Hi everybody! This is my first one shot book-so please, don't judge. Enjoy! Or as the French say, prende plaisir! Also, special thanks to my friend and fellow fangirl Katie for her help on this one. Check out her awesome stuff on her profile, !

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OC: Rachel Masters

Ropes cut into my wrists, and I could barely move. The explosives strapped to my chest and back were digging into my ribcage, and I could already feel bruises forming. If I ever got out of this, I'd definitely need to go to a hospital. Except for one eensy weensy problem; there was a 99.99999999999% chance that I was going to die in approximately-8 hours.

I don't remember being kidnapped-I just remembered walking down by the Thames, when out of nowhere, a mask appeared in front of my face, and someone wearing black gloves strapped it over my mouth. A smell of gas filled my nostrils, and before I could officially freak out, my vision went dark.

When I finally had came to, I was tied up with dynamite strapped to my torso, and a sinister looking man was grinning insanely at me.

"Hello there," he said in a surprisingly high voice.

"Goodbye there." I snarkily replied, earning me a look of appraisal.

"Well then..." creepy guy replied. "What's your name, love?"

"Really? Formalities? You've just strapped me and to a pole under London Bridge, with a literal ticking time bomb; it's a little late to be getting friendly."

"Aww....why can't all you people be more fun? You always yell, and cry, and scream 'Please, no, why?', and I always have to buy earplugs. Which is why I don't like to do this sort of thing..."

He looked off into space, a grin forming on his face.

"Of course, I had to get his attention somehow...."

I smirked right back.

"Who, your boyfriend? This seems a little much, if that's the case."

Scowling, he pulled a small mobile phone from his pocket, and handed it to me.

"Don't ask questions. It's annoying. Now you are going to call the number I give you, and leave this message; if he doesn't pick up, of course. If he does, you better not stray from the script, or these bombs go off eight hours early."

I have to admit, I was a little scared; this guy was clinically insane! But one thing I've learned, is that you survive longer by concealing your fear. So that's what I did. By laughing

"You seriously think I'm going to do that? Well, I'll die either way, since you obviously won't allow any rescues. Obviously."

Something tightened in his face, and his nutty smile became a little more forced. I smirked, knowing a nerve had just been struck.

"So no way am I playing your psychotic game, if that's what you want."

Again, he was taken aback by my audacity, but quickly recovered.

"Oh, well. I'm sorry you feel that way-but I'm sure you'll feel differently once you realize just how much I know about you, Rachel Masters."

I froze. How did he......?
"Yes, now we're getting somewhere. You see, you think you're so clever about the concealment of your sister; you think that no one will ever hurt her in that facility you put her in; but it just so happens that I have connections in that facility- and at any given time, I can choose to have the nurses accidently slip something into her meds, or arrange for an arsonist to pay her a visit. You see, love, I do have leverage-it just depends on your cooperation."

At the mention of my sister, I cracked. Poor, sweet, innocent, Allie. My crazy (but talented) little sibling, whose condition required isolation, discretion, and a minimal amount of bladed objects within his reach. If this guy hurt a hair on her head......

"Fine. All right. I'll call this bloke, but only if you swear never to harm my sister."

"Sure, love."

"Swear it."

"Alright, alright, I promise. Now. here's what you're going to say......"

So I found myself speaking desperately into the provided phone, as the man in black stood over me.

"Help, please!" I cried with no emotion. "He's going to kill me! You only have eight hours!"

Looking up, I saw the man mouthing make it real and gesturing to the phone in his hand. So I did make it real-but for Allie. Only for Allie.

"Please. I don't know what to do-I'm going to die!"

The man on the other line was quiet, and I heard the occasional comment from another man's voice, sounding scared. The thought of my death, and leaving Allison alone drove me to formulate a plan-a sneaky, sneaky plan.

When I was ten and Allie was six, we'd learned Morse Code so we could communicate without our parents finding out. I still used it absentmindedly now and then; but now I'd finally have a use for it. Ever so sneakily, I started tapping out a simple SOS-and then transitioned into tapping out "London Bridge". The man on the other end went silent, and I hoped to God that he could understand. Finally, I ran out of things to say, and hung up. Handing the pager back to the man, he clapped sarcastically.

"Wonderful performance, love. Ever considered the West End?"

Snarling, I sank down, and waited.

*3rd Person POV*

Sherlock, for the first time in his life, was confused. Of course, he'd never admit for the world, but deep down, he had no idea how to track down any of these desperate hostages. So far, three had died, and he wasn't sure if he wanted a fourth on his conscience. But this one was different; she hadn't sounded quite as desperate as the others, and at the end of her call, she had started tapping on the speaker of her phone. This either meant she had a nervous habit, the connection was bad, or she was trying to communicate through code. Since the latter was the most probable, he decided to investigate it.

"John!" The black-haired man yelled at his partner. "John I need your laptop!"

A short, middle-aged man appeared in the living room door.

"Sherlock, it's right next to you. On my desk, like it always is?"

"Can you get it for me?" Sherlock remained seated comfortably, while an annoyed John handed him the computer.

