Phoebe woke up to her phone ringing and she saw Mycroft's contact.

"What do you want? It's past midnight. I'm trying to sleep..."

"How was your date with Sherlock?" An unfamiliar voice came through the phone, but Phoebe chalked it up to her being tired.

"It wasn't a date, but it wasn't too bad..." Phoebe groaned as she rolled onto her back.

"I'm in your living room if you wanna talk in person. If you need a hug."

"Okay..." Phoebe hung up and sat up. She got before walking into her living room to see Mycroft but he wasn't there.

"Looking for someone?" A voice came from behind her.

"Oh... shit..." She realized that it wasn't her tired mind. Mycroft didn't call her. She turned around and glared. "Who the hell are you?"

"Come with me, my dear. I'll explain on the way," the man said, but Phoebe shook her head.

"I'm not going anywhere with you," she said defiantly before there was a red dot on her chest. She started to panic, not knowing where the guy with the gun was.

"Change your mind?"

Phoebe nodded and swallowed harshly as she followed the man out of her flat. She was only in a night shirt, but she was too afraid to say anything, not wanting to be shot.

🔎

Sherlock stayed on the couch in a ball as he sulked.

"I don't understand why you think she hates you more now," John said as he sipped his tea.

"I just know she does. She won't talk to me either. Three days of silence. She hates me."

"You can't know that until she tells you that. Maybe she's just been busy. She does have a life you know," John reminded.

"Whatever. It doesn't matter anyway. Dinner was a stupid idea," Sherlock grumbled.

John sighed and got up, walking downstairs. He knocked on Phoebe's door and waited, only getting silence for a response.

He hummed to himself before going back upstairs.

"I think she's at work," John spoke to which Sherlock let out a huff.

"It doesn't matter anyway," he replied again.

"You need to get off your ass and do something. Even if she is mad at you, it's not the end of the world. Since when have you cared whether or not someone's mad at you?"

"I don't care. Who said I cared?" Sherlock turned to glare at John.

"You acting like this says that you care," John answered.

"Well you're wrong, I don't care. She can do whatever she wants. Not my problem."

🔎

John got curious and a bit worried after not seeing Phoebe for two more days.

He went and knocked on Phoebe's door but sighed when she wasn't answering.

"She's probably at work, dear," Mrs. Hudson said and John nodded.

"Alright, thank you, Mrs. Hudson," John said before leaving to go to Phoebe's cafe and bakery.

He went up to the counter, cutting the line. "I'm not ordering. Is Phoebe here?" He asked quickly.

"Nope, she didn't come in. She was supposed to open, but she still hasn't shown," Chloe said and John nodded. "Hasn't been here for her shifts the past few days."

"Thank you," John said calmly, but now he was worried.

He called Phoebe, but there was no answer.

He went back to 221B, peeking in to look at Sherlock who was on his laptop.

"Hey, can you help me with something?"

"What is it?" Sherlock asked, not looking up from his emails.

"I need you to pick a lock for me. We're breaking in to Phoebe's flat," John replied.

Sherlock looked up. "Why?"

"Have you seen her since you took her to dinner?" John asked and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Not this again."

"Sherlock, I'm serious. I think something is wrong," John said as he looked Sherlock dead in the eye.

"Fine," Sherlock groaned as he pushed himself up. "I'm sure she's perfectly fine."

"I just want to be sure," John said before they both went downstairs.

Sherlock used his pick to get into her flat. He pushed the door open and looked around. "Have at it."

"Phoebe?" John called, silence being his only answer once again.

Sherlock went upstairs, thinking it was pointless. "She's probably sleeping or something."

John searched her flat and found that it was empty. No signs of a struggle. Her phone was on her bed so he picked it up.

He grabbed his phone and called Mycroft.

"Dr. Watson, what can I do for you? Is my dear brother in trouble again?" Mycroft asked through the phone.

"Sherlock is fine. Is Phoebe with you? Has she called you at all in the last few days?" John asked.

"No, why?"

"She's missing. I could just be going crazy, but she left her phone in her flat and she hasn't been going to work," John explained.

"She hasn't talked to me," Mycroft said and he hummed. "Is she with Sherlock?"

"No. Neither of us have seen her. Her flat is empty but there's no sign of anything bad happening to her," John said as he went up to his flat.

"I'm sure she is okay, but keep me updated. Goodbye, Dr. Watson," Mycroft said before he hung up.

John put his phone in his pocket. "Her flat is empty and she left her phone on her bed.

"She left her phone?" Sherlock looked over.

"Yes. I've got it right here," John replied, giving Sherlock her phone.

