Repens

"I said wake up!" the large suited man yelled.

Her eyes slowly opened. So much for never waking tied up, she thought. She prayed that the results of her foolish actions would be worth the worry and pain that came before victory. For a few seconds, she became very self-conscious of herself, making sure everything was in its proper place. The fact that she hadn't been cuffed yet was a good sign.

"Morning, sweetheart," grinned the grotesque hit man.

"I don’t think we know eachother well enough for pet names. Do you?" Steph replied in a groggy voice.

The man gave a dark chuckle before announcing, "I bet the boss is gonna love you. He likes a girl with a bit of spirit." As he said the last bit, his large hand hovered over her leg and then a dirty large finger quickly poked her thigh. He was already on her list.

"Let's go," the thug mumbled, no longer amused at her wit. He climbed out then her after him.
Asking where they were going was obviously pointless. The cab was parked behind a large building, their destination. She was lead into the building, down wide dark hallways, and finally to a large empty room much like the one she had been beaten in last time. There was more technology here: wires suspended where the tops of the walls met the ceiling, dark offices with a single computer in each room, and intercom speakers in various corners of the hallways. These weren't the same goons that had captured her last time. Possibly related, but not enough to include them in this particular equation. And, just as last time, there was the typical chair beneath a single hanging light.

"Brilliant," she said beneath her breath. "Not the most creative group, are you?"

Instead of speaking, the man only gave a small grin. He knew what was coming. She looked behind them in hopes that she could make a run for it. If she could find a place to observe without being seen, she would be more than pleased with herself. Unfortunately, she found nearly six other suited men of all sizes following in their path. There was no hiding today.

"Have a seat," a slimmer man dryly ordered, as if he was bored and didn't want to be there.

She did as told but stated, "You know, if you fine gentleman don't tie me up, I'm perfectly fine sitting here without the ropes and chains." Her heart didn't begin racing until she heard loud footsteps.

"I think a search would be appropriate before we proceed," a tenor voice calmly said from beyond the circle of light.

They were alone now, the bad guys and she. This was their territory in which they did as they pleased without second thoughts or morals. But where was John? The sod from the cab grabbed her arm and yanked her to her feet, not trying to be careful with her. Their eyes met for only an instant where she could tell he was grossly cheerful to be the one running his hands along her curves and patting her down. She was disgusted when he had the nerve to unzip and remove her jacket. His rough fingers traced down her spine making her sick to her stomach. Only one man was allowed to touch her this way.

Whoever was in charge, the man still hiding in the darkness, took a few steps towards her. The closer he came, the more she could make out his growing smirk and focused stare. The pig was enjoying her being searched far too much, watching the wandering hands of the brute far too closely. By the way his face froze, a memorized expression, Stephanie knew that he longed to be the one touching her. But criminal minds at this level preferred to watch, standing close enough without getting their hands dirty.

Her cab mate gave a single nod of approval. She couldn't show her pleasure but felt a bit more hope. If it was this easy to trick the present leader, this gang was going to be a better dressed version of the last idiotic chaps that took her last time. Finally, the ringleader took a final step into the light.

Stephanie immediately memorized his features, noticing every detail exactly how Sherlock would. It was crucial for her to think as much like him as possible, now more than ever. If she could think like him, he wouldn't have to waste the time in trying to think like her. It was far more manageable for a woman to rationalize as a man than the reversal.

"Hello, Mrs. Holmes," the rather creepy man greeted her with a frightening grin.

A cold chill ran through her body at the very sound of the incorrect title. There was something beautiful and strange about being called Sherlock's wife. This man had just lit a strong flame that was stronger than he had bargained for. So this was the man who thought he was going to win. This was the man who had created a seemingly flawless plan of action. This was the man that was going to be wonderfully beaten and placed behind bars.

"That's not my name," she casually replied.

"May as well be," he began, now walking around her. Their eyes met just before he nodded. The brute returned with the handcuffs she had been waiting for. First she struggled against the submission they expected but ceased to do so at the sound of his name. "Sherlock isn't one for sleeping around so you're probably as close as he'll ever come to being married."

