Georgia was alone again. It was happening more frequently, for reasons unknown to her. She was used to John being out a lot; he had work, Sarah, groceries, and other things like that. Sherlock...didn't. She was aware that he had the occasional case, and she knew that they came at random times, but he often left the house without telling her why. She guessed that there was someone he was meeting (or stalking—she wouldn't put it past him).

He had currently been away for over three hours. She stared with unfocused eyes as an actress with a blond wig crossed the screen of the telly to wrap her arms around a muscular brown haired actor that she'd nicknamed Beefy McHunksalot. She was simultaneously playing chess against herself (she'd found the board and pieces under a rather massive pile of newspaper clippings about child kidnappings) while drinking a cup of tea and reading an article in a magazine about celebrity scandals.

It was, in the words of Sherlock Holmes, dull.

She moved a black knight forward to take a white pawn, took a sip of her tea, flipped a page of the magazine and sighed to herself. If one of them didn't come home soon she was going to smoke more of Sherlock's cigarettes (since he'd bought another pack behind John's back and didn't know she'd seen him).

And then the telly turned off.

She jumped and stared at her reflection in the dark glass, as though expecting it to suddenly turn back on again. Just as she was putting her cup of tea down, the lights began to flicker. She counted thirty times before they stopped, illuminating a now terrifying living room. She glanced around, wide eyed, wondering just what the bloody hell was going on. She stood, barely noticing the magazine as it fell to the floor in a heap of fashion and pink sparkles.

The phone rang, making her yelp. She glared at it suspiciously as it continued to ring. Eventually it stopped and she took a deep breath, stepping toward it hesitantly. It started up again and she ripped it from the base, holding it to her ear.

"Hello?"

"Downstairs," a scratchy voice said, "there will be a black car waiting for you."

And then the line went dead.

She stared down at the phone and contemplated whether or not to go along with whatever this was. If they had the power to turn off the telly and switch the lights off and on like a little child, they probably also had the power to blow the place to smithereens if she didn't do as she was told. Even more, whoever it was could, potentially, help her to discover her past (even if she didn't enjoy the process). And, in the end, no matter what happened, Sherlock could find her. If not out of pure curiosity as to where she'd gone and who had taken her, then because John wouldn't let it go.

So she pulled on a pair of boots that Mrs. Hudson had given her and made sure to lock the door with an extra key she'd been given. She even left a little note on the kitchen counter, Been kidnapped by someone who could flicker the lights. Please help.

There was a sleek black car outside, engine quietly purring, and the door was already open, waiting for her. She stood on the doorstep watching it waiting for her and a chill ran down her spine. She really had no idea what she was getting herself into here. Her life so far that she could remember consisted of lots of creepy things and follow-Sherlock-adventure-time, but that was it. This was something else, something dangerous, and she didn't know what to do if it went wrong.

And she was completely idiotic for being so willing in the first place, but she didn't admit that to herself. No, she was just having some fun, right? Getting rid of her boredom once and for all.

Even if it killed her.

She slid into the backseat and closed the door, pulling the seat belt across her chest and flinching when it made a loud click as it buckled.

There were three other people in the car. There was a woman sitting next to her, busy typing something on her phone (this reminded Georgia of Sherlock and she almost smiled). There was a man driving and another man sitting in the passenger's seat, and they were both wearing black suits.

This was big. This wasn't just a kidnapping. Her blood pounded in her ears and she counted backward from ten to one, clutching at her seat belt as though it would keep someone from murdering her and dumping her body on the side of the road somewhere no one would ever find her...

The car suddenly stopped and the man in the passenger's seat got out, opening her door for her. She stumbled as she stepped out onto the sidewalk, but regained her balance again to see a man standing in front of her.

They were in a small stone courtyard, the car blocking the only exit. The man was dressed nicely and he was obviously well-fed. He was leaning on a black umbrella and regarding her in a very polite way. She felt that she could relax.

"Um." Great start, Georgia. "What am I doing here?"

"You are currently residing at 221 Baker Street," he said, "with a Doctor John Watson and Consulting Detective Sherlock Holmes."

Oh. So this was about the men. She sighed and nodded, running a hand through her hair. "That's right."

"You have retrograde amnesia, most likely caused by a traumatic event." He spoke so calmly, as though rattling off anatomical vocabulary or the history of Egypt.

She shrugged. "I guess."

He moved forward, reminding her suddenly of the black knight she'd slid across the chessboard earlier that day. She glanced down momentarily and realized that she was wearing a white shirt and faded jeans that Mrs. Hudson had scrounged from the back of her closet; she was the white pawn.

"You still haven't told me why I'm here," she said, looking back up and meeting the man's gaze.

He paused, considering his next words. "I know about everything that happens in London. I see everything, hear everything, and no matter where you go I'll know about it." He frowned. "The problem is...I have no records of you before your amnesia."

She blinked. She was thoroughly creeped out by this point, but she didn't have a choice but to stay and listen to what he had to say.

"Sherlock is my responsibility," the man continued. "I make sure that he doesn't get into trouble. If you turn out to be trouble..." He leaned forward. "I will eliminate the problem."

Georgia swallowed and took a step back, goosebumps forming on her skin.

He smiled, breaking the tension. It was amazing how he could do that. "Please do not disappoint me," he said.

And then the man who'd opened her door touched her elbow and she was led back to the car. They traveled through various streets she didn't recognize and then, miraculously, they were at Baker Street. She climbed the stairs numbly, jamming her key into the lock and mumbling the words, "I'm home," before collapsing on the couch.

Sherlock was standing a few feet away, her note in his hands. "I thought you'd been kidnapped?"

"I was."

"And you were returned."

She nodded, closing her eyes. "Yep."

"Did he have an umbrella?"

She sat up in a rush. "Yes! Yes, who is he?"

Sherlock crumpled up the paper and dropped it in the wastebasket near the fireplace. "A nuisance."

Hey guys, sorry it took so long for me to upload this chapter. I started school this week and didn't have time to even write this until tonight. Hope you liked it. :)

Also, I wasn't specifically trying to make Mycroft seem menacing, it just sort of happened. XD