Great. Mary, Brittney, and KID have been taken to the yard. Meanwhile I'm tripping and stumbling behind an evil man who won't take me seriously. I wonder who's having more fun....

---

Not much later, Allie found herself in a room that was bare except for a chair and a cot. "Since this room can only be opened from the outside," Moriarty told her, "I have no worries about you escaping. Besides, I’m the only person who can open it."

Allie yawned and stretched. "I’m to lazy to try figuring out an escape anyways. And I don’t think well on an empty stomach." Her stomach turned against her -- again -- and growled in agreement. Allie smacked her forehead and sank down onto the cot. "And how can I expect to do anything right when my body isn’t cooperating with my brain?"

Moriarty chuckled as he pushed the button to shut the door. "If nothing else, you are an amusing little thing. But sometimes your sarcasm comes uncomfortably close to a certain nemesis of mine."

"I’ll take that as a compliment," she replied; then promptly lay down and turned her back on the door. The day finally taking its full toll on her, her eyes slid shut and she fell asleep.

---

When she finally woke up, her hunger pangs started coming full force. She wasn’t used to skipping supper. To try and help herself ignore her stomach, she began to pace around the room, counting footsteps from one point to another. When she had done that so long that it started to become automatic, she started singing softly to herself. Of course, she ended up humming/singing the 22nd Century theme song, along with many others.

Right in the middle of singing a song by Jump5, the door to her ‘cell’ slid open. Moriarty walked in with a tray. Allie guessed it was food that rested on it, but it sure didn’t look like food. Or smell like it, either. She raised an eyebrow at it. Moriarty understood the look and sighed. "Yes, yes. The food they have in this century is rather distasteful. Having all the memories of the original Professor Moriarty, I know what the food looked, smelled, and tasted like in his time. If I had my druthers, I’d live back then, as well."

He set the tray on the chair; then turned and walked out.

Allie wrinkled her nose at the odd looking stuff, reluctant to try it. In the end, her stomach won the struggle. She picked up the tray and walked back over to the cot. When she tried nibbling at it, obvious relief was written on her face. "Not as bad as I thought it’d be. Still, what I wouldn’t give for a good old-fashioned peanut butter sandwich and some apple juice."

---

*sheepish grin* Yeah, yeah, I know I just wrote part 14, but I couldn't help myself. This story is getting me really excited, and I couldn't wait to put up more.

---

Sometime later, Allie found herself wondering if she was the only one who had been dragged here. After all, she wasn’t the only Sherlock Holmes fanatic, and certainly not the most obsessed. Could there be others, scattered around New London?

The soft hum of the door sliding open interrupted her thoughts. Moriarty strolled in, a newspaper in his hands. He tossed it at her feet. With a raised eyebrow, he told her she might find some of the articles interesting. Looking skeptical, she picked it up. "Normally, I refrain from reading the newspaper. The articles are always either dull or depressing. Not much of a fun read, if ya ask me."

Moriarty chuckled. Allie rolled her eyes. "Oh yeah, that’s right. Probably the majority of the depressing articles in this day and age have something to do with you, huh?" When he looked smug, she added dryly, "Or is that ‘the majority of the dull articles’?"

Moriarty wagged a finger at her. "Now, now, dear. Don’t go offending your captors. There’s not much you can do if they decide to retaliate...." And with that, he strode out of the room.

Allie stared at the door for a moment; then looked down at the paper in her hands. The article on the front page immediately caught her attention. The headline read, "We’ve all seen a magician make a person disappear, but have you ever seen a person appear out of nowhere, on their own?" The teenager’s heart skipped a beat. ‘Could it be....?' She read on. "Various reports have come in from anonymous sources of people -- more specifically, girls -- popping out of thin air without warning. Says one of our sources, ‘Be on the lookout: there’s no telling if one of them will land on you.’

The captive girl’s heart rate increased. Maybe she would know some of them...if the reports were true. Maybe she’d finally get to meet some of the girls she had conversed with so often on her favorite message board. Then, the little evil voice at the back of her head that always popped her bubble of optimism spoke. ‘How d’you plan on meeting up with any of them if you’re stuck here with Moriarty? It’s not like any of them will actually come looking for you.’