Sally sighed loudly and sat down on the floor, her back resting against the wall. Sherlock had chosen to stand near the closed door, so she had decided to go and sit on the opposite side of the room. That wasn't exactly far away in the small room, but it was enough. It seemed he had always been the target of this kidnapping plot; she'd just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. That was enough to just sit and seethe at him for a while. Not that he was paying any attention to her glare though, he was pacing deep in thought and she assumed trying to figure out how to get out of this situation.

"We aren't going to escape on our own," she said at last when she had gotten bored of the pacing. "I'm sure someone will come find us soon, probably that guy with the black car who seems to always know where you are. You may as well stop pacing and relax."

While he did see fit to roll his eyes at her when he spoke, he did actually stop pacing and sit down. He'd taken up position leaning against the wall opposite the door, long legs pulled up close to him. Sally had chosen to stretch her legs out and from where she was sitting she could almost nudge him with her foot. If he got particularly annoying, she could just slide down a little and give him a swift kick. Now they just sat in silence for a while, both contemplating what had happened. A thought suddenly occurred to Sally and she found herself laughing at an old memory. Sherlock barely turned his head to look at her, but she could see he was looking confused.

"This is what my Mum warned me about when I joined the police force, getting kidnapped by London thugs. I hadn't really expected it to happen, but at least now she can say she was proved right."

Sally smiled at the memory of that conversation, how she'd laughed at the ridiculous idea that she was going to be kidnapped. Sherlock had actually turned to look at her properly now with that odd piercing stare that he always had when he was trying to figure something out about a person.

"Your mother, very protective is she?" he asked at last, watching her reaction carefully.

"She was when I wanted to join the police force," she replied, tilting her head to one side as she remembered. "She worried about the sexism, about the racism, about police officers getting attacked, about how I would cope and all that. I'm an only child, it was understandable."

Sherlock didn't say anything, just nodded at her before turning his head and raising his hands so his chin rested on his fingertips. He was probably storing that all for later, she mused, and there'd be something he'd use that for.

"So," she began to say, bored of the silence. "How long will it be before the bloke with the black car and higher security clearance than the Queen turns up to rescue us?"

That made Sherlock snap out of his thoughts, whipping his head round to fix his eyes on her.

"I know he's something to do with you, so I presume he's going to be the one responsible for finding us and getting us out of here. Who is he to you anyway?"

For a moment it didn't seem like he was going to answer, there was a strange look of frustration there that Sally had rarely seen before.

"I'm sure he'll be co-ordinating with Lestrade to try and locate us. He would never be allowed to forget it if he let something happen to his little brother."

There was a strange sarcastic tone to the way he spoke that made Sally wonder if he was being sincere, but then there was the frustration again. There was nothing like sibling rivalry, and that had to be one hell of a rivalry.

"Brother? Huh. Well that's going to see a lot of money changing hands when I get back to the office."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at her.

"You've been betting on who he was to me?"

"Of course," she replied with a smirk. "We always enjoy getting some entertainment out of you. Between that, the betting pool on you and John and his blog, we've got hours of fun there."

He'd already opened his mouth, she presumed to ask what the betting in regard to him and John was, but was silenced when there was a noise at the door. They both turned to look as the sound made it clear someone was unfastening the locks before the door swung open. It was one of the men; he was still dressed in black with a balaclava on. To Sally it seemed ridiculous to have all these disguises on, but apparently this what they had decided to go with. It's not like it wasn't obvious they were going to be members of the group, even Sherlock would know that and he hadn't been involved in the case. The man was holding a large bottle of water and was staring right at Sally.

"Boss thought you might want something to drink, come and get it."

The words were meant for her, even if Sherlock was closer, and that could only end badly. Ignoring the part of her brain screaming to stay away, she got up and walked towards him. Sure enough, as soon as she was in reach, he dropped the bottle and grabbed her by the throat. Sally found herself being slammed into the wall next to the door, which given that it was at one corner meant they were in full view of the landing if anyone walked past. She risked a glance out to see if anyone was there, but it was deserted.