No thank you was heard; however Sherlock had other priorities. His knowledge of Morse Code was minimal, and it took him almost five minutes, (a long time for him), to decode the woman's message. He ended up with two options: London Bridge or London with another certain word at the end. Since it seemed improbable that the woman would refer to herself in such a manner given her circumstances, the former was what he took to be her message.

"John!" He yelled, grabbing his trench coat. "John we're leaving!"

*Rachel's POV*

Now I sit, mentally twiddling my thumbs, as I slowly watch the timer on the dynamite get closer and closer to blow time. Just to annoy Moriarty, (I had managed to learn his name), I started whistling the most annoying tune I could possibly think of-and it worked. He decided to gag me-which just shows that he has no taste in music. Luckily, the gag was loose, so spitting it out was no feat at all.

As the timer hit forty minutes, I began to worry. The man I gave the Morse Code to on the phone was my only hope-if he hadn't realized what I was trying to tell him, I was done for. I'm not the religious type; but for the second time that day, I prayed to God that the man had half a brain.
"Time's running out, hon." Moriarty said, smirking.

Could he seriously only pull that one face? After staring at it for an nearly eight hours, it was getting old.

"I really hope you don't think someone is going to rescue you-I truly believed you were smarter than that. In fact, I've had the most fun with you than with any of my other hostages-you don't scream and cry, for starters, and plus, you're really quite witty. It'll be a shame to see you be blown to pieces, a right shame."

"Don't worry yourself, Moriarty." I spat back, angrily. I wished I could slap that stupid smirk off his face, but unfortunately, my bonds restrained me.

"I'll be back soon, hon, so don't try anything when I'm gone."

So again, I was alone; waiting for a rescue that would never come. When I was a teenager, I was a huge feminist, so I'd always dreamed of rescuing myself from danger without a man-but now I could see no way that I could possibly save myself in this situation.

Time went on, and it seemed as if the clock was speeding up rather than slowing down. People say when their life is on the line time crawls; well, people are wrong. I was so distracted and out of it, that I didn't notice a taxi pull over to the side of the bridge above me; and two men got out.

When I did see them, I thought they were more of Moriarty's cronies come to torment me. However, I noticed one was wearing a peacoat, and one was wearing a knit sweater-not the usual attire for thugs. I wanted to yell out, but didn't want to risk causing a commotion. Surprisingly, the men looked down to where I was tied up, and the taller one pointed at me. The one next to him sighed, and began lowering himself down, followed by the man in the peacoat.

They reached me surprisingly fast, and they immediately set to work trying to dismantle the explosives. When the taller, curly haired one seemed to be struggling with the chains, I decided to be the helpful person I am, and give him pointers.

"Lefty loosey, righty tighty," I sing-songed, earning me a piercing glare. "Ya know, I at least hoped my rescuer would be a bit more equipment-savvy."

"I can easily tie you back up and leave you to die, if that's what you'd prefer. Now tell me; where is he?"

I assumed he was talking about my captor.

"He's--you know, I really have no idea. How should I know? Do I look like a fricking ninja stalker?"

"What if I said you did?"
"I'd have to congratulate you on your pitiful sarcasm."

He remained silent; apparently his wit ended there. When he'd finally freed me, I sprang up, and started doing jumping jacks. The two men looked dubiously at me, so I stuck out my tongue.

"Do not judge-if you are ever chained up for eight hours with no use of your limbs, you will understand."

After my arms and legs started to have feeling in them again, I hurriedly took out my cell phone and texted my sister to see if she was okay.

"I can't figure you out." The taller man said bluntly.

"Excuse me?" I replied, offended. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Really." He seemed to be talking to himself now, and it made no sense.

"No clues....question marks....what?"

"Are you crazy, or something, mate? 'Cause you're not making any sense!"

"No, you're not making any sense...." He muttered again, staring intently at me; making me a little uncomfortable.

"Sherlock?" The shorter man broke our staredown anxiously. "Sherlock, I really hate to bother you, but this bomb is still ticking; and if we don't dismantle it, this bridge will collapse."

"Yes, I know about the bomb, John, alright! But this one doesn't have an on-off switch, and you know I have to delete some things." He tapped his temple, and this John bloke rolled his eyes in frustration.

"Ummm....fellas?" I stepped between the two men who were now cluelessly trying to stop the explosives.

"May I cut in?" Sherlock looked annoyed, but John spoke.

"Of course-though I doubt you can do better than the 'infamous Sherlock Holmes'." He made air quotes with his fingers.

"We'll see."I rolled up my sleeves, and within five minutes, the explosives were safe, and the clock had stopped ticking. At five minutes. Whew. Wiping off my hands, I turned around to face an amazed John and an extremely put out Sherlock.

"Well aren't you going to thank me?" I winked at Sherlock, and he grunted.

"So where to next?" I asked, just to annoy him.

"Excuse me?" "Well, since you two would have blown up one of the most beloved structures in our city without my help, I figured you could probably use me to catch this Moriarty bloke."

"I don't want your help." Sherlock replied, angrily. His fists were balling, and I smiled. I have that effect on people.

"Ah, but you need it. There's a difference; every kid is taught that."

"Fine." Sherlock growled, turning around. "But never interrupt me when I'm in my mind palace."

THE END