"If we see who and when the last person she talked to was, maybe they know," Sherlock said as he opened her phone.

"Why am I not surprised that you know her password," John said with a sigh.

"Seven four three seven. I looked over her shoulder a while ago. It's helpful to know. I know yours too," Sherlock replied as he went to her contacts.

"And I will be changing it now, thank you," John grumbled.

"The last person she talked to was Mycroft," Sherlock said as he looked at the most recent call that had been answered.

"Well I just spoke with him and he hasn't seen her," John replied.

Sherlock tapped on the call. "Well, it looks like he called her at around twelve thirty in the morning five days ago. The call only lasted like three minutes and-"

"And what?" John asked after Sherlock paused.

"That's not Mycroft's number," Sherlock said.

"What?" John looked at the phone number under the contact name and then opened his own phone, looking at his contact for Mycroft. "How does that make sense?"

"Let's find out." Sherlock pressed the call button and it rang three times before someone picked up.

"Hello, Sherlock! Did you miss me?"

"Moriarty... what are you doing?" Sherlock asked, almost excited that he would get to play a game, though he was curious as to why Moriarty would possibly risk being tracked like this. There was no way he would be so careless and sloppy.

"I have a friend of yours here with me," he spoke playfully. "She's been with me for a few days now. She's a pretty little thing."

Sherlock felt his mouth go dry.

"Say hello, Miss Hunt," Moriarty said and Phoebe growled.

"You're an idiot if you think he'll come to my rescue. He could care less if I live or die," Phoebe spat and Sherlock frowned.

"You think so negatively, dear."

"What do you want, Moriarty? How do I save her?" Sherlock stood up.

"Oo! Eager are we!" Moriarty's sick tone resonated in Sherlock's mind.

"Tell me what needs to be done," Sherlock demanded, glaring at the wall in front of him.

"I have a special little case laid out for you. You'll find the file on the sofa in her flat," came the reply from the other end of the line. "You have eight hours. Good luck."

Sherlock bolted down the stairs the moment the line disconnected.

"Sherlock?! What the hell is happening?!" John questioned as he chased after the curly haired detective.

"I have to save Phoebe. I can't allow her to be hurt because of me," Sherlock said as he swung the door to Phoebe's flat open, finding the file on her sofa.

"Can't we trace the number? What about background noise that you heard?" John quickly suggested.

Sherlock immediately shook his head as he opened the file. "No! You know as well as I do that any attempt to track him will lead to Phoebe's death."

John breathed deeply as he nodded. "Right. So what do we need to do."

"Solve the murder of Jenna Maybourne."

🔎

Moriarty hung up and Phoebe closed her eyes as tears started to trickle down her cheek. "Scared he can't do it?"

"Quiet," she breathed out.

"You care so much," Moriarty taunted.

"Shut up..."

"How does it feel knowing that your life lies in his hands?" He continued. "And it took him so long to realize you were gone. Some friend he is."

"I said shut up..."

"I'll bet you anything that it was John who realized it first."

Phoebe stayed silent, trying to ignore him."

"You still love him, but he will never be able to love you back."

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Phoebe burst and he just laughed. "I don't love him! I just don't want you to keep toying with him! I know about what you did and it's sick!"

She spit on him but all he did was laugh as he walked around her.

"Such a fun little toy." Moriarty played with her hair. "Don't worry, my dear."

Phoebe closed her eyes again and tried to stop her tears. Moriarty leaned down to her ear.

"Sherlock loves the game~"

"Why do you need me?" Phoebe curled up.

"Because you're special to him. I can use you and John Watson to make Sherlock Holmes dance," Moriarty spoke smoothly as he circled her.

"What are you making him do? Please don't hurt him," Phoebe begged.

"I'm gonna make him dance until he drops. You're gonna be the reason he dies, Phoeboletta Rose Hunt. You're gonna help me burn him from the inside out," Moriarty purred and she trembled as she shook her head.

"No. No, I would never help you hurt Sherlock," Phoebe said as she breathed heavily.

"You won't have a choice~"

🔎

Sherlock walked into the house, ignoring the protests of the officers trying to stop him.

Anderson turned when he saw Sherlock and John approaching.

"Now hold on a minute, we didn't invite you onto the scene," Anderson started as he got in front of Sherlock.

"Get out of my way," Sherlock pushed passed him with a harsh look, looking around for Lestrade.

When Greg saw him, he immediately ran up. "Sherlock? What are you doing here? I didn't call for you. You're currently tresspassing."

"It doesn't matter. Moriarty is back and he took Phoebe," Sherlock said as he handed Lestrade the file. "He told me that the only way I can save her is to solve this case. The murder of Jenna Maybourne."