"He said we aren't to lay a hand on you, but why shouldn't we?" His voice was a growl, the fingers tight enough on her throat to leave marks but not enough to deprive her of oxygen. She reached up and tried to pull his hand away, but he didn't let go. His eyes were fixed on her, burning with pent up rage. They'd been waiting for this moment, the chance to get back, and they'd been denied because they wanted to use Sherlock as the leverage. "You'll get your turn soon, but not soon enough for my liking. I can't wait to hear you squeal pig."

Behind the man, Sherlock was shifting, slowly standing up and Sally could see he had a plan to try and take on the man. That was not a good idea in the slightest. Thankfully, they were all interrupted by the sound of Alan's voice shouting down to them.

"Get the fuck off her!"

The man released Sally reluctantly and stepped back as Alan barged into the room.

"I told you, he's the one they'll do anything for, she's the one we move onto later when he's spent."

Sally laughed loudly and all three men in the room turned to look at her.

"You think they'll care if you beat him up? Half the Yard would pay to watch you smash that freak's face in. We hate him. Your plan's not going to work very well there I'm afraid."

The cogs were turning then; she could almost smell the burning as Alan tried to think it over.

"Very well," he said with a cruel smile. "If we don't get good news from your DI, we'll give you the once over instead. Coppers hate seeing other coppers hurt, they'll not like that and will want you back right away. Besides, it'll make this lot much happier. We'll see you soon Sally."

The two men left, all smiles and planning how best to take out their frustrations on Sally and they were left alone again. She rubbed her neck, sighed and reached down to pick up the bottle of water. Well aware that Sherlock was stood near her, she chose to ignore him for now as she took a few swigs out of the bottle before holding it out to him. He was staring at her but she couldn't quite read his expression, he seemed confused and angry and sad all at the same time, if that was possible.

"You should be thanking me," she said.

"So, you insult me and that means I should thank you?" he said it slowly, taking the bottle from her outstretched hand. "I don't feel that deserves much in the way of thanks."

"No, you should thank me because now you aren't going to get your head kicked in."

There was the realisation.

"You said that so they'd assault you rather than me when the inevitable message comes to them that Mark Davison will not be released from prison. Why would you do that? As you said, you all hate me."

Sally sighed and walked down to the other end of the room. She rubbed her hands across her face trying to quell the sudden sick feeling in her stomach. She'd known fine well what she was doing, known very well that she was going to do that as soon as Alan had said they were going to hurt Sherlock when he'd made the video, but hearing him say it made her realise how real that was. Taking a deep breath, she turned back to look at him and found him just watching her, which was just a little creepy.

"I did it because you're right, Lestrade is not going to be telling them good news and they are going to want to hurt one of us on camera to send a message. They go for you and it's a calculated type of violence, designed to hurt and make you scream but making sure not to do too much damage so they can just keep doing it. They are angry at me, so they'll not really be focusing much. They'll just want to take out frustrations, which will probably leave more marks than anything else. Plus, I'll never hear the end of it if I let the world's only consulting detective get hurt without at least trying to protect you. And I don't hate you, I just seriously dislike you."

With her little speech finished, Sally sat herself back down and folded her arms over her chest. Sherlock was standing there, seemingly thinking over what she'd said for a while before he nodded and sat back down too. They sat there in that awkward silence for longer than she expected. Surely he was going to tell her why her plan was flawed or how this self sacrifice was foolish? But no, he just sat quietly without even looking at her.

"I appreciate the gesture," he said eventually, which Sally could only assume was the closest Sherlock Holmes got to saying thank you.

"No problem," she responded, just a little put out that he wasn't even going to protest even a little at the fact she had volunteered herself to take a beating his place. Resting her head back against the wall, she stared up at the ceiling. While they'd been unconscious they had taken her phone and watch so she wasn't even sure how much time had passed. The deadline had been an hour, but she wasn't sure if Lestrade would wait the full hour before he gave them the news. It was pretty simple, there was no way they were just going to let him out of prison.