Sherlock Lester (for @hellointerwebz)

Phil's eyes gazed blankly at the piece of paper, in a combination of shock and disbelief. 

"Dan? This isn't funny." he called out - hopelessly, he knew, as even Dan wasn't immature enough to smash the bedroom windows (from the outside) and break the TV for a prank ...probably. The goosebumps climbing his arms from the cold draft met those creeping down his spine, somewhere around the shoulder, and sent shivers through him. His flimsy Gengar top wasn't enough to fight back the cold, and the voice muttering "it's just a joke" in his head wasn't enough to fight back the terror.

"Follow the clues and find him by midnight, or you'll find him in pieces." Phil re-read the handwritten letter, this time aloud but quietly enough that not even someone in the next room would be able to hear him. "If you call the police: he dies. If you tell anyone: he dies. If you try to run away ...well I think you see the pattern. Oh, and you'll be needing this-" there was a crudely drawn arrow next to the writing, pointing to where a magnifying glass had been placed upon the letter. The magnifying glass now lay on the sofa next to him, looking small and sorry for itself - through the glass the black leather was tinted slightly blue, but Phil didn't notice much beyond his rushing thoughts and the untidy handwriting. "Good luck, Mr Holmes. May the odds be ever in your favour and whatnot." 

It was signed "The craziest of fangirls." and Phil didn't want to even consider what such a person would do to his friend - however, what he wanted and where his thoughts drifted were very different things. Tears were building in his eyes and clouding his vision. He grabbed the phone. His fingers had dialled 999 before his brain could even form the words, and...

"Phillip! How could you!?" a shrill female voice burst from the phone. "Well then... I guess you won't mind if I just-" Phil heard the sound of a metal object being dragged along some kind of surface as it was lifted. A knife.

"NO!" he yelled.

The voice chuckled, "Sweetie, this is a recording. You think I'm honestly daft enough to connect our phones? They'd track me in minutes." The was a pause, and Phil waited in confused uncertainty. "Look under the table..." 

Phil did as instructed - strapped to the underside of the wood was a little black tape player, with a small aerial and a flickering red light. The tape hummed slightly as the circular parts turned. "Seen it?"

"Yes."

"Please tell me you didn't just answer me. You know, I actually want Dan to make it out of this alive - you'd better be up to the job." Phil could hear the knife hitting the surface again, as some combination of a threat and absent-minded tapping. "You'll find your first clue tucked inside the tape player - I wouldn't have gone through the effort of setting up this recording if I thought I could trust you to keep your mouth shut. Now, you can either follow the clues, save Dan, and live a long happy life together ...or you can call the police on your mobile and they can be as useless as always. I'll leave it up to you."

The tape made a clicking noise and stopped. 

Phil took out his mobile, unlocked the screen, and let his eyes rest on the dialler button. Then he focused his attention back on the letter - he was constantly fighting off panicked thoughts that zoomed in on all of the terrifying words, and even added some of their own. Midnight. His blue eyes turned to look at the clock - its hour hand was rapidly approaching seven already, and the second hand seemed to be spinning out of control - Phil could practically feel time draining away. 

He clicked the dialler button and... the screen went black.

The words "Wrong choice" popped up on the screen, in bright white comic sans, and as they faded they were replaced by "Three strikes and you're out". 

"Are you kidding me..?" Phil said, tapping frantically at the touch screen to no avail. 

He was on his feet in seconds, about to run out and ask the neighbours for help, but then his brain said something that stopped him dead in his tracks. There was a struggle. Things were smashed and broken. There had to be screaming, noise, calling for help. Judging by how much cold had seeped in through the broken windows, it had to be a while ago - Phil had been out for hours. If the neighbours had heard it the police would be there by now. If someone can break into a house, kidnap a full-grown man, and hack two phones for fun ...what would they do to anyone who could potentially stand in their way?

He dropped onto the sofa, realising he had no choice but to be a pawn in this little game - realising he couldn't take another threat or themed insult crushing his hope. Whatever was waiting to scare him at their neighbours' houses wasn't going to play out.

The strap holding the tape player in place broke free easily in Phil's shaking hands. The player itself was very simple and old fashioned, already nearing over-heating temperature. He hit the eject button and, sure enough, sitting on top of the tape was a small piece of paper. He carefully took it out and looked it over.

It was blank.

He turned it over a few times, held it up to the light, searched the player for any other clues or hints. He grabbed the first note, re-read it, tried to find a code or... and then it hit him. 

Placing the paper carefully on the table, he held the magnifying glass over it and, through the power of some strange invisible ink, the little note was covered in red writing. When seen through the tinted glass, the paper was a mess of what looked like runes, symbols, complete nonsense - it was like staring at a wall in an asylum. Then, small and scribbled at the very bottom of the page, he noticed a symbol he'd seen before: the triforce. 

Other symbols began to jump out at him: a spider, the Superman symbol, a poorly drawn Gromit. He ran to the shelves, grabbing another piece of paper, writing down the first letter of every film or game whose symbol appeared on the note. It took him over an hour to translate the code, and he had to ignore a throbbing in his legs where he'd cut off the blood supply by perching awkwardly on the arm of a chair (which, given the tight black skinny jeans, he should've known was a mistake). He had to make a few alterations (some had used the "t" from the, while others skipped it and used the second word) but eventually there was only one vaguely logical sentence:

"I salute boats and bow for cars." 

A riddle. 

Having lived in London for quite a while, it took Phil less than a minute to crack it: Tower Bridge.

Reluctantly, he turned back to the clock: it was just after eight o'clock... nearly four more hours. This so-called fangirl would have plenty more in store for him yet.