Sorry for the delay in updating! Had a bad case of writers block there for a bit, and a lot going on in my life at the moment. As always, please, purdy please, review!


December had finally come, and Rachel was finally beginning to adapt to life in London. She avoided all thoughts of her parents the best she could, and occupied her time with knitting. Her grandmother had taught her how to knit when she was much younger and she had always turned to it while she was bored or her mind needed to be occupied. So far she had nearly completed the blanket she was working on for John and Mary's baby that she had yet to meet.

She thought herself fortunate to have made friends in John, Mary, and especially Sherlock. She had noticed the dynamic of their relationship change after she had been able to help him solve several of his cases. Hers, unfortunately, was at a standstill until the knighting ceremony. She was still unsure of how he would carry out his plan, and she was unsure if she should even ask. One thing she had learned with Sherlock was that she should never question his methods.

This morning she had made him breakfast, and he had pecked at what he wanted, but left most of the plate still full. She no longer took offense to his not eating, she had learned that he rarely ate while working.

After he ate breakfast he had left the flat, saying something about going to the Yard. She cleaned up the table, washed the dishes and sat in what was forever to be know as "John's chair" to face the television. She began watching some early morning talk show and started drifting off. She was very nearly asleep when the door burst open, scaring her awake. A man stood in the doorway, with a gun pointed to her. He was tall, blonde, short hair, and very sloppily dressed. She reached into the pillows of the chair, hoping to find the gun that Sherlock would often carelessly leave in between the pillows. Nothing. The man began approaching her with cautious, deliberate steps. Her hands continued to search in between the pillows, her eyes never leaving the man. He kept the gun on her, walking to Sherlock's room.

"We keep no money in the flat." She said, rather boldly.

"Not looking for money." He replied in an American accent.

She was surprised in the accent, she hadn't heard another American in quite some time. Her eyes never left him, and when his sleeve had dropped a bit, she was able to see half the form of a spider tattoo on the inside of his wrist. Her had met something in the couch cushions. A marker. She quickly stuffed it into the pocket of her pants before the man noticed.

"We're here for the girl that has been ruining our business." He forced her up, yanking her arm into an uncomfortable position above her head. He began dragging her out the door, and she began screaming. She resisted, holding on to the door frame. She had managed to pull the marker out of her pocket, quickling drawing a spider on the wall. She was barely able to finish the drawing, the man pulling her and the marker streaking down the wall. Her kicking had knocked over furniture. Her screaming continued as she was dragged down the stairs and out the flat into a waiting cargo van. The door shut, and she was in total darkness.

Sherlock returned to the flat early that afternoon, as soon as he had approached the door, he knew something was not right. The knocker was not the way he had left it and the door was slightly ajar. He climbed the steps, pushing the door open slowly with his forefinger, leaning slightly to get a view of the interior without entering first. His heart was pounding in his ears as he entered, seeing the side table knocked over. He called out for Rachel, but heard no response. His legs carried him up the stairs faster than he imagined that he could run. Bursting into his apartment, he saw the chaos left behind. The tele was still on, his chair knocked over, the table on the floor with the lamp in shards around his feet.

"Rachel!" He shouted, once again there was no answer. He felt a wave of nausea hit him as his eyes fell on the obviously rushed drawing of the spider on the wall. His fingers traced the outline and followed the line that was left from her obviously being dragged outside the room. The marker was left open, on the floor. She had made it obvious who had taken her, but what was glaring was the fact that her fate was clearly spelled out for her. Within two to three days, Rachel would be dead.

Rachel woke up to a dull, burning ache in her head. She tried to lift her hand to rub her head, but she quickly discovered that she was tied up. She looked around the dark room, hoping to find some sign of where she was. There was a small window with iron bars on the outside high on the exposed brick wall on the far end of the room. From outside the window, she could see the shuffling of feet. A basement, she thought to herself. She looked around the rest of the dimly lit room, a large spider was spray painted on the left wall, matching that of the tattoos on the victims bodies that were popping up around the city. Shackles lined the walls of the room, but they were all empty.

A door opened somewhere to the left of her, but it was behind the wall that she was leaning against. She could hear approaching footsteps. She felt sick. She had remembered what had happened to the victims back home when her dad had brought home the case files. The man who had abducted her stepped into sight. she turned her face away, scared to make eye contact with the man.

"I bet you're wondering why you're here, aren't ya?" The man stooped to her level, reaching out to touch her chin and make her look at him. She said nothing, averting her eyes so the tears she was so desperately fighting wouldn't fall.

"You, missy, have been the thorn in my side for years now. I remember you and your paw from back home. That lawyer man had so many of my men put in jail. When he got my brother convicted of murder that was the last straw for me. I planned on doing something about it." He stood up, adjusting his pants and walked the length of the room.

"We came here to England on a lucky break, you see. Me and five of what was left of my boys. We picked up where we were left off back home, pickin the prettiest and the classiest of girls to bring back here to our little home to have fun with. We were having such a good time, when, all of a sudden' my boys started going missin' one by one. Then, next thing you know, they're turning up in alleyways crispier than a Sunday barbecue." He wiped his mouth and opened a fridge that was at the corner of the room, helping himself to a beer. "I was reading the paper one day, when I saw that you and your maw and paw had come here to London for a little family vacation. And you know what, you little bitch? Justice was served in that bus wreck. Ya'll done got what you deserved." He took a sip of the beer and looked her over.

"I don't understand, if you think justice was served then why did you bring me here? I didn't have anything to do with the work my dad did."

"You're still his kin, and the way I see it, since my brother is locked up, you should be too. And since your paw got him put on death row, I think it's only fair that I kill you too."