Sorry it took so long. Now things get serious. And I lose my writing skills.

If anybody is interested, they can check out a story named 'A Case of Deduction' by ENTWolf:):) We are writing it together (but honestly it's she who is doing the real writing and editing, so all credit goes to her):) And if I say so myself... I really like the story:):) Go check it out!

CHAPTER 4: CAN THINGS GET ANY WORSE? YES. YES, THEY CAN. MUCH WORSE.

Friday, 7 p.m

Everything was a haze when Sherlock finally opened his eyes. He couldn't see anything, except the outlines of three people standing in the room. He couldn't move himself and he made the simple deduction that he was tied to a chair.

He also felt something warm covering his face. Blood. His blood, he thought as soon as the pain in his forehead hit him.

How could I have been so stupid? Well, now it was too late. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson had stepped directly and without hesitation into a trap. They had even known that it was a trap, so what they were feeling now, if you didn't count the bruises and cuts, was quite frankly below any scale.

They were, as Sherlock could see when his eyesight restored, in a storage room of some supermarket. John was right next to him, also tied to a cheap plastic chair. There was a big bruise on his cheek, but nothing too serious to worry about. John was already awake and sent Sherlock a look that said I blame you for everything, but I'm okay.

Confirmed that John was alright, Sherlock finally paid attention to the other people in the room. Two men and a woman.

"Ah, Mister Holmes. I see you are conscious. I may have accidentally injected a little too big dose for you," the woman turned to him, with a grin that clearly stated Nothing I do is accidental.

Sherlock's reply consisted only of a bitter smile.

He, and unfortunately John too, had never doubted in his cleverness and had marched straight in the address, which Sherlock had 'read out' from the dirt, without any plan whatsoever. They had been attacked the same moment they entered by the four man standing in front of them now. Sherlock, who is a master in three material arts and is able to perform countless others, and John, an ex army doctor with real life battle experience, were beaten unfairly, with a needle in both's arms.

So now, as a result, they were captured.

The woman smiled again. "I feared that getting to you was going to be a much bigger trouble, but it seems that you aren't so smart after all. I'm a little disappointed, Mr Holmes."

Sherlock frowned. He wasn't going to answer. He assured himself that it was because of other reasons, but actually he was just embarrassed of himself.

"I hope you remember me, Mr Holmes."

"Your name is of no importance, Helen. You have too many of them," Sherlock said, voice a little hoarse, and tried unsuccessfully to find a better position, but the ropes cut off his movement.

The woman smoothed casually her black skirt. "My my. Are we on first name basis now, Sherlock?" She walked closer and sent a smile in John's way. John had been watching the short conversation with big eyes. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend? I know we've met already, but not officially."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "John, this is our client Helen Roylott. I'm sure you haven't forgotten her show this morning."

John's eyebrows were reaching his hairline, while his eyes moved back and forth between the two people. "Are you saying that this is the same woman?" he asked unbelievably from Sherlock, who shrugged his shoulders slightly.

Helen laughed wholeheartedly. It wasn't really understandable that they were dealing with the same woman as before. Her hair was now dark brown instead of blond, her posture was straighter, make-up better, clothes fitted perfectly. No trace of that woman from Baker Street.

Her laugh ended with a deep sigh. "You see, Sherlock... I'm not a happy person." She paused expectantly.

"And why is that so?" Sherlock asked, completely uninterested.

"Because you made me sit in a prison for ten years! Ten years! Have you got any idea how long that is?" Helen's eyes where shooting daggers at him and her hands were clenched in fists.

"And what do you expect to achieve by kidnapping me and my... colleague? Do you want to sit in another ten years?"

"Oh, Sherlock. I'm going to have my sweet revenge. Just the thought kept me going all these years. To finally see you suffer." A cold smile crept on her face.

Sherlock snorted. "Cliché. Boring."

A movement in the corner of his eye got his attention. John had been able to carefully release his one arm from the boundaries, but he was facing the three people on his chair and luckily his actions didn't come noticed.

Sherlock took it as a signal. His hands started loosening the ropes around his wrists, while staring into the woman's eyes, distracting her. He felt the ropes give in to the silent struggle and release his hands. Bad knotting. His torso was also tied to the chair, but that wouldn't be a trouble now that he could move his hands.

A plan started formulating in his brain. He broke the eyecontact to Helen and looked around the big storage room. It had high ceilings, some piles of cardboard boxes and an entrance to the right where they were sitting.

He also spared a look to the two men, who were standing behind Helen, dressed from head to toe black. Sherlock also noticed the bumps in their jackets. They were armed. But not experienced.

They were going to do it the easy way.

John, whose both hands were now free too, smiled slightly and said: "Well... It was a pleasure and everything, but how about you two," he nodded towards the men in black, "let us go now. This... is getting quite ridiculous."

"I couldn't agree more, John. I think it's time for us to leave," Sherlock nodded. He wiggled with his shoulders and the ropes came loose, so he was able to stand up. He wiped the dust from his jacket and backside.

John followed his actions and then they were both standing in front of a very startled Helen Roylott.

"Sorry, Mrs Roylott. Better think through your plans next time." John started to move to the exit.

Sherlock smirked and followed him. But they both froze when they heard the click of a gun.

"Ha ha, Mister Holmes. Very funny."

They turned and faced the woman, who was now holding a revolver.

A shot.

"JOHN!"