Damn it all! Why did Amanda know me so well?

I knew I was way in over my head on this. Most likely this trip would be a short one, and I'd be back in America in no time. Though I didn't know Sherlock personally, the news surrounding him was enough to tell me that there was no way on earth he was going to spend his time searching for my father. Still, I couldn't help but have a sliver of hope that maybe he'd take on the task after all, that maybe my stay in London would be longer than a day.

Darien, Amanda, Kendal, and Madison escorted me to the airport. They each hugged me in turn; Kendal and Madison made me swear to tell them what Sherlock Holmes was like when I met him. Amanda had pulled me to the side just before I left, telling me to be extra careful, and that if I was stressed out, I could always call her just so long as I didn't catch her at a bad time.

It was a pretty boring plane ride into London. Thankfully, the ride was quiet, which allowed my mind to wander. It was also a late night flight, as it would take about seven and a half hours to get there. I made sure to keep my mind away from the city that I was returning to. I would deal with the memories once I stepped foot on London ground.

Before long, I was in the place I never wanted to come back to. Like any airport, it was packed. I tried to calm myself down, telling myself that I wasn't the only tourist that arrived in London.

I didn't realize how ahead the time in London was compared to Maryland, not until I checked the clocks in the airport. I made sure to change the times on my phone and iPod temporarily so I didn't screw myself up. Here, the time was nearing 11 a.m.

With a large duffel bag slung across one shoulder and a heavy suitcase in the other hand, I tried flagging down a taxi, but it proved difficult. Many other travelers were mimicking me and being successful. Eventually, before I exploded, I managed to snag one.

I kept my eyes out the window, not on the driver in front of me. Like the first time I had come here, London reminded me of New York City, with its busy streets and sidewalks. But unlike London, New York City never slept. My hands clenched in my lap, memories of my last time here threatened to overtake me.

Even though I managed to push most of the chilling experiences out of my head, one slipped through.

~*~

I really should have invested in a map.

I looked like a lost dog, wandering the streets of London. I wasn't too keen on asking strangers for help, only because I wasn't sure who I would be talking to. I kept to myself, keeping my head low and avoiding contact with others as I walked.

I wished it hadn't taken until nightfall for my flight to get in. To me, night made things seem more difficult. Everything was dark, making finding places a tad bit harder. I kept looking for signs that I was heading in the right direction. So far, I wasn't having any luck. It didn't help that traffic distracted me.

This was a con to being an unprepared tourist.

London seemed to be England's equivalent of New York, with how busy the streets and sidewalks were. I'd been to New York a few times, once when my girlfriends surprised me for my birthday. We decided to take the trip up there for when we graduated too since we liked our first trip so much.

I kept myself towards the center of the sidewalk, away from the alleyways. The last thing I wanted was to get nabbed from one of those places. I knew how often it happened in novels, movies, and shows; I didn't want it to be real.

I should ask someone. They'd know I'm a tourist from my voice, and they'd hopefully be more than willing to help. Isn't that what people did, helped tourists find their way around? If the situation was reversed, I would definitely lend a hand.

Speaking of a hand, I was suddenly jerked to the right, pulled away from the safety of witnesses. I tried to scream, but a large hand muffled me. I struggled, but I was losing as I was pulled deeper into the alley. Somebody surely had to have seen me be plucked off the streets. What if that said someone had but feared for their life?

"Easy, love," a husky, English voice crooned. "Don't put up a fight and it'll be much easier."

I thrashed every part of my body. Could he smell my fear from a mile away? Did he prey on vulnerable-looking women? Did I really look that vulnerable? Did he know I was a tourist?

If he had experience in this, he knew the type he was preying on.

My chances of getting help were diminishing the farther away I was pulled from civilization. This man wasn't giving me any slack. Between me being frightened and pissed off, I was a bundle of emotions. I knew what would come next: either more fear, or rage. I was praying for rage, but sadly, I was betting on fear.

The man grunted as he held me captive. I panicked, going to desperate measures. I started gnashing my teeth, hoping to bite skin. After a minute of persistence, that's exactly what I did. The man hissed, pulling his hand away only to slap me. The impact knocked my head so far that it collided with a solid wall.

