Sherlock hadn't bothered to call Lestrade until he was already in a taxi heading to the Yard. The whole ride he had spent searching his mind, trying to figure out where Rachel might have been taken. They had let the case drop for the time being since there were no further kidnappings that fit the pattern of the spider tattoo.

Snow began to fall, fluttering down gently onto the windshield of the car. The driver clicked on the wipers and the sound of the rubber squeaking on the glass brought Sherlock out of a trance-like state. He drew in a heavy breath, and looked out the window. Somewhere, Rachel was out there. He couldn't begin to guess if she was still alive. This wasn't one of their usual kidnappings. This was a personal grudge that was being carried out.

Lestrade had met him at the steps, opening the door of the cab for him. Sherlock bounded out barking orders. "I want a task force assembled and ready to go. We don't know what we are expecting, so we should be prepared for anything. I want medics on standby just in case." He entered the building, making his way to Lestrade's office.

Rachel noticed the snow falling onto the ground outside the window. She felt a shiver run down her spine. This basement was not set up for heating, and she was wearing only sweatpants and a tee shirt. Her abductor had left her only a bucket to use for a restroom. Leaning against the wall, she wondered where Sherlock was. Her only hope was in him cracking the case before it was too late.

Sherlock paced the office room, occasionally glancing at the whiteboard with a map of where all the kidnapping victims bodies were found. He was feeling the strain of nervousness on him. There was no clear pattern to these kidnappings. At first, he had thought the logical place for a hideout to be would be in the very center of the bodies locations, but once he realized that there were no places that matched to gravel on the victims shoes, that idea was a wash.

"Don't strain yourself too much, freak." Sally Donovan strode into the room, giving Sherlock a subtle nod.

"I said your best team, Detective Inspector." Sherlock said, unmoving from his place, eyes darting over points on the map. Donovan made no acknowledgement of his remark, she simply walked into the next room shaking her head.

A pattern started to form before his eyes. He grabbed the dry erase marker that was on the rest on the whiteboard and began connecting dots. Each dot was a victim, and he began tracing them in order of their death. The shape it began to form was that of a web.

"She's here." He circled a city block on the map.

Lestrade strode over, looking at the map. "Amazing."

"Was obvious, really." They are spiders, and they have made London their web. Now, could we stop admiring my work and get Rachel before it's too late?"

"Of course." Lestrade grabbed his coat and followed Sherlock, who was already halfway down the hall.

The basement door creaked open again and a long shadow appeared on the floor. She lifted her head off the cold, damp floor as the man walked toward her. She scooted herself backwards, fear swelling in her throat. A sharp pain tore through her side as the man kicked her. She screamed, blood pouring out of her mouth.

"Like that, don't ya, bitch?" He kicked her again, then taking a drink out of the bottle he held in his hand. "Whatever, I don't expect you to answer." He leaned against the pole opposite her spot on the wall. "You see, here's my way of thinking. All my men have been burned, so I think it's only fittin' that I burn you."

Her eyes sparked in fear as he kneeled in front of her to stroke her hair. She shuddered at the touch.

"I'm sorry, sir, I really am, but I had no part in what happened to your brother. I was in high school when most of this even happened."

"Don't matter to me, you're still the lawyer's daughter. Now you hold tight for a while, It's not going to take long for things to heat up in here."

He stood up and walked to some shelves against the wall to her right. She began struggling with the shackles around her wrists, hoping to loosen them in time to get away before she was seriously hurt, or worse. He grabbed a bucket of kerosene, and began dousing the room with it.

"Now, don't you worry missy, I'm going to be right here with you. I ain't got much to live for anymore, and since your parents are dead, I'm figuring you don't either."

Her heart sank as her mind immediately went to Sherlock. What was going to happen to him? She realized she didn't want to live another moment without him in her life.

He continued pouring the kerosene around the room, occasionally taking a drink of his beer and admiring his handiwork.

"Sherlock, please come quickly." She whispered to herself.

The police car flew around the corner, momentarily going on two wheels. Lestrade was driving, Sherlock sat motionless in the passenger seat listening only to the pounding of his heart in his ears. He was beginning to realize that he didn't want to imagine what would happen if he didn't get to her in time.

"What do you think is going to happen?" Lestrade asked, glancing at the pensive detective.

"He's most likely going to act out on her what has been done to the members of his gang." He looked out the window, fighting back tears. "Turn here."

Lestrade turned as ordered and slowed the vehicle to a stop. "That's it ahead." He pointed to a brick brownstone that was three doors ahead. Barking orders over the radio, he stepped out of the car. Sherlock followed suit, adjusting his coat. They slowly approached the building, following the lead of the swat team that had assembled faster than what Sherlock had realized.

The team had swarmed around the house, each member checking the windows and entry points. "Fire sir, fire in the basement!"

Without thinking, Sherlock bolted toward the house. He swung round the basement railing in the back alley and slammed his body into the door. He heard Rachel's voice screaming from the inside. Once again he slammed his body against the door, avoiding the red hot doorknob. He screamed in response to the ache of his shoulder. He began kicking the door repeatedly. The hot wood creaked and groaned as it began to give way. With one last kick, the door crumbled. He raised his arms over his face as the flames licked outside the door to take in the oxygen.

Sherlock pushed forward, shielding his eyes from the searing heat and covering his mouth and nose with his scarf. He followed the sound of her voice, tripping over a body. He looked down, seeing the burned face of a man with a spider tattoo. In his anger, he kicked the body and moved on. He reached the spot where Rachel now laid motionless. Her arms strung above her head, shackled to the wall. He ran back to the body of the man on the floor, searching quickly for a key. Finally, he had found it in his shoe. Running back to Rachel he unlocked her wrists, covering her mouth and nose with his now charred scarf. He lifted her body into his arms and ran outside of the building moments before the basement collapsed behind them. He delivered Rachel into the awaiting stretcher before collapsing on the ground in front of the ambulance.