'Bloody hell. SHERLOCK!'

John raced up the stairs to 221b and barged into Sherlock's room. He found Sherlock hunched over a desk with a magnifying screen. At the noise of the door banging open, he turned to glare at John.

'Do you mind, I'm trying to get some…'

'She's gone. Emily, she's been kidnapped!'

Sherlock leapt up, suddenly serious. Letting a stream of questions flow, he was already grabbing his coat and rushing out the door, followed quickly by John.

'Mrs Hudson, please do stop crying, it won't help the Inspector not get anywhere quicker! And Lestrade, I don't see why you are keeping me here.'

Sherlock was pacing like a caged animal in the DI's office. John was silent on the sofa in the corner, but Sherlock could tell from the bags under his eyes, and the lines on his forehead that he was as worried as he himself was. It had been two hours since John had found the note on 221c's doormat and there was nothing to go on. Nothing! Even he couldn't find a single pick of evidence.

According to the note, the kidnappers would contact John in 4 hours. But who knew what would be happening to her in the meantime.

Lestrade answered Sherlock, 'I can't have you storming about the streets the mood you're in. Let us find something, or wait for the call. Then we can decide on the next course of action.'

'Hmph.' Sherlock crossed his arms and dumped himself on the sofa beside John.

It was so dark, and cold and wet. The tears running down her face didn't help either. Emily couldn't remember a time in her life she had been as scared as she was now. Blindfolded and tied to what felt like a steel pipe, the cold had seeped into her bones and she couldn't stop shaking. She couldn't even tell how long she had been here.

The last thing she remembered was feeling pain through her head before blacking out. Then she had woken up here. Nobody there and every noise scaring her to death.

She had now lost count of the times she willed herself to wake up from this nightmare. When she didn't, fresh tears fell as she prayed that Sherlock or John would find her.

At 4pm, Sherlock, John, Lestrade, Donovan and some of the tech guys were gathered round John's phone in the DI's office. Sherlock had already pointed out his displeasure at Donovan's presence. But Lestrade had shot him down, saying they needed all the help they could get. John had had to physically hold Sherlock back at that point.

At 4.01pm, John's mobile rang. Suddenly there was a flurry of action from the techies, before one of them gave John the thumbs up. He pressed the answer button, and spoke, 'Hello?'

A mechanical voice came over the speaker, obviously disguised.

'Hello Dr Watson. I assume that at least Mr Holmes and the good Detective Inspector are in the room?'

'Yes. Where is she? Is she safe?'

'Ah ah ah,' The disembodied voice scolded, 'Dr Watson. I'll be the one talking here. Now, I've been watching you and Mr Holmes closely and I know what Miss Turner means to both of you. For now she is safe, however she will only remain so if my instructions are followed. I know that Mr Holmes's elder brother can be in possession of a large amount of money very quickly should the need arise. And I'm sure you'll both agree that the need has arisen…'

'If you hurt one hair on her head, be assured that you will be left much worse.' Sherlock had leapt up and practically growled at the phone.

The caller's strange distorted laugh could be heard. 'Mr Holmes, I don't think you have a leg to stand on. In any case, you have three hours to obtain five million pounds. At that time I will call again and issue more instructions.' *Click* The room was silent.

'Well? Any location?' Lestrade questioned the techies.

'Sorry, sir, he's scrambled it, all we got was it was in London.'

'Great we've got nothing.' John punched the wall, then grabbed his fist in frustration.

'John, I'm astonished you still don't observe the obvious. From the sound of his voice, even disguised, he obviously had a cleft palette as a child which has since been fixed. And from the slight background noise, I'd say he was near Tate Modern. I do believe they have an exhibition about wind chimes or some such trivial and noisy instrument. Also he says he has been watching us, and I passed a man on Baker street yesterday with said cleft palette. I thought he had been in 221, but on closer inspection couldn't see any sign of a break in.'

John perked up, 'Emily's key! She lost her key yesterday; apparently some guy found it and phoned her to give it back.'

Sherlock brightened up even more at that. 'Well then, the man we could be looking for is 6', Short blonde hair, sticky build, scar on his upper lip, green eyes with a goatee. Also lives near Battersea Dogs Home with his mother. I'd say between the ages of 31 to 33. Does that give you anything to go on Inspector?' Despite himself, Sherlock looked smug.

Everyone in the room stared at him before Lestrade spoke up.

'Right yes, no time to ask how you know all that. Donovan! Put all the details into the database, see what you can come up with. Sherlock, John, we'll head towards Tate Modern now, await Donovan's call.'

With that the three of them raced out of the office.

Donovan only shook her head at them and whispered under her breath, 'Still a bloody freak to me.'

Emily shuddered awake. Somehow she must have dozed of. Probably from exhaustion. It felt like she had been tied up for days, let alone the probable hours it really had been. Suddenly she heard the clanging of metal, and her entire body tensed. Tied up and blind she felt more helpless than she ever had.

'Alright gorgeous. How you feeling?' A strange voice assaulted her ears. It chilled her to her already frozen bones.

'I've been in touch with your friends. Hopefully they'll be very forthcoming to get you out of here. But they have a couple of hours yet. Until then, I think you and me should have a bit of fun.'

The tone of the voice made her fell sick to her stomach, but too scared to say anything, she kept silent. She was left in very little doubt as to what he meant. She could hear footsteps getting closer to her, then hands pulling at the ropes that held her in place. Although she was free from the pipe, her hands were still bound with rope. She was then lifted forcefully and half dragged across a room before being flung down on what felt like a sofa.

The fear built in her until she found a voice, 'Please! Please don't.'

The voice laughed at her. 'Go on like that love, and I'll enjoy this even more.'

His hands pulled at the ropes on her hands, and pushed them above her head. She took the opportunity to wrench them free and punched out at where she thought he stood. Making contact with what felt like his head and collar bone, he let out a shout.

'Ow, you bitch!' He punched her in the face, and the pain exploded from her nose. She cried out as she felt blood running down her face and put her hands up to it. He grabbed them back, and bound them in the rope again.

'I was gona do this nice for you, but you've changed that.' He snarled at her.

Pushing her down on the sofa, he ripped her jacket off her shoulders and pulled it up her arms as far as it would go with the rope. She heard him fumble at his belt before hearing the sound of jeans being pulled off. Tears flooded down her face, mixing with the blood. His rough hands were on her again, this time at the belt of her jeans. Fear and horror filled her and she desperately tried to imagine she was anywhere else but here.