Slightly dazed, I threw my head up, bashing the guy in the chin. He gave a low yowl; I did the same thing again. I knew I was risking a concussion, but if I was able to get out alive, a concussion sounded nice.

I was released, thrown against the solid wall. A spasm of pain raced up my back. I didn't hang around; I headed back for the noises of London. Being amidst a crowd would protect me. Safety in numbers.

I burst back into the nightlife, looking both ways before continuing in the direction I had originally been going in. I wasn't sure what kind of guy my attempted kidnapper was. Was he the kind that came out of his hole and pursued his victim, or did he let them escape?

I wasn't about to guess or look over my shoulder to find out.

In a frantic hustle, I blindly made my way, pushing people aside on accident. I apologized in a squeaky voice as others scolded me or shot me dirty looks. I was just apologizing to a couple—I had accidentally knocked into the woman—when I was knocked into myself.

Immediately, I thought my kidnapper had cut me off. But when I looked to see who it was, I concluded that it couldn't have been him.

The man couldn't be much older than me; he had a youthful look about him (but I could be very wrong about that). He also seemed very business-y, judging by how well he was dressed. I felt so embarrassed, like I had just run into the president.

"I-I'm sorry," I stammered, my voice shaking as badly as my body.

"Don't worry about it." His voice was low and smooth, not to mention Irish. From the streetlights nearby, I could see his eyes were brown. His eyes narrowed in concern. "What's wrong with you?"

"I—um..." Should I confide in a stranger I didn't even know?

"You're lost, aren't you?"

"Is it that obvious?" The trembling stopped in my tone.

The man offered a timid, innocent smile. "What are you looking for?"

I gave him the address, all while trying to convince myself that I was in a safer place than I had just been. Of course, saying I was safer with a stranger didn't sound much better than being in the hands of a creep hiding in a dark alley.

Thankfully, the man knew the place I was talking about.

"You have no idea how much I want to get there and rest," I said tiredly.

"Well, I know the quickest way. Come on." He started walking off. Afraid of being alone, I tailed after my guide. "So what are you here for?"

"Vacation," I said simply. "It's definitely different than visiting another state in America."

"Do you travel a lot?"

"Not really," I admitted.

"By the way, you're smart to have fought back."

His statement caught me off guard. "What are you talking about?"

"You're more than lost, sweetheart. I could tell something more was going on. You were victimized, weren't you?"

"Nearly." I swallowed.

"Next time you go anywhere, travel with someone. It's much safer."

"I'll keep that in mind." I lowered my voice. "Do you see it happen so often that you can tell when a girl is nabbed off the street?"

"It doesn't have to be a girl, but yes, it happens more often than you think," he said sullenly. He walked with a cool aura about him. Despite him being a stranger, I felt at ease with him around. "How long are you here for?"

"You're a man full of questions, aren't you?"

"I figured you might want to talk about anything to get your mind off of...you know." He shrugged.

"Thoughtful."

"So, how long are you staying?" he pressed.

"If I remember right, I'm booked for a month."

"You realize London is nothing like America, right? Everything's different, including the currency."

"I know. I got that covered when going through the airport. I'll get used to it after a while. Do you know any good places for sight-seeing, or any places worthy of my time?"

"How about I give you a list once you make it to the hotel? By the way, I never got your name."

"Rachel," I said thickly. "Rachel Simpson." I couldn't believe how easy it was to talk with this guy. "Yours?"

"Jim. Jim Moriarty."

~*~

"Miss?" said the taxi driver. I looked in the mirror to see the reflection of his eyes. "We're here."

I looked out the window to see a dark gray door with the gold letters "221B" stuck on it. I blew out a breath. I knew there was time still to change my mind, but I knew I couldn't. I'd already flown from Maryland to here and got a taxi. I was so close.

"Did you give me the wrong address?"

"No, I didn't." I paid the driver with the currency I had gotten before leaving the airport. That was one good thing that came out of my previous trip to here, remembering to switch money.

As the taxi crept away back into the bustling streets, I stared at the door. Not wanting to stand in the middle of the sidewalk like an idiot, I went to the door, using the knocker. I gnawed on the inside of my cheek as I waited.

Instead of being met with the consulting detective himself, I was met with an old woman who could have easily passed for my grandmother.

"Oh, hello, dear," she said sweetly.

"Hi." I gave an awkward, small wave.

