Leaning against a wall, arms folded, Sally watched as the forensics team started to pack up. Another body found, another notch in this killer's belt. They were having very little luck in finding out anything about who was behind this series of rather brutal murders, but they'd have it figured out in no time now. Of course everything would be solved now that the famous Sherlock Holmes and John Watson were on the case. It was taking all her effort not to actually glare at John as he stood talking to Lestrade; after all, he wasn't too bad. He always had a nice word for her, always apologised when his flatmate insulted her. That freak infuriated her no end, but she had to admit, he was good at sorting things out. Looking past the forensics team, she couldn't see Sherlock further down the street anymore. He'd probably wandered off into some alley and would start shouting that he'd found the clue to solve it all any minute now.

"Sergeant Donovan." It was Lestrade speaking, it seemed that he and John were now comparing phones or something. "Think you could go find Sherlock and see what he's doing."

Sally was ready to argue; ready to come up with any number of reasons why that wasn't her job. But Lestrade had that look on his face, the one designed to remind her that she had to work with the freak and accept it. Sighing and putting on her best 'I Hate You' smile, she walked down the street to find out where he'd gone. As was to be expected, she found him halfway down a dark alley at the far end of the street. He was fairly recognisable even in the dim light from the streetlights, he insisted on wearing that stupid coat of his in the height of summer. Even her thin suit jacket felt too heavy in the warmth.

"John, I think I have found something of interest," he called out, waving a hand at her while he crouched down to look at something on one wall.

"Guess again," she responded, but he didn't even turn around to acknowledge his mistake. Probably hadn't even heard her and still assumed it was John. She folded her arms again and looked up and down the alleyway. A few darkened doorways, back entrances to the abandoned buildings that littered the area and a van parked across the other exit to the alley. Now that was strange, there was little of interest around here, the place was crawling with police and a battered van had rather conveniently blocked off one exit to a dark alley. That didn't seem quite right.

"Hey, how long has that van been there?" Sally asked, slowly starting to take a few steps back so she could be nearer the lit street and the other officers. Sherlock still didn't react, clearly oblivious to her presence now.

That was when a figure suddenly stepped out from one of those darkened doorways. At first she didn't react, trying to figure out what the person was up to. Then they started to advance towards them.

"Police," she called out. "This is a crime scene, you need to leave."

Sherlock reacted to that, looking up at her in total confusion. As soon as he saw her staring down the alley, he turned to see what she was looking at and jumped to his feet once he saw the figure too. Whoever it was, a man as far as she could tell, was still coming towards them. Walking forwards, she made sure she was stood near Sherlock now. She'd never hear the end of it if he got hurt and she just let it happen, even if she did want to a little. The man sped up then, he was definitely focused on them. Sally pushed Sherlock to one side, feeling just a little satisfied when she heard him thud into the alley wall. Now she was in a defensive position ready to fight off this assailant, ready to shout as loud as possible to get the other officers to come running to her aid.

An arm suddenly wrapped around her waist, pinning her arms to her side, and hand was roughly forced over her mouth. There'd been someone behind them, how had she not noticed that? She started to struggle and kick out, but this grip was tight. Sherlock was just staring at her and she tried hard to scream at him to go for help. In fact, he was so busy looking at her he didn't notice the other man get behind him and suddenly grab his hair. In a flash his head had been forced to one side and a needle pushed into his neck. Again she screamed, but the sound was too muffled for anyone to hear.

"Good job we brought spares," the man with the needle said, pulling another syringe from his pocket even as Sherlock slid down the wall. He was succumbing to whatever it was fast; he was well beyond shouting for help now. When her head was manhandled to one side, she tried so hard to struggle. She wasn't going to be drugged and she wasn't going to be kidnapped, not tonight, that was not going to happen. It was useless though and as the needle slid into her skin, she wondered how on earth she was going to explain this to her superiors later. As soon as she started to sag in the man's arms, he released her and let her drop to the floor near Sherlock. Slowly she found herself slipping into unconsciousness staring into that face she so despised. She could only hope they woke up again so she could have the pleasure of punching him in the face because this had to be his fault. Somehow, this had to be his fault.