"I've been meaning to ask by the way - " John began to ask his question as he and Sherlock walked through the front door.

But the question wasn't processed by Sherlock. Instead, he noted that Mrs Hudson's door was closed. She never closed it. Especially when people she knew were here. Something was wrong. He could sense it, feel it in his gut even.

"Yeah, almost..." He replied, not really sure what he was answering, as he walked over to Mrs Hudson's apartment door.

John watched the detective do this, slightly freaked out and hoping that his friend was just joking around by acting like a spooked animal, "She's probably resting Sherlock, there's no need to unnecessarily disturb Mrs Hudson." With that John headed upstairs to Sherlock's flat.

But Sherlock stayed by the door, gently placing his hand on the handle, easily opening the door. More alarm bells were going off. If Mrs Hudson did decide to rest, she would have locked the door, just in case of any intruders.

"Mrs Hudson?" He called as he walked in.

Immediately, he saw her slumped in her chair, not in the kind of way you would normally have expected to find some who, say, simply fell asleep. Her arms were hanging over sides of the chair and her legs were poised straight. He wasted no time in checking her pulse and whether she was still breathing or not - both of which were fine. She would be -

THUD.

Sherlock's head immediately looked up at the ceiling, his mind already on his friend, "JOHN!?"

Racing upstairs and through the already open apartment door, he looked left, and caught sight of John's feet peeking out from the entrance to the kitchen. Rushing over to his friend, he saw a cut on the side of his head.

"John? John, can you hear me?" The detective shook his friend gently, earning a quiet groan.

A look of concern flashed upon his face and before he could process the creaking of the floor behind him, he turned his head to meet a heavy boot to the face.

* * * * *

Elizabeth awoke to a quiet humming coming from the woman who had previously ambushed her in 221B. It was soft, haunting and most of all intimidating. Was it a children's nursery rhyme tune? Her head was too foggy to work it out. Hissing as the throbbing at the back of her head began to consciously settle in, Elizabeth tried to move but soon found that she was bound to a chair.

The humming turned into a deep, dark chuckle, amused at her pain. As Elizabeth came to her senses, she found that she was in a house of some sort - not abandoned, but new? The smell of fresh paint filled her nose and it made her eyes water slightly. White was the colour of the walls and plastic sheets covered the holes where the windows would soon be placed. There couldn't be anyone near by - this had to be a new housing development.

"If I decide to make you scream, no one will hear you. If that's what you're wondering anyway." The woman walked in front of her, where Elizabeth could now see and watch her now, "I never asked, before, if you remembered me or not?"

Fatigue overpowered the need to speak so all she answered with was a vacant expression.

"Didn't think you would. You were still quite young when he brought you along for a ride. He took you to my home. You robbed me. Jim took everything that I love and cared for. Now, I'm going to take away the one thing he cares about too. Then he'll know how I felt all those years ago."

Rope had been used to bind her arms behind the back of the chair. Perhaps if she strained hard enough, she could snap the rope? Or sprain or break her wrists but that was beside the point. The rope didn't feel very thick - it could work but she would need the woman to leave before she could try anything.

"What's - your name? If you're going to kill me, might as well know your name." Elizabeth slurred out.

"Scarlett."

No where in her mind did that name ring a bell. The existence of this woman was news to her but that said, when Jim did take her in, they had done a lot in terms of petty theft and crime. What could he have possibly done to 'Scarlett' to piss her off this much?

"I would - say nice to meet you but - this isn't exactly a nice situation. Don't s'pose you'll loosen the rope? Kinda tight - a little kinky." Elizabeth offered up a dazed, amused grin.

She wasn't trying to piss Scarlett off further but humour was a good method to ignore the pain in her head. Plus, she wasn't lying - it was a little kinky when you thought about it. Scarlett rolled her eyes at her response when the sound of a door opening elsewhere in the house drew her attention away. Looking back to Elizabeth with a murderous glint in her eyes, she offered up that taunting crimson smile once again.

"I'll be back."

"Don't hurry - not that I'm going anywhere."

The moment 'Lips' left the room, Elizabeth started to work on the rope that her hands were bound with. Surprisingly, it was easier than she thought to get out of - like generally just not tied correctly - tight but not good enough. Maybe that was simply because she had been taught how to get out of situations like that. As she stood up and looked around the room, she saw that behind her was a surgeons trolley with a set of rather terrifying medical instruments placed neatly in a row. Dear God, she really had to get out of here. Sneaking out of the room, she could hear Scarlett talking with someone in what she guessed to be the kitchen and quickly hurried into the room across from hers. It was a new development though - where could she hide? Well, she could leave - it would be noisy because of the plastic sheets but of she were quick enough, perhaps she could hide in another house? Before she could make any further move though, there was a deep cry of pain from the kitchen that made her stop dead.

"Come out, come out where ever you are unless you want the detective to suffer more."

There was an oddly delighted hint in her voice as though Scarlett was happy that she got the chance to say that, that she was able to test her morals. If it were any other person, she would have left. Having worked with Jim a lot, you got used to leaving people behind but sometimes you spent just that bit too much time with a person.

Elizabeth could get away. She could be free of house arrest. She could go into hiding. She could do so much if she just left. Sherlock was the root cause of her problems with Jim. Sherlock got Shaun killed. She could leave.

But Elizabeth couldn't bring herself to do that because she knew she stood no chance of escaping from Jim. That and she knew she couldn't blame Sherlock for saving her. An eye for an eye.

"Five...four - " Scarlett was counting down to add to the pressure of her decision.

The woman had barely gotten to 'two' when Elizabeth appeared in the entrance to the kitchen, a dejected look on her face. She couldn't leave Sherlock. When her eyes fell upon the bloodied and beaten detective, her stomach churned. She could have sworn that one of the bruises on his face looked similar to a boot print. The thief made a move to go to him until two arms grabbed her by her shoulders and held her in place.

Sherlock was bent forwards slightly, presumably in response to the pain of the last action. Elizabeth didn't even want to know how many more bruises were underneath his shirt but his unruly curls and bloody nose and mouth just made her worry more. He was looking at her with - what she thought would be a more detested look - a rather hopeful one. Perhaps he was surprised she didn't leave.
Elizabeth was glad she didn't leave because seeing Sherlock in such a state just made her want to help him more.

"I knew you wouldn't leave him." Came Scarlett's smug tone, "A moral code is such such a terrible thing to have in these situations."

"You have me now, willingly. Let him go." Elizabeth met Scarlett's watchful gaze.

She seemed to consider it for a moment, her lips once again spreading into a thin, red slit on her face, almost patronisingly until she said, "No."

"No?"

"Not yet anyway. He can stay for the show."

A more fearful flicker crossed Elizabeth's eyes, please Lord, if she's going to kill me, make it quick, came her thought. The worst part was knowing that it would never be quick. Elizabeth knew it the moment she found herself tied to a chair in the other room and saw the table of medical instruments. For this though, she blamed Jim. She blamed Jim for making it seems like he cared about her or, if he supposedly genuinely did, for making it so damn well obvious.

"Beat her."