Her eyes bugged when looking at my luggage. "Are you moving in? I don't remember anyone making any offers."

"Oh, no, I'm not. I'm going to find some place soon; I'm just stopping here first...if I'm at the right place. I feel like I've got the wrong address."

"You must be looking for Sherlock."

Blush crept into my cheeks. "Yes, I am."

"Oh, well, come in; don't stand out there all alone." The old lady stepped aside, and I was let in. Ah, this is an apartment, not a house. I didn't expect it to be a house when I first looked at the door. "He's up those stairs."

"Thank you."

There was no way Sherlock wasn't going to hear me coming, not with the way the steps were screaming under my weight. I cringed after every squeak. I was slightly relieved as I came upon a closed door. A part of me wanted to turn back around and head out. No, you're way too close to turn the other way now. Knock on the door for God's sake.

Exhaling a pent-up breath, I knocked a few times. I bounced on my heels as I waited patiently.

I nearly stumbled backwards when the door actually opened. It wasn't Sherlock who answered, but his roommate, John Watson. Judging by what he was wearing—a robe, and I assumed nothing underneath—I picked a really bad time to come knocking. I could tell he had just gotten a shower, his hair was still damp.

Like me, John froze. He and I had met once, and not under the best of circumstances.

"Did I come at a bad time?" I asked timidly.

"Um..." John looked behind him. "I don't think so."

"Can I come in?"

"Oh, yes, of course."

The first thing I noticed when walking into the apartment was that there was something hanging from the ceiling. My eyes bugged as I noticed it was something eerily resembling a body. "Is that...?"

"It's a dummy," John assured me. "I'm sorry; I never got your name."

"Rachel."

I wasn't the one who answered John, Sherlock beat me to it.

I looked to my left to see him in what looked to be a small kitchen. It looked more like a lab with all the things he had in there. Currently, he was looking through a microscope. The only feature I could see of him at the moment was his curly dark hair.

"You remembered," I noted.

"It isn't hard considering who you were involved with."

I pushed away his blunt comment. "I came here for a favor."

"I hope you didn't waste your time to come here so you could ask for directions."

"You haven't even looked at me. Why would you assume that I came here to ask for directions?"

"Do you really want to get me started?"

"Point taken." I refocused, "What I came here for has nothing to do with tourism."

"I doubt it'll be worth my time, then."

"Oh, just take it," John groaned. "I'm sure it'd be an easy, little case."

"Unless there is a homicide involved, I'm not interested."

I blew out my breath, not entirely swayed. I set down the suitcase at my feet, flexing my cramping fingers. "I'm trying to find my biological father; I've got no leads. My friends told me you'd be my best bet at finding him."

"Clearly your friends are delusional."

I sighed through my nostrils. John shot me an apologetic look with his brown eyes. A loud noise made me jump. Instantly, I checked my phone.

"It's not yours," John assured me. "It's his." He ambled over towards the phone, most likely opening a text message.

Sherlock briefly looked up from his microscope, noticing me for the first time with blue-gray eyes. "You're still here?"

"I'm not leaving until I know you'll help me," I said stubbornly.

"Then you'll be here forever."

Interrupting what would have been a heated discussion, John trudged into the kitchen, his eyes focused still on Sherlock's phone. "Here," he said, holding the phone out to the consulting detective.

"Not now, I'm busy." Sherlock returned to his microscope.

I bristled. The man may be good at solving crimes, but he was awful when it came to talking to people.

"Sherlock..."

"Not now."

John sighed heavily. "He's back."

This caught Sherlock's attention. Sure, I could probably talk his ear off and he wouldn't bat an eye my way, but yet, John said two words to him and he got Sherlock's attention.

Sherlock directed his focus to his phone, taking it from John.

"What is it?" I asked, feeling left out.

"It seems your boyfriend is out and about, Rachel," Sherlock said stiffly.

"What are you talking about?" I leaned against a doorframe.

"Oh, don't act so stupid." If he kept getting me pissed off, I would easily cross the room and slap him across the face.

In a surprising gesture, Sherlock tossed me his phone. Nimbly, I caught it in my hands. I looked at him, confused.

He sighed. "Read it."

I glared at the message on the screen. My heart plummeted into my feet.

Come and play.

Tower Hill.

Jim Moriarty x