The handcuffed victim was getting fiery now. A new fighting light filled her wide determined eyes. The goal wasn't to be free but to still be in decent condition when rescued. If they simply let her go now, they would still be on the streets to come again. And she knew that this needed to be ended sooner rather than later, even if it did cost her a few bruises and cracked ribs.

"Better check your information. Someone is making too many assumptions. Bad information makes for bad business." Fearlessness was the goal. Confident but not cocky. Cocky got pretty young women hurt for life. But she found their concerns about her sex life flattering. A blush even tried to creep across her cheeks just thinking about what her making passionate love to Sherlock would look like.

"I'm certain of the most relevant information we have." The boss was slightly disgruntled, suddenly questioning the work of his own men.

"Where's John?" she asked, changing the subject since someone was obviously not taking special care to get simple details correct. Already, they were showing weaknesses in the group. Overgrown children, really.

"He's in the best care possible, I assure you."

Maybe it was sarcasm, or him just trying to be passive and charming, but something was wrong. This man held himself too high to be entirely criminal. He was more normal than the others, spoke well, and was intelligent enough. She could actually see him thinking as they conversed, unlike the large suited brainwashed monkeys.

"There's something different about you," she ventured as he stepped closer. "You're not exactly one of them. You have another job." Steph paused for a moment, making a few last deductions before making her claim. "Something business where you have to talk to people all day. Maybe a bank?"

He became slightly more tolerable to her eyes when he stopped only a single step away from her. His eyes lit and his amused smile grew. For the first time, the leader genuinely checked her out- she hated being looked up and down as if she were being pictured naked. Again, only one man was allowed to do that.

"You're good. Then again, you'd have to be to keep up with Holmes." The circling began again. "He has it all with you, though, doesn't he? Brains and beauty, I mean. Pity."

"What do you mean 'pity'?"

"Oh, don't play dumb, Cassidy." He hissed the false name. "I heard about that stunt you pulled with your last set of new friends. Clever. But this isn't that laughingstock of a crime group."

"I need to use the toilet rather badly. And don't tempt me to go here because, given the circumstance I will."

Ringleader rolled his eyes, in conflict with himself for a few moments. Another nod was given- this bunch liked the nod, almost comical. She was taken by the same burly man to the next room as the boss ordered him to pay close attention to her. Steph thought about making a joke about sneaking out of a window but her better judgment decided against the smart comment.

"Be quick. And no funny business."

"As if I can do anything in a room with no windows handcuffed. I'm not Houdini, mate," she laughed.

The moment the door closed, she locked it. That was their first mistake- putting the hostage in a locked room. Morons. She let a few silent moment pass. Then she moved to the next phase of her plan. Steph quickly dug into her bra, the handcuffs hurting her wrists, and pulled out a small folded sock from one side and a rectangular shaped sock from the other side (just to keep things appearing even). From the sock, she pulled out her mobile, a large smile playing on her lips. Clever her.

She dialed his number praying that he would answer. This had to go perfect the first time. One ring. Two. Three.
---
Sherlock, now in the cab, felt his phone buzzing in his pocket and began to ignore it, more important things on his mind. One buzz. But something sparked his curiosity. A second buzz. His eyes grew wide and his lips parted in brief shock at the sight of her name on his screen. Three buzzes. In lightning speed, he suddenly put it together. She hadn't been checking the time on his phone earlier- she was putting her number in his contacts. John jumped at the random swift movements of his flat mate.

"Stephanie!"

"A man about your height and age. Brown thick hair parted to the left side. Tenor confident voice. Sinister face. I think he works at a bank. We're in the basement of a large business building."

As she spoke in panicked quick statements, Sherlock could hear a loud thumping sound and a deep voice yelling at her.

"Are you hurt?" A very loud bang rang in his ears, a gunshot.

"Not yet. Hurry!"

"What do you think you're doing?" the horrible voice yelled before the connection was lost.

Sherlock let the phone fall from his ear as a shocked John stared in silence. He wasn't about to have the first word, not this time. After a few moments, the brilliant detective took a deep breath to gather himself- processing something.

His sharp dark eyes looked out the window before whispering, "Sebastian."