Repens

Just before taking her last few steps towards sunlight, she moved her mobile where previously planned.

"You had better be as clever as you think you are," she whispered, taking a moment to picture his gentle face one last time before the torture began.

Three cabs were waiting near the station, the middle cab's door opening. The brave girl poised herself and made her way to the car. A low voice kindly asked her to take a seat. As he spoke, Steph noticed a few details of the other two cabs. The windows were tinted- cab modeled cars that weren't actually cabs. One sat much lower than the other, more bodies in the last car. The first forged cab had recently been detailed, shining a bit brighter than the later and newer tires- the person higher on the food chain was in the first cab while his goons were likely in the third. She calmly obeyed the voice. Before she could see any faces or notice any details, she was stuck in the arm. Everything faded into darkness. His face came to her thoughts once more before all went entirely black.
---
"Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson attacked the two men as they walked into 221B.

"Ah, Mrs. Hudson," he greeted with false pleasure. Already cooking today? Ketchup stain on your collar. You're unusually pale. And you've bitten all of your nails- a bit too old for that, aren't you? Isn't your niece taking proper care of you?"

"That's just it," she began to cry, tears streaming down her white cheeks. "She left and ordered me not to follow or leave. She was going on about something happening today. I don't know what happened!"

"My God," John whispered in shock. He turned to find a stunned Sherlock standing next to him- the always knowledgeable and verbal man completely speechless.

"She went out?"

"Yes, about an hour ago. She didn't say a thing about where but she was frightened, Sherlock. She was so terribly frightened. Acting brave and all but I could tell."

"Don't leave. Don't even look outside," he ordered the terrified woman. "John, stay down here and take care of her," the worried boyfriend blurted as he left the room, mobile in hand.

"Oh no you don't. I'm helping. We're finding her together," John replied, following his flat mate.

"We need to keep our numbers as few as possible. Can't risk you or Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock glanced down at his phone then furrowed his brow. "John, check your mobile."

After doing as asked, Watson replied, "That's strange. It's off but I never turned it off. And we can’t risk losing Stephanie either. Mrs. Hudson can go next door or something. I'm coming with you."

"Our mobiles were turned off at some point this morning," Holmes bitterly announced through gritted teeth. He wasn't liking this already but continued upstairs.

"Wait, you think someone turned them off? There's no way it could be coincidental?"

"This morning? This morning, of all mornings? When Steph has been threatened all week and suspected something would happen today? Do be rational."

"Then how could someone have--"

"Did you notice anyone close to us or take notice of us while we were out?" Simple-minded John lifted his eyes to the ceiling while thinking as Sherlock began to pace. Suddenly, the taller man stopped and spun on his heels. "The man with the remote control boat, at the park."

"Yeah, I saw him but how--"

"He looked out of place. Too old for such a child's toy. Clothes too dark and thick to be outside, not to mention similar to the attire of our first band of misfits."

"He did seem odd but--"

"The remote device could have been meant for us- to shut our mobiles off as we passed. Blast- how did I miss that?!" He was talking mostly to himself now so John gave up and simply listened. "Alright, so they didn't want us using our phones, didn't want us to ring anyone- NO! Didn't want anyone to ring us. Didn’t want their prisoner to ring us! So they temporarily blocked communication, giving them some time." He began to pace again, eyes not looking anywhere in particular. "She cleaned then left but changed a few things before leaving. So she knew she would be leaving. Something happened to make her leave."

"What? What do you mean she changed a few things?"

"Come on, you clever girl," he whispered, finally taking a proper look around.

A few odd changes had been made. His skull was left by the open window, his small knife lying beside it. John's small framed photo of Big Ben had been moved from the desk to the table. The Union Jack pillow on the chair had been turned upside down. The laptop was open with a word document open. Each time he spotted something misplaced or changed, his eyes lit up a bit more. It almost looked like pride, like he was proud of her.

"Oh, I do adore her," Sherlock grinned ever so briefly in his amused tone. Watson's puzzled stare was burning into the back of his head. He didn't read the message on the laptop just yet. Instead, his attention returned to his best friend. "Look around, John. What do you see?"

"She cleaned up before she left," the simple minded fool sighed while looking around, as if he was sad that he couldn't thank her that very moment. His eyes found Sherlock's irritated glare. Despite his tension filled chest and recently throbbing head, John rolled his eyes knowing what was next. "What do you see?" The third word was emphasized.

"She's left us clues. Come on! Really look around!" Instead of waiting for his friend to catch up, the genius began. "The skull on the windowsill-the open window. It's on the ledge just like my past leaping stunt- danger. Take note of the knife beside it, great danger. Your Big Ben photograph was moved- maybe she likes it there better but, more than likely, she wants us to take note of setting. Maybe she knew she would remain in London. The Union Jack pillow on the chair is upside down- a flag upside down is sometimes the signal of distress. She also left a message." He had been pointing all around the room until then. When he walked over to the open laptop, John quickly followed.

EMAIL

"Email?" John muttered, still in awe of the girl's scattered clues. He watched as his flatmate checked his private email account. "She emailed you? You're kidding."

"Quite intelligent, actually. If any of our trouble-seeking friends were to have broken in after she left, they would find a perfectly normal looking flat. But we noticed the changes, things different from how we've seen them every day for years. If they had half a brain they would have erased the word document. They would have seen a message left on paper or on the screen but they don't know I bother having a private email, much less the password- which I just happened to change only last night."

"Brilliant!" John grinned, amazed that Stephanie knew to do all this. "She actually knew she was going to be taken today."

"Not taken," Sherlock heavily breathed, eyes glued to the laptop screen. "She thought they had you."

"Me?"

"It makes perfect sense," the detective growled, putting more facts together. By turning our mobiles off it rose her suspicions. Neither of our phones are ever off so when they are, something is wrong. STUPID!"

"Pardon?!"

"Not you. Her!"

"Stupid? How? She left all those clues. She's already given us some valuable information."

"She didn't take a step back and properly analyze the situation. She assumed you were in trouble, took thier word without a second thought, and left immediately."

"Unless she's just choosing to risk her own safety in the place of those she cares about."

"And why would she do that?" Sherlock hissed with a fierce flame in his eyes.

"Sound familiar?" replied the half-grinning, simple thinking man. "…Mr. Stuntman?"

Sherlock growled, knowing his friend was right. He and the girl were more alike than he ever dreamt. Slowly walking towards the window, Sherlock whispered, "But how far is she willing to go?"

"What did the email say?" John asked, breaking Sherlock from his painful thoughts.

"She had received a few texts. The first as a warning. The second claiming to have you. She undoubtedly rang you and you didn't answer because our mobiles had been shut off. That's when she did a bit of cleaning and left all the little clues leading us here. All of the texts were from a private blocked number. Her directions were to take the tube to Stratford station and get into a designated cab. From there, they will take her where she expects to find you. Obviously you are not there and she is the victim, completely alone to be interrogated and tortured until we come rescue her."

John let out a worried sigh, "Busy night then." Sherlock didn't respond. "Then we're off to Stratford station."

Sherlock briskly walked out of the door, John only a few steps behind.

John barely heard it but his infuriated best friend whispered, "Coming, my love."