I'm stuck on the roof and the light is beginning to dim, leaving me wondering if he's just going to abandon me and let me starve to death up here. I'm starting to droop, the caffeine from through the day having worn off and the adrenaline in my blood fading. The worry is seeping into me instead; I have a lump in my throat and as tiredness takes a hold of me I can feel panic rising too, logical and sensible thoughts abandoning me.

I'm going to die up here. I am going to die tied to a chair on the top of a building and the police are going to find me. But before that I am probably going to wet myself. Wonderful, just how I wanted to meet my maker, with wet pants and blood all over my face. Great first impression I'm going to make. Hi, God, sorry for the mess but I sort of got kidnapped then abandoned. Hope you don't mind.

I realise my mind is muddled and my thoughts are turning from the silly, dramatic waffle of a teenager into the incoherent babble of a barely literate toddler. I'm making no sense, not even to myself, but I can't seem to make myself care.

When I hear footsteps coming back up to the roof I can feel my nostrils flare and eyes widen, like a rabbit caught in the headlights of an oncoming cab.

"Hello again my dear. I do have to say I thought he'd be here to save you sooner."

I had no idea what he was talking about before and I certainly don't now that my brain has decided to go into hibernation, just when I need it the most. He goes over his routine from before, running his fingers across my face and through my hair; inspecting me. He seems to detect the wildness in my eyes, that my instincts have taken over and I'm not thinking straight.

He takes a step back, wary of me, and probably wisely so.

"I'm going to take the tape of your mouth, honey. Just promise not to scream." He leans towards me and continues speaking. "I'm going to rip it off in one motion, it probably won't hurt as much that way. Okay?"

I attempt to stare him down but realise quickly that he is asking my permission. I nod as my fear builds; this display of half compassion and half disdain is unnerving, more so than if he had been acting completely deranged.

He pulls the tape off and I suppress a scream of pain.

"Good girl." I frown at him, trying to figure out who he is and what he wants with me. "You don't know who I am, do you?"

"No." I whisper, my voice hoarse and my throat sore.

"I'll let you figure it out." The menace has returned to his voice, prompting me to flinch when he moves closer and brings his hand to my face. "It's just a drink of water deary. I'm not planning on letting you die."

I almost expect him to add 'yet' but he doesn't and I grudgingly let him pour water into my reluctantly eager mouth. He twists the lid back onto the bottle and settles himself on the floor by my feet, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his weight resting on his hands which are flat against the concrete behind his hips. Some form of recognition sparks in the back of my mind and I can see his face in a mug shot; the same smug smile spread across his lips. I close my eyes concentrating on the memory and I can see Sherlock pushing the image across my kitchen table towards me.

The sudden comprehension jumps from my lips in a husky gasp.

"You're Sebastian Moran!"

"That's Colonel Sebastian Moran to you."

I was right. The army. So Sherlock taught me something after all.

"What do we do now then... Colonel?" The sarcasm sneaks through my voice despite my attempts to hold it back.

"We wait. I can't wait to see what he does."