A/N: Moar has finally arrived! Sorry for the delay (I feel like I'm saying that all the time now =.=) and thank you for all your lovely reviews! Anyways, enjoy the chapter - this is where the trouble starts kicking off. Well, more than it has already.

Disclaimer: I do not own BBC Sherlock.

Sarah ran through the park, down the path, not knowing where she was going, just feeling the desperate need to get out. She knew she was weaving from side to side, almost drunkenly, because of the adrenaline and fear, and she could feel the tears brightening her eyes. She refused to shed them – she could cry and fall apart later. Right now, she needed to get into contact with John; Sherlock had told her to. As little as she liked the detective, she trusted him.

"Hey, watch where you're going!" The man stepped backwards, glaring irritably at her as she nearly collided with him and managed to skid to a halt just in time.
"I- I'm sorry," she said quietly, distracted, eyes darting around. "Do you know the way to the park exit?"
"Hey, hey..." he said, a slight American accent softening the edges of his words. The irritated look faded into one of concern as he saw her red eyes, dishevelled appearance and lack of coat. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, yes, I'm- No, not really," she admitted, swallowing hard. "I've- my friend, he, he's just been kidnapped." She took a deep breath. "Can I borrow your mobile?"
"Wha-? Oh god, of course, of course, here." He looked mildly stunned, and rummaged in his pockets with a messy haste born out of alarm. He handed it over to her without hesitation, hovering nervously, hands in his pockets. "Is there anything else I can do? Are you alright? You're not hurt?"

"If you could show me the way to the main exit, that would be great," said Sarah, amazed at how level and steady her voice was. The sudden pressure seemed to have cleared her thoughts, sped them up.
"Yeah, of course. This way." The man set off down the path, glancing back over his shoulder in worry at her every few seconds. She quickly keyed in John's number in the old, thick phone and then trotted to catch up as the dialling tone rang in her ear.

"Hello, John Watson speaking," came the bored voice from the other end, and Sarah sucked in a gasping breath of relief.
"Oh, god, John, I'm so glad I could get hold of you, it's Sherlock, he-"
"Sarah?" The surprise in his voice changed almost instantly to delight. "You're okay! We- I thought Moriarty had taken you...? Thank god you're alright."

She hesitated, not knowing how to reply.

"You are alright, aren't you? You're not hurt?" The alarm and concern in his voice was obvious even through the phone.
"No, no, I'm fine. But-" She sucked in a small sobbing breath, eyes closing briefly. "John, Moriarty did take me-"
"Then how, what...?" His confusion was evident.

"John, it was Sherlock, he... there was a swap, I didn't know, Moriarty just let me go, and Sherlock, he, and then I had to run and I couldn't do anything and I think he's going to kill him, there was this other man, John, he's insane, I couldn't-" She broke off, sobbing quietly down the phone, the tears returning with a vengeance. The man leading her stopped, waiting patiently and looking concerned as she sat down on a bench, hunched over the phone. A woman passing by looked at her in alarm and pity.

"Woah, woah, slow down," soothed John, voice quiet and level – the same voice he used when he was terribly worried about something. "Start at the beginning. What happened?"

She took a deep breath, composing herself again. "Sorry, I just-"
"Don't apologise," said John, "just explain – what happened?"
"Moriarty took me. He said he needed me for his 'pattern', those murders that have been happening, because of my name – Sherlock said you already knew about that. He kept me in this room, I don't know where, I was blindfolded going in and out. There with this other man, Seba, he called him, he wore this leather jacket and-"

"Yep, met him," said John grimly, and then seemed to realise he'd interrupted. "Sorry, carry on."

"About an hour ago, he – Moriarty – turned up and said there'd been a change of plan. He was so happy, ecstatic. They blindfolded me, bundled me into this van or something, and when we arrived we were at some little back entrance to Hyde park. He led me down these paths, like he was looking for something. And then- then he let me go, just said 'run along now' and let me go, and... and then there was Sherlock right in front of me. He-"

"No," breathed John, so quietly Sarah wondered if he even realised he'd spoken. "Please, no."
She closed her eyes, feeling her shoulders slump. "He, his name... Sherlock Holmes. Moriarty had wanted him all along, I'd just been bait, and Sherlock... It was a swap. Me for him. I didn't realise, John, I swear, there was nothing-"

"Christ." John sounded exhausted suddenly, but his voice vibrated with anger. "That idiot! He wasn't supposed to go running off and hand himself over to psychopath, that's not what I..." He trailed off, making a frustrated noise.

"He told me to tell you something. Two things," said Sarah quietly.
John's tone was instantly alert. "What were they?"
"He said to come and get me, that we needed to talk to Lestrade – he said you needed to explain the pattern. And..."
"And?" prompted John gently, with a resigned air that made Sarah wonder if he knew what was coming next.
"He said to tell you that he was sorry. That he was wrong, and it was okay, he didn't mind," she finished.

There was a quiet, broken noise from down the phone.

Sarah sighed, suddenly feeling overwhelmed and tired – the adrenaline was fading, leaving her feeling hollow, wrung out. She wished desperately she could say something better, more comforting, something even remotely useful instead of an empty, useless apology, but there was nothing to say, nothing to do. She felt helpless, useless and exhausted, waiting in silence for John to speak.

Eventually, he spoke. "Okay, I'm coming to get you. Stay put in the park, I'll meet you at the Albert memorial. Thank you, Sarah, you've been amazing. I'm so sorry you've been caught up in all of this. Again."
She laughed quietly, smiling in spite of herself. "I think it's beginning to qualify as an occupational hazard of being around you," she said.
John's laugh answered hers, but it was hollow and forced. "Yeah. Okay, see you in a minute." And the line went dead.

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