A Note: From two sleep deprived dorks (one of which just deleted the previous Author's Note by accident)

Trying this again. Check. One, two.

Hello!

Well, as I mentioned in the previous note, this story is the product of a lot of fun, and a lot of hard work, from yours truly and the wonderfully creative GraceW. The first of (hopefully) several Sherlolly stories to come, it's meant to have it all (adventure, drama, angst, you name it).

So! We hope you enjoy this story as much as we enjoyed writing it, and don't forget to review (if you feel so inclined).

Thank you for reading!

There was only the sound of her own ragged breathing when Molly woke up sprawled on the concrete floor in an empty storage room. Her head felt heavy, and it was pounding with what felt like the mother of all headaches. She groaned, turning on her side and taking shallow breaths to control the pain. Where am I?

The place wasn't her flat, and certainly not any other place she'd ever been to before. For that same reason, the location seemed of paramount importance to her. She grudgingly fluttered her eyes open and was met with nothing but blackness pressing in on her pupils. Her heartbeat quickened, and she concentrated on the next important question while she allowed her eyes to adjust. How did I get here?

Memories flashed inside her head as she blinked at the darkened room. She'd been at Bart's, working on her day off. Again. Sherlock had needed her to test some samples and she'd agreed to do it when she had free time. Saturday was her first day off. Is it still Saturday?

That wasn't very likely. It had been dark out when she'd left, and she'd decided to walk rather than take a cab. In retrospect, it had been a stupid decision, especially considering the dismal place she'd wound up in.

Molly's mind was crowded with all the things she could've done to avoid being in the position she was currently in. She could've taken a cab. Been more aware of her surroundings. Ignored the text alert on her phone. It was always Sherlock texting her nowadays with something new he wanted her to do. It could've waited.

Maybe if she'd done those things, she would've heard the car pulling up next to her on the sidewalk; heard the footsteps coming up behind her sooner; avoided the small pinch of the needle against her neck before everything went dark. And I wouldn't be here.

Her eyes had finally adjusted, and she sat up slowly to examine the room. Brick walls; concrete floors; and the unmistakable damp smell of water nearby. Molly pulled her legs up to her chest and rested her head on her knees. Her head was still pounding, and she was confused, scared, and cold.

She didn't know why she was here, or who'd brought her here in the first place. There was only one possible reason she could think of, but she didn't want it to be true. Instead, she concentrated on keeping herself calm and warm, gathering as much information as she could about the place. If she was right, and somehow she really felt she was, she'd need all three to make it out alive.

The sound of a door opening somewhere in front of her made her look up and squint into the sudden flood of light. Her body tensed.

"Miss Hooper." The voice was gravelly, thick, and heavily accented. It sounded Russian, but she couldn't be sure until he spoke again. "I believe you have a phone call."

Sherlock Holmes let out a frustrated sigh as he scanned his emails. Nothing. No new clients. Lestrade hadn't called or texted with a new case. Of course it had been four hours since he had solved his last one. Gang related, nasty but a simple case the police were, of course, too inept to handle. But those four hours were an eternity for the bored detective.

Slamming the laptop closed with a bit more force that he probably needed, he grabbed his phone and flopped down on the couch in a huff. He started typing. Molly Hooper, answer your phone. Did you save that liver I requested? SH

Molly had been ignoring his texts all night. It was beginning to annoy him. He sent a different text. I'm bored. Where are you? SH

A reply sounded a few seconds later. I'm in Dublin for a medical conference. I told you I was leaving. Weren't you listening? JW

Sherlock frowned at the screen. Of course not. When will you be back? SH

Wednesday morning. Can't you keep yourself out of trouble for three days? JW

Sherlock didn't bother responding and instead curled himself on the couch. He needed something to do. He lay there for a total of three minutes before jumping up again and walking over his coffee table. John's gun had to be around here somewhere.

It was then than his phone started to ring. Sherlock's first thought was new case, since the only other person who actually called him was Mycroft. His brother was in a rather important meeting tonight and would not be making phone calls, much to Sherlock's amusement. The number was withheld, could still be a case because his number was on his website, but a little warning bell sounded in his head. He picked it up and answered it. "Hello."

"Mr. Holmes." The male's accent was heavy. Serbian.

"Yes. Can I help you?" Sherlock asked professionally.

"I believe we can help each other. I have your doctor. And in exchange, I would like you to relinquish all evidence from the case you just solved."

"John is out of the city, please call back when you have some real leverage." Sherlock snapped back, putting the phone down to hang up.

A deep chuckle sounded through the speaker and Sherlock brought it back up to his ear. "Your lady doctor. The pretty brown haired one that cuts up dead things for you."

Sherlock frowned, that's why she hadn't been answering his phone. "You have Molly Hooper."

