[ Today had started off as a relatively normal day. Some kind of chanting had been blasting throughout the house over the sound system when she woke up, and Sherlock spent the morning pacing around the kitchen, searching his mental file cabinet for anything that could be useful to a case they'd been asked to consult on the day before.
Eventually he'd gotten a lead that lead them to the back of a restaurant in the center of little Italy. It resulted in a lot of shouting in a language that she didn't understand and hand gestures that Joan simply didn't feel comfortable with.
She trusted him enough to know that things wouldn't get physical, but feeling as though she had nothing to offer, she thought that she would try her hand at a different lead on the other end of town. A lead that she might've been able to understand; one that didn't angrily wave knives in their general direction.
She remembers leaving the restaurant out the back door to go hail a cab, but she didn't actually get to one. She was stopped by a young woman on a side street to offer directions, and after that, her memory goes fuzzy.
Her memory's not the only thing, as she's currently seeing some kind of blurry haze when she comes to. She's seated in the middle of a dimly lit room, and by the sharp feel of plastic digging into her wrists behind her back, she can safely assume that they're bound by a zip tie (or two, it's difficult to tell).
It's a shot in the dark, and she doesn't expect him to be there when she finally calls for him, but at the moment, Joan doesn't know what else to do. ]
Sherlock?
[ At the very least, it would get somebody's attention that she'd woken up so she could attempt to get some kind of answer about her situation. Or possibly buy some time for someone to track her cellphone's signal, because this didn't seem like one of Sherlock's unusually cruel lessons. ]
I Am Really Turned On™
Eventually he'd gotten a lead that lead them to the back of a restaurant in the center of little Italy. It resulted in a lot of shouting in a language that she didn't understand and hand gestures that Joan simply didn't feel comfortable with.
She trusted him enough to know that things wouldn't get physical, but feeling as though she had nothing to offer, she thought that she would try her hand at a different lead on the other end of town. A lead that she might've been able to understand; one that didn't angrily wave knives in their general direction.
She remembers leaving the restaurant out the back door to go hail a cab, but she didn't actually get to one. She was stopped by a young woman on a side street to offer directions, and after that, her memory goes fuzzy.
Her memory's not the only thing, as she's currently seeing some kind of blurry haze when she comes to. She's seated in the middle of a dimly lit room, and by the sharp feel of plastic digging into her wrists behind her back, she can safely assume that they're bound by a zip tie (or two, it's difficult to tell).
It's a shot in the dark, and she doesn't expect him to be there when she finally calls for him, but at the moment, Joan doesn't know what else to do. ]
Sherlock?
[ At the very least, it would get somebody's attention that she'd woken up so she could attempt to get some kind of answer about her situation. Or possibly buy some time for someone to track her cellphone's signal, because this didn't seem like one of Sherlock's unusually cruel lessons. ]