"But Jenna hasn't even been declared dead, only missing. We just arrived on the scene. We haven't found her body," Lestrade said as John looked around.

"Well there has to be something or Moriarty wouldn't have directed us to this case," John said as he turned back to the Inspector.

"I don't know what to tell you boys. You can investigate, but there isn't annything here," Lestrade said.

"We'll be the judge of that. He wouldn't have led us to this place for no reason." Sherlock began to walk away with a stern look on his face.

He went through all the rooms in the house and John helped him as he looked for any clue as to where this woman's body was.

"Sherlock! I think I found something!" John called from the masterbedroom.

Sherlock raced into the room and looked at where John was.

"There's loose planks under the bed," John said and Sherlock lifted up a plank of wood to reveal a leg. "My God, she's in there."

Sherlock and John began ripping up the floorboards.

"Lestrade! We found it!" John called and the detective inspector ran into the room.

Sherlock was prying up the planks with his bare hands, revealing more of the body with each plank removed.

"Oh my God," Lestrade breathed out as he began helping Sherlock to get the floorboards up.

Once the body was fully revealed, John immediately began inspecting the body.

"Bruising around the neck shows that she was strangled, though I believe the cause of death was her bleeding out. These wounds are deep," John analyzed as he looked back up at Sherlock.

The consulting detective gently lifted her hand and looked at the skin that was lodged under her nails. He looked at her other hand and saw strands of ginger hair under her nails on that hand. He grabbed a little plastic bag for evidence and slipped the strands of hair into the baggie.

"I need to get these analyed quickly. I have seven hours left," Sherlock said quickly as Lestrade took the evidence bags.

John looked at Sherlock whose hand had a slight tremor. He'd never seen him so worried before.

🔎

Sherlock sat in the cab that was taking him and John to Scotland Yard, his leg bouncing up and down as he watched the city go by.

"Are you okay, Sherlock?" John asked as he watched Sherlock.

"She was taken because of me. He took you before and now he has Phoebe. He has no problem killing people to get what he wants. I don't want her to die because of me. She hates me enough as it is," Sherlock replied as he gripped his locket tighter.

"We'll solve this case, and get Phoebe back safely. That's the only option at the moment," John said before his phone rang. "It's Mycroft."

He answered it and Sherlock looked over to hear the conversation.

"Hello?" John spoke slowly.

"Hello, Doctor. I was calling to see if you had found Phoebe yet," Mycroft spoke over the phone.

"Oh, um... about that..." John started as he cleared his throat. "She was kidnapped."

The other end was silent for a moment.

"We're doing everything-"

"Move heaven and earth if you have to. Get her home safely. Her dying isn't an option," Mycroft spoke coldly.

"Will do. I'll keep you updated," John said before the line was disconnected.

🔎

"So you've known Sherlock for quite a while, haven't you?"

Phoebe kept her eyes closed as she tried to block out Moriarty's voice. She wasn't tied up, but she didn't dare try anything, knowing that even the smallest attempt at escape, she would be killed immediately. The room was lit by only one candle.

"He was your partner in almost all of your school projects, hmm? Kind of a loner, weren't you?" Moriarty circled Phoebe as he read her file. "I'd even go so far as saying you fancied him in school."

"What do you want? You already know everything there is to know about me. What else could you possibly need from me?" Phoebe finally spoke as she looked at him with a glare.

"I already told you, darling. You are my key to Sherlock Holmes," he replied as he brushed his fingers along her cheek to which she jolted with a look of disgust.

"Why do you want Sherlock? He's done nothing to you! Just leave him alone," Phoebe pleaded as she looked at Moriarty, tears pooling in his eyes.

"Now why would I do that? It's too much fun," he replied with a grin. "Don't worry, I'll dispose of him once I've had enough."

A tear trickled down her cheek and he swiped it up, licking his finger as he smirked.

"You really are in love with him, aren't you? Enough to cry over him."

"I don't love him. Stop saying that. I just don't want him to die. I lost him once and I... I can't lose him again. He means so much to me." She wanted to curl up in a little ball and scream. She wanted to go home. She was scared and was praying that Sherlock was able to solve whatever case he was given.

"Whatever you say, dear."

With that, Moriarty walked out of the room, blowing out the candle to leave Phoebe alone in the pitch black room.

She scrambled into the corner of the room and curled up, burying her face in her knees. Tears poured down her cheeks. She tried her hardest to not let Moriarty see her cry, but she couldn't help it. She was terrified.

"Please, Sherlock. Please find me. I need you," she whimpered quietly as she trembled a bit. "Just get me out of here. Please."