Sherlock paced up and down the flat, only pausing to look at his phone. On the fifth repetition he shouted and threw his phone onto the sofa in frustration. John watched this with mounting concern. Lestrade stood next to him with something akin to shock on his face. Donavon and Anderson stood by the door and both looked as if they had been hit by a bus.
"Sherlock, it's going to be ok, we'll find her" said Lestrade "I have my best people out looking"
Sherlock turned to him with a withering look.
"Inspector sending your best men out is like saying you've sent monkeys out looking for her, so unless you have anything important to say just shut up."
John sighed internally, even in the middle of a crisis Sherlock found time to insult the people trying to help. Suddenly Sherlock's phone beeped and the room fell silent. Sherlock opened the messages,
"John I need your laptop." When no one moved he turned and looked at them all with a wild look, "NOW!"
John went and got it from the table and passed it over, Sherlock plugged his phone in and pulled up the photos Moriarty had sent. John stood over his shoulder and as the photos started to change, he felt his stomach turn over.
There were photos of cigarette burns on the girl's stomach and arms, three long cuts from a knife running parallel down her back. Her right side was black and blue were she had been repeatedly punched and one of her ankles looked like it had buckled underneath her where someone had most likely stamped on it. Some of the photos were of her with her arms suspended over her head and some of her sitting down, the last one was of Moriarty making the 'call me' gesture.
John watched Sherlock's face and for a second saw blind rage flash across his usually placid features. Then he seemed to control himself and the mask slipped down again. He started to look at the photos more closely.
"Oh you clever clever girl" he whispered, "You clever, brilliant girl."
John looked at him curiously,
"Look at what she's doing John. Look"
John looked at the photos again but could only see the horrible injuries.
"Sherlock I don't see…" Lestrade had come over and was also looking at the photos.
"Oh come on" Sherlock shouted, "Look properly look."
He looked around the room at their blank faces.
"Thank god it's not one of you being held by him, or we wouldn't ever find you. She's moving to get a different shot of the room every time, and look at her hands."
He spun and went around to the computer again. He flicked through the images until he found the shot he was looking for. Squish's arms were suspended above her head and while the main photo was of her side, she had somehow managed to point at a window which was slightly obscured by the top of the photo. He flicked to another one this time she was sitting on the floor while a man stubbed out his cigarette on her shoulders. John looked at her hands and saw she had spread out all five fingers on the one hand and two on the other.
"She's trying to tell us fifty two? But why?"
"The cigarette John!" The cigarette, she's telling us the ash is No 52."
At their blank stares, Sherlock moaned.
"Of my analysis? The tobacco ash is No 52, Honeydew Perique Tobacco."
He turned to Lestrade,
"Very few places sell that type of Tobacco and from that cigarette it was only bought that morning. I highly doubt that there is more than one that sell that type of tobacco near a warehouse on the east docks."
He was already grabbing his scarf and walking out the door.
"Come on John!" the smaller man was right behind him.
They got into the first taxi that pulled up,
"East docks please as fast as you can." Sherlock turned to John, "John her injuries, what's your opinion?"
John actually breathed a sigh of relief. He was worried about her; it wasn't just a game this time.
"The cuts on her back worry me, as does her ankle. I'd say from the photos that she has at the least cracked ribs and those will need to be bandaged quickly otherwise risk internal bleeding. But I don't think she'll die."
Sherlock sank back into the seat.
"I don't think I would be able to forgive myself if she's. If. If he's hurt her…"
John nodded and patted his shoulder,
"She'll pull through, we both know it. She won't LET him win."
Squish fell to her knees and curled up in a ball. Pulling her left arm towards her stomach she cradled it. Ok, she thought, 25 cigarette burns mostly over arms and stomach, three cuts down her back, she was most worried about the middle one the other two had mostly stopped bleeding while that one still trickled, her right ankle was probably broken where one of the men had stamped on it, right ribs definitely cracked and her left side was badly bruised. Her face though had been left alone apart for the bruise that had formed when he slapped her; she guessed Jim wanted Sherlock to know it was her. Overall not too bad, not bad at all. She was proud of herself, she hadn't screamed once apart from when her ribs were cracked and she had managed to get her message to Sherlock.
Jim came over to her crumpled body.
"Well done darling, that wasn't too bad, now was it?" She didn't say anything just stared at him. He didn't like that.
"I said was it?" he pushed down on her right side and, she screamed with the pain as he put pressure on her hurt ribs. When he stopped she was left panting for breath.
"Fuck you!" she spat the words at him with all the strength she could muster.
"And I thought we were going to be such good friends." He leaned back on his heels so his face was the only thing she could see, "I think the cavalry are on their way so I'd best be off, but do give my regards to Sherlock."
He stood up and clicked his fingers at the men who were standing in the shadows, all three of them left, one only stopping to give her kick in the ribs.
"Hey Jim!" she shouted ignoring the pain of her ribs, watching out of the corner of her eye as he turned and cocked an eyebrow at her.
"Laters!" Just then she heard more noises from outside and when she turned her head again they were gone, just as she could feel herself slipping into blackness, she could feel someone lifting her you gently, and heard a voice
"Are you allright? Are you allright!" Sherlock's voice sounded urgent and anxious, with what was the last of her energy she whispered in his ear,
"I think you should repost your tobacco ash analysis on the website" she tried a smile and fell back into the waiting arms of oblivion.