I don't own any characters from the Millennium Series or Sherlock. I just borrowed them!

Breathless, her side screaming in pain, Lisbeth ran for her life through the dilapidated factory. She knew, somewhere close behind her, was Moriarty's 'hired' thug - hired meaning someone he had threatened with someone they held close, someone they felt they couldn't live without. She had been threatened the same way when Moriarty had taken Blomkvist... only that hadn't ended as happily as the majority of Moriarty's threats. Mostly, he'd torture the family and then return them once he was done with a thug. With Blomkvist, things had ended a bit more... violetly.

Pushing painful thoughts of Mikael out of her mind, she focused on breathing, running and avoiding the bits of metal that seemed to appear everywhere on the floor. Step, breathe. Step, breathe. Step, bre-

"Shit!" She yelled as her shoelace got caught on a nail sticking out of a plank on the floor. She fell, hard, the bit of wood jutting into her side as she hit the floor. Another nail tore into the flesh covering her ribs and as blood poured from the wound, her pursuer caught up with her and grabbed her arm.

"Come on, Salander," he said, breathing hard. "It'll be easier for both of us."

Staring at the man before her, she notices just how sickly he looked. Purple circles surrounded bloodshot eyes - whether they were from sleeplessness or abuse, she couldn't tell. His clothes were filthy; he hadn't changed in days. The wedding band on his left ring finger was loose, suggesting weight loss, weight loss that had happened fairly quickly, judging by the way his jeans hung off of once-thick hips.

All of this flickered through her brain in mere seconds before she decided to come quietly and leave this man to his own decisions; perhaps he could get his family (wife, two young girls, judging by the paint on his nails) to safety and out of Moriarty's grasp.

Moriarty she could deal with. More blood on her hands, however, was not acceptable under Salander's Principles.

'Except Moriarty," she thought. "I'll kill that bastard with no second thoughts."

She allowed the man to lead her out and began devising a plan for Moriarty's demise.

"Oh, dear! I seem to have cut up your tattoo!" Moriarty beamed, holding up a bloody knife.

Lisbeth fumed silently, fingers twitching in pain. That dragon /was/ her. It represented her more than anything else, and Moriarty had ruined it. All those hours in the tattoo parlor getting the beautiful design over the majority of her back, wasted. She was going to /murder/ the imbecile.

She quietly assessed the damage Moriarty had inflicted so far. "Multiple lacerations to her back, bruising all over her body, severe pain in her left knee and two - no, three broken ribs," she thought with a wince. "Could be much worse."

She pursed her lips and clenched her fingernails into her palms as Moriarty leaned right over her face. "I think it's time for the final touches!" He said, a grin stretching over his face. He picked up a long needle connected to a brown vial.

"I think Sherlock will find this particularly amusing," he murmured as he pushed it into her arm and injected the contents into her bloodstream.

Her mind managed to figure out it was an opiate of some kind before she passed out.

Lisbeth awoke slowly, limbs stiff with slow-moving blood and drugs. Her head was pounding and her back was on fire and pressed against leather; she was inside a car or on a boat if anything was to be gathered from the rolling sensation she was feeling.

"Ah, good! You're awake!" Moriarty said happily. "We're taking you to a new home. I think you'll find this friend of mine quite interesting!"

The car stopped and Lisbeth groaned, her stomach churning. Moriarty unbuckled his safety belt and grabbed Lisbeth's arm, studying her intently. "I think," he murmured, "I think you can bear a little more pain."

With a wicked grin, he pushed a small knife into her side and opened the car door. With a flourish, he wrenched the knife from her gut and pushed her out onto the street. "221B!" He shouted. "Have fun!

Lisbeth fell onto the curb, blood pouring from multiple parts of her body and rain soaking what little clothing Moriarty had left her with. A shriek of pain just barely swallowed, she pushed herself up and stumbled toward the door Moriarty had pointed. This would either be certain death or her salvation. Mustering what little strength she had left, she pounded on the door and leaned into it, praying to every deity she could think of that someone was home.

"SHERLOCK! FINGERS DO NOT BELONG IN THE JAM!" John's voice rang out over the rain and thunder.

Sherlock looked up from his place on the couch. He had forgotten entirely about that particular experiment.

"Yes, yes, sorry," Sherlock said, distracted. He had heard something a few moments ago and couldn't discern what it was.

"John, did you hear something?" He asked. "Never mind, of course you didn't. You were yelling. I think someone is at the door."

John nodded. "Right. I suppose I'll go look, then?" He walked out before Sherlock could respond, so Sherlock's mind moved to bigger things such as how many grams of cocaine someone could carry in their stomach before internal functions shut down.

"SHERLOCK! HELP ME!" John shouted from the stairs.

Sherlock leaped up and ran to where John seemed toto be struggling to haul a bloody corpse up the stairs. Without question, he grabber the girl's legs and helped carry her to the kitchen table. He ran upstairs and grabbed sheets and John's first aid kit and ran back downstairs where John was trying to get the girl to wake up.

"Hello? Can you hear me? My name is John. Can you tell us who you are? I'll phone an ambulance for you."

Her eyes fluttered weakly. "No," she whispered, a strange accent ringing from vocal cords raw from screaming. "No ambulance."

John glanced at Sherlock and then back to the girl. "Okay. What's your name?"

The girl gave a loud, body wracking cough before murmuring "Lisbeth. I'm Lisbeth," and passing out.

A.N.- Suggestions and reviews welcome!