I've had a few requests for longer chapters, so here you go! I love hearing your reviews and where you want the story to go next.

Sherlock crashed back through the Brownstone's door shortly after midnight. He pocketed his key and hung up his coat. Loosening his tie, he trotted into the living room; excited to tell Joan of the evening's events. He called out to her but the room was in darkness. Unsurprised (he hadn't expected her to wait up for him) he ran upstairs to wake her. He had weighed up her rage upon being woken up and the excitement of his news. His news had won. So he knocked on her door to give her approximately two seconds notice that he was coming in. He walked in only to be dismayed. She wasn't in bed, the curtains weren't drawn. Confused he jogged back downstairs. Perhaps she had gone out? Although she did normally tell him when she was going out. Sherlock clicked on the light and something caught his attention. A piece of paper on the coffee table; the poor light beforehand had made it invisible. Joan explaining where she is he thought as he flipped open the folded sheet.

It wasn't Joan's handwriting.

'If you want to see your little bitch again I suggest you come along to 221 Main Street and come alone. Any cops and she loses her grey stuff.'

Sherlock reeled in horror and dropped the note. Looking around the room there was no signs of a struggle. A gun pointed at her head meant Joan would have gone quietly. Sherlock's stomach churned and he took long breaths trying to steady his shaking. Joan wasn't meek, she would be fine, he thought trying to reassure himself. He would go and see what they wanted, give them anything they wanted so long as they released Joan. He ran back to the Brownstone's door grabbed his coat and left.

Joan Watson sat tied around the waist to a rusting radiator bound by rope and gagged. Her hands were tied behind her. She could see in the dim light that she was in an abandoned house with boarded up windows and a thick layer of dust everywhere. Her eye was already starting to blacken and bruise where one of them had smacked her across the face with a gun when she had struggled to get free. It was cold and her breaths could be seen in front of her face. Quietly she sat reassuring herself that she would soon be free.

Joan Watson had a plan.

Although her hands were tied behind her back, she was sure she could free them. Before the assailants arrived Joan had sat wrapping a present for a friend on the kitchen table when she heard a noise. She had slipped the pair of scissors into the pockets in the back of her jeans without thinking and had gone to investigate. Grabbed from behind they dragged her out of the house; unseen due to the late hour and darkness. Kicking and trying to scream she fought as they tied her hands and gagged her in the trunk of a car and drove her for what seemed like miles. She desperately tried to remember every turn they took, to try and map where they were taking her but it was hopeless and she bumped around the trunk of the car defeated. It was only when the two men had tied her to the radiator had she remembered the benediction in her back pocket.

Her two kidnappers sat on chairs a short distance away from her in the empty house that they had taken her to. Hushed tones suggested that they were deep on conversation and thus not totally focussed on her. Easing herself up slightly she pushed her arms down and her tied hands grappled for the scissors, she flicked them open as best she could: blade up, and began sawing away at the rope that bound her hands. It was a slow process but from the front it looked totally inconspicuous. She even kept a slightly dejected expression on her face the whole time to make it look even less suspicious. After some time she felt the rope give and she felt it fall to the floor. Her hands were free. But she kept them behind her back as to not give herself away. With freed hands it was much easier to slice through the rope that bound her to the radiator. Now completely untied, she remained in the same position and decided to attempt to gain information from her kidnappers.

"Hey, what do you want from me?" she called out.

The pair turned to look at her and one of them laughed.

"Not you honeybee, your boyfriend."

"If you mean Sherlock then he won't come. Or he'll call the police."

"He ain't callin' no-one; if he does then I'm afraid I will have to place a bullet square in your head."

The second man gestured with the gun.

"What do you want with Sherlock then?" she asked further.

"He is looking into something he should keep his British sticky beak out of."

"Would that 'something' be the death of a certain young woman with a pepper tattoo?"

"Sylvie? Yeah."

She knew the woman's name at last.

"I'm guessing you work for Mr. Pepper then?"

Their worried glances gave them away before they had chance to lie.

"We don't work for no-one."

Joan nodded, pretending to believe them.

The men went back to their hushed talking and Joan waited. She waited until they were immersed in conversation and silently stood up.

"Hey!"

Both men spun round and their mouths dropped open to see Joan standing up. They rushed at her ready to grab her but Joan ducked to her left and ran as fast as she could past them. As she reached the wooden chairs that the men had been sat on one of them grabbed her from behind. Without hesitation she bent down and picked up a chair, smashing it across his head, he fell to the floor with a thud that echoed; knocked out and- more importantly- dropping the gun that he had held in his hand. Joan bent down and picked it up. Pointing it at the other kidnapper she cocked it.

"Now either you let me leave here or what was it? 'I will place one of these square in your head'."

The man raised his hands and got on his knees, completely terrified.

Joan turned on her heels and ran out of the back room that she had been tied in and through the hall towards the front door. She wrenched it open and crashed into the man standing the other side.

Sherlock caught Joan in his arms.

"Joan!"

"Thanks for turning up" she replied jokingly through ragged breaths.

"Are you ok?" Joan nodded finally catching her breath.

"Your face..." he gently stroked a finger across her bruised face.

"Yeah, I got hit with this". She waved the gun. "I don't think anything is broken though" she added.

"Give it to me" Sherlock said looking through the glass of the front door, trying to see the culprit, ready to kill.

"Don't." The adrenaline was wearing off and she felt wearied. "Call Captain Gregson, if he gets here fast enough I think he should be able to arrest the man out cold on the floor in there. The other man had probably long since escaped out the back door."

Sherlock obliged, suppressing the murderous feeling he had been harbouring upon seeing Joan's face. Joan sat on the front wall of the house and put her head in her hands.

"I think we both have some catching up to do." She said turning to Sherlock. He smiled at her and they both heard sirens wailing in the distance.

Soon Gregson had arrived and the knocked out man was bundled into the back of a police car as he started to come around. Joan gave them details of what happened as Sherlock sat impatiently on the wall. Jumping up he pulled Gregson aside.

"I'm going to take Joan home; you have the basics of what happened right? She's exhausted."

They turned to see Joan talking to Detective Bell trying hard to hide her tiredness. Gregson went over and told Joan she could leave. Gregson whistled for an officer to take them both home in a police car.

Upon arriving back at the house they went inside and stood in the hall. Sherlock bent down and kissed Joan on the forehead. She didn't flinch or pull away.

"We'll talk in the morning?" he said and she nodded and went upstairs to bed.

Sherlock could not sleep. He had to make sense of what information he had to personally see that all those involved in Joan's kidnap received their just desserts.

I wanted Joan to be the total BAMF that she is in the show! She is no princess who needs saving!