A/N: Thank you everyone for the support! Aren't you special, another chapter for today! Well here it is, I'm sure you know who the red head is ;)


~Chapter 7: The Memory Card~

P.O.V… Joan Watson

Keep running, keep running, keep running! That was all she thought as she ran through the streets. She made it to her hiding place without being caught. She was exhausted but forced herself to climb the fire escape. Once she got to the top she felt the urge to puke. She leaned over the railing and it all came out. Whatever food that was in her stomach was gone now. I really overdid the run today, she thought as she climbed through the window.


P.O.V: Sherlock Holmes

He hadn't heard from Gregson about the samples and was growing anxious. This case proved to be an interesting one and served as a palette cleanser as far as he was concerned. It had been twenty-four hours since they acquired the samples. It should not be taking this long to run tests, Sherlock thought restlessly. Unable to control himself he grabbed his coat and scarf and hailed a cab.


"Sherlock, what are you doing here?" Gregson asked as he continued to study the papers that were before him.

"You did not respond. I am sure that you have the blood test results and I would like to know what they are." Gregson sighed then grabbed the paperwork in front of him and gestured for him to follow him. When they were in the conference room Gregson closed the door. He then gestured for Sherlock to take a seat.

"The results are, all but one correspond with the girls that we rescued."

"And that would be the one that the man had taken I assume."

"Yes, we tried to match her in the system but she's not there."

Watson! It was the only thing Sherlock's brain thought of. It was right there in front of him. The evidence all pointed to it, the only thing that didn't match was the description that the girl gave them. Then at this realization many questions began forming in his head. Why did she color her hair? Who was she hiding from? It must be Moriarty!

"We are keeping an eye on Irene, but like she said, she hasn't had any contact with anyone from outside," Gregson said. "We figured it was her from the memory card. It shows evidence that Mr. Ryder brought girls in and abused them."

"It was a slave trade," Sherlock said. Anger filling every part of him. He wanted to find this Ryder and kill him for what he did to Watson.

"Yeah. It's definitely her. She looks different though, she really did look like she was in her twenties. But it was her. That would explain her elaborate plan there. Towards the end she managed to turn the camera on, she was recording the audio. Mr. Ryder was talking to someone, they were going to meet. We got the location and I sent men over there. Mr. Ryder is currently in the hospital, when the men got on the scene he was dying."

"She wouldn't have tried to kill him."

"I know, but right now I'm not sure what she would or wouldn't do. If she was in this much trouble why didn't she tell us? She went this far to keep it from us, from you! And if she's been here for a year then why did she let us 'find' her now? I'm sure she's been in other slave trade areas."

Sherlock was stumped. His emotional side just wanted to go to the hospital and finish the job of killing Mr. Ryder. The logical side said that they needed him so they can try to get some information on Watson. He also wondered as to why she would have slipped up if she was trying to hide. Unless this was her way of telling them that they could find her now? She was leaving a trail of breadcrumbs for them to follow. But why leave a trail? Why not just come up to them and tell them everything? Sherlock's train of thought was interrupted by Gregson. He exhaled deeply.

"Since we think that Irene is looking for her, and that she has someone working for her here, I've kept this finding on the low. You and Bell will work on trying to find her, I'll keep everyone here preoccupied. Keep up the appearance that we can't find her."

Sherlock nodded his head. He could not figure out why his heart was beating irregularly.


~One Week Later~

"Hello Mister…um, Ryder is it?" Sherlock said as he sat across the table from him in the interrogation room. Bell stood near a corner and watched carefully.

"Yeah," he said roughly.

"Right, now besides having the pleasure of telling you that you are going to be going to prison to rot for the rest of your life I'm going to ask you a question. One I'm hoping that you'll have an answer to. I would like you to tell me about the woman with red hair."

"Ah, I remember her. The girls called her Angel I think. She was my favorite," the man said with sick smile on his face as he recalled the memory of the woman. Sherlock felt like he was going to lose it.

"Tell us what you know about her!" Bell said as he slammed his hands on the table for emphasis.

"What about her do you want to know? You'll have to be a bit more specific, how soft her skin was? How the sex was? How her blood tasted?" he asked one after the other.


A/N: Mr. Ryder is a bit creepy isn't he?