"And I promise, I can do some unpleasant things to her if you do not do as I say." Sherlock could hear the man's smile through the phone and it made him angry.

"You want the evidence I compiled on your 'business' partner, who incidentally was responsible for two murders and several accounts of rape and abuse in the last year alone." Sherlock said calmly. "The evidence was given to the police when we arrested him earlier today. I cannot help you."

"You are a gifted man, Mr. Holmes. I'm sure you can find a way to retrieve it, I do have 'real leverage'."

"I want to speak to Molly. Now." Sherlock demanded. "And it must be two minutes or more, I don't appreciate being rushed."

The man chuckled again, but Sherlock heard a door and several voices in the background as he waited for Molly on the other side of the phone. He tapped his fingers impatiently.

"Hello?" Molly's voice was weak, but steady.

"Molly." Sherlock said quickly but calmly. "Have they hurt you? I need to know all the information you can gather on your location, even the smallest obscure detail. Watch what you say, these men are dangerous."

"No, I'm fine." Molly replied quickly. There was a pause before she spoke again. "It's just, you know, a little damp and very cold. You know how I hate these old buildings." Her tone had changed. It was too light to be genuine.

"Good. Sounds, what do you hear? What do you smell?" Sherlock said.

"At least I can get some thinking done, it's nice and quiet." Molly replied. "Do you need me to say anything to prove that I'm alright?"

Sherlock's mind was whirling, narrowing down the possibilities. He needed more information though. "Keep talking. Any other observations?"

"Well, it's not really a hotel, you know." Molly laughed, but the sound was hollow. "It's just me and some boxes down here. Printing paper, though, so maybe I can start writing my next piece. Might even get published."

"Perfect." Sherlock said calmly. "Don't do anything that could put you in danger. Don't be afraid. I will find you."

"I know." Molly replied, relief evident in her voice. "Be careful."

Sherlock heard a small squeak from Molly as the phone was jostled away from her. The man was back on the phone. "Mr. Holmes. I want the evidence by tomorrow night. I will text you directions when the time comes. Also, I shouldn't have to tell you, inform the police of this and you will be finding pieces of your lady doctor all over London." Pause. "Goodnight, Mr. Holmes."

When the line went dead Sherlock tossed the phone onto his chair and began to pace. He had to narrow down the options. He had to think. Old building, yes. Disused, more than likely. Damp and cold, not that unusual in London, but helpful. Quiet? Away from any major motorways or factories, that narrowed things down. Paper. Paper. Paper. Paper. Serbian gang movement. East? No, north. Water source nearby. Paper factory or distribution plant. Think!The deductions, maps and thought process flashed in his mind as he reached several different conclusions. He needed more information. The CCTV footage.

With a hurried movement, he grabbed his Belstaff and scarf and ran down the stairs and out onto the street. Mycroft's office would have it. He did like to keep tabs on his little brother's most frequented locations, which was to Sherlock's advantage tonight. The area around St. Bart's was not an exception.

A taxi ride later, in which he was forced to endure the chattiness of his least favorite cabbie, and he was using his illegally copied key to break into Mycroft's office. Perhaps his brother would change the locks again, but it had only been four months since the last time.

As he stepped into the office, Sherlock briefly considered contacting Lestrade but quickly decided against it. This was something he could and would do alone. Molly's life depended on it. On the plus side, he wasn't bored now. He had a puzzle to solve, a task to complete.

The video footage, once he tracked it down, showed Molly leaving the hospital earlier that evening. He had to find the various cameras that caught her movement. The time stamp on the video that showed her actually being taken was two hours ago. The kidnappers knew where the camera was, because the vehicle was difficult to make out, aside from the fact that it was dark four door car. It also appeared they used a light sedative to take her without a fight. Subtract the time from the phone call and commute to the office, and she was taken one hour and ten minutes before they phoned. He calculated the places she could have been taken in that time frame, which ruled out some of the places further outside the city and narrowed it down to a few possibilities.

He was out the door as quickly as he entered, not even taking an extra second to reorganize his brother's pen collection, as was his usual.

He was about to flag down a taxi when he spotted Mycroft's second car, the one he used to pick people up to speak to at anytime at any obscure location. Sherlock would more than likely need it in case he had to make a quick getaway. It was justified and not the first time he had taken it for a joy ride. With the knowledge that he would receive a lecture from his brother, the detective stole the car, unable to suppress the mischievous grin he flashed to the security camera.

Half an hour of Saturday night London traffic later, Sherlock pulled the car under a busted streetlight across the street from his destination. The disused paper mill sat to the north of the city's center and was within the probable driving time specified on the video. A dark colored car and an old truck were the only vehicle around. This location was becoming more and more likely as he observed the layout, possibly a place of exchange of information, drugs, and other goods and services.

