit into it as my captor sliced it a little to the side. I stilled myself with an effort of will as pain flared across my skin; I could feel a trickle of blood, hot and wet, slip slowly down my exposed throat. I was unable to stifle a faint whimper as the unseen hands finished unbuttoning my trousers and then began to slide them down over my hips.

"Please... don't!" I begged from between gritted teeth.

"No?" asked the voice, breath hot and damp against my ear, the knife drawing on a little further. I swallowed convulsively, wincing at the pain. "I don't think you are in any position to demand anything, my dear Doctor. Are you?" The knife was lifted away from my throat and I drew a shaky breath.

"Please-"

I got no further as abruptly I was backhanded hard across the mouth from right to left. My head snapped back under the force of the blow, striking the wooden post behind me. I gasped, head reeling from the blow, and spat blood.

"Again."

Another blow, this time from left to right. I groaned dizzily, but before I could protest the blow was followed up with a kick to my stomach. Unable to double over due to the ropes, I gagged and then retched. I let my head sag down as I gasped for breath.

"Once more."

"No, please, don't-" I broke off with a scream as the next kick connected squarely with the knot of scar tissue in my thigh. Agony sheared through me in nauseous waves and my body kicked and spasmed in response. My scream died down into sobs as my leg throbbed with pain like white-hot fire. I was distantly aware of my captor ordering my unseen tormentor to gag me as he turned away from me. I did not resist as the leather gag was forced between my teeth; I lacked the strength.

Then I was alone with only the pain for company.

Oh God. Where are you, Holmes?