He was sitting in one of those high backed chairs, the ones that Mrs Hudson always thought looked so nice when she saw them on design shows, the ones that John argued would make you feel trapped.

John was right on that count. Sherlock did indeed feel trapped, although that may have had something more to do with rough strips of rope wrapped around his wrists and ankles, rather than simply the chair. Of course, it didn't help that the chair was tall and suffocating.

Kidnapped then. Always an adventure. But he wasn't on a case, so he really didn't know why he was taken this time. He didn't recall offending anyone as of late, (of course, John really was the authority on that) nor did he see any signs of impending danger last time he'd been forced to speak with Mycroft.

It was all rather puzzling. Not to mention he couldn't quite recall the events leading up to this.

He wracked his brain. There was a smell... a sickly sweet smell.


Chloroform. Messy and inaccurate, and effective only if you know what you're doing, which Sherlock doubted these men did. They were lucky he wasn't dead.

Right. The men. Two of them in the room with him, seemingly unaware he had awoken, which gave him the advantage. Neither of them looked very clever, but at least they were wearing masks, which meant they didn't intend to kill him.

He wondered whose clever idea it was to use chloroform. He had to admit, that while being dangerous, it was remarkably effective, and was one thing he hadn't built up a tolerance to yet, (and suspected John would frown upon doing so now).

A whiff of the sweet smelling stuff, and Sherlock had struck out, not caring who he hit, as long as it was one of the people who was surrounded him. And it seemed he had managed by the way the one man was holding himself gingerly.

He smirked. At least he had broken some ribs before he passed out. Served them right.

Apparently his smirking had grown louder than usual, or else he had just gotten unlucky, because the man without the broken ribs looked up at him and nudged his partner, whispering to him.

Sherlock grinned at them.

They looked away from him and talked between themselves for a few minutes, occasionally glancing back, as if Sherlock was going to escape.

He used that time to wrack his brain, trying to remember anything before this. Anything during that day at all. He and John had been... out? At Angelo's, so probably for supper. Was it a stakeout? It would explain why he was here and not John, if he had gone running in one direction and John in another.

Oh god, what about Gladstone? She must have been with me...

As if she had heard Sherlock thinking about her, Gladstone let out a whine, and Sherlock craned his neck to see her tied to some sort of post to the left and behind him. She was safe, or at least as safe as he was.

The men were still muttering to each other, nothing that Sherlock could make out. He sighed loudly, already bored, which prompted the man with the broken ribs to glare at him.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him, and he looked away, still scowling.

He looked back to Gladstone, who perked up when he make eye contact. She stood up, and looked like she wanted to get to him, straining against the leash that held her back.

She whined.

Oh damn.

"Gentlemen," Sherlock said calmly. "I suggest you lay me on the floor within the next five minutes, or you are going to have a serious problem."

The men looked at him, then looked at each other. They burst out laughing.

Sherlock smirked. "It's all the same to me, really," he continued. "But it'll only make it that much worse for you when you get caught."

They only scoffed at him and left, muttering between them.

Sherlock sighed. He really didn't mind, after all, it was for The Work, but Gladstone was getting rather anxious, and Sherlock feared what they would do to her. Keeping her away from him during a seizure could have disastrous consequences, and he didn't fear as much for his own safety as he did for hers.

"Shh..." he soothed her. "It's alright."

He gave her a warning glance, and she quieted down somewhat, still whimpering and looking anxious.

I know, he told her. I don't like it either. But it's going to be fine.

Neither of them believed him.