Determined, Sherlock crept towards the building, senses on alert and brain whirling with the possibilities.

Molly watched as the man left the room to finish up with the call. One, or more of those men would probably be back any minute, but she decided she would make the most of her time alone until then.

Picking herself up off the floor, Molly looked around, careful to take in the details this time. There wasn't all that much she could see, considering the light, or lack thereof, but that didn't mean she couldn't try. There was always something.

The door was a normal wooden door, Molly noticed as she stepped closer. She ran her hands over the surface, noticing the uneven texture, likely brought on from being in such a damp place for so long without any proper coating. In spite of that, the door still fit in the doorframe and it was heavy. Maybe too heavy for her to attempt an escape. She grimaced.

Moving on to the walls, Molly walked around the room, skimming the surface with her hands. She'd seen they were brick before, and now she confirmed it. There wasn't a lot she could do with that. Especially since the only thing that could even be considered a window was a barely discernible rectangle far back in the room. She frowned, walking over to examine it closely.

"Hm." She murmured thoughtfully. "No, too small."

The sound of the door opening behind her startled her out of her thoughts and she swiveled around to face the man who'd entered the room.

"Can I trust you to be a good girl and do as I say?" It was the same man who'd brought the phone only minutes ago. Molly straightened, finding that proper posture provided the slightest measure of control. Or at least, the illusion of it.

"Why should I do anything you ask?" Molly replied, keeping her voice as low and calm as possible. It was an honest question, but she didn't want to risk angering this man either. "I don't even know why I'm here. For all I know, you could be planning to kill me no matter what happens."

The man walked over to her, closing the distance between them but not moving to touch her at all. With the light filtering through the door it was hard to make out his features, but she could tell he wasn't young. Possibly in his fifties, and high up in whatever organization this was, judging by his clothes and perfume, which she recognized as an expensive, though not particularly appealing one. She wrinkled her nose.

"Because, Miss Hooper." He walked around her, taking hold of her ponytail and wrapping it once around his hand before pulling down on it. Her knees connected painfully with the floor and Molly bit her lip to keep from crying out. "There are things I can do to you what will have you begging for death with the last painful breath in your body."

The man leaned down until his face was just inches from hers, tightening his grip on her hair and pulling it further back. Molly gasped, but resisted the urge to struggle against him.

"Why don't I give you some time to think it over?" He smiled a bone chilling smile, unceremoniously letting go of her hair and straightening before strutting out of the room. She could still hear him chuckling when the door was closed behind him, leaving her in total darkness once more.

Molly took a deep, relieved breath when the man was gone. Making quick work of loosening her hair she sat down on the floor and braided it to the side. Her hands were shaking, but working with her braid made them steady and it allowed her to focus.

Don't do anything that could put you in danger. Don't be afraid. I will find you.

Sherlock's words echoed around in her head and she focused on them. She needed to keep a cool head and her fear under control. Whatever this man asked of her, she needed to comply and buy Sherlock some time. If anything, she could at least avoid getting herself killed before he had a chance to find her. Because he would find her, she thought fiercely.

Molly finished with her braid and pulled her legs up to her chest again, wrapping her arms around them. She repeated the words like a mantra, taking intermittent deep breaths until the initial panic had subsided. The minutes passed, Molly wasn't sure how many, but eventually the door opened once again. She tensed, her eyes squinting against the light as the same man walked in with two other men following close behind him. Her heartbeat immediately accelerated.

"Change of plans, Miss Hooper." He loomed over her and Molly had to tilt her head back to look at him. It was an uncomfortable feeling. Powerlessness.

"I'm sorry?" Molly frowned, instinctively drawing her legs nearer to her body.

"Oh, good girl. You've got the hang of it already." He put his hands in his pockets and grinned at her before he continued. "Whether or not you decide to cooperate is now entirely optional, though a healthy dose of insolence on your part will be preferred. I fear we'll need something a bit more dramatic if your friend, the consulting detective, doesn't come through."

"He will." Molly replied quickly. Her voice was shaky but it was there. "If you know who he is then you know it's just a matter of time."

"Yes, but how much time? No, no, I'm afraid he will need an incentive." He sneered, taking a step away and motioning for the other two men to pick her up. Molly didn't fight them, still trying to make the man believe that there was no need for any of it to go any further.

"Not a lot of time, I'm sure." Molly insisted. "Please, you really don't have to do this."

"Like I said, this is just an incentive." He shrugged, but there was something behind the movement that suggested anything but nonchalance. It was snakelike and eerie. Molly could feel her skin crawl. He swaggered over to her, and the men's grip on her arms tightened painfully. "And who says I do things because I have to?"

"But—"

"Take her to the Pit." He ordered, and Molly paled as she was pushed forward and out of the room.