Joan Watson sat on her bed wrapped up in her robe using a towel to dry out her freshly washed hair. It had been a tiring a morning, followed by an exhausting day which had been started off by a bizarre evening. In her mind she kept replaying the outlandish events over and over again, believing that if she just looked hard enough she could find some clue, some evidence to prove the events that transpired were all complete freak accidents and not, as Sherlock believes, a murderous attempt on her life.

A rapid knocking at her closed bedroom door startled Joan from her mental trail of thought. Before she could respond Sherlock Holmes pushed the door open and walked in with his usual dignified, almost entitled manner and stood before her while simultaneously delving into his latest theory. There was a well-worn notebook tucked beneath his arm.

"Watson I have narrowed down the list of possible suspects who would want to see you dead."

"That's… comforting." Joan was still in shock from the earlier revelation. Sherlock tossed the notebook onto Joan's lap. "What's this?"

"'This' is the list of narrowed down possible suspects. I was certain you could deduce this fact for yourself."

"Sorry, being on some nut job's hit-list is a new experience for me."

"You'll get used to it in time. Trust me on this Watson."

Joan just stared at him for moment, hoping that she'd see some glint in his eye to indicate that he was joking. Unfortunately he wasn't.

"So… How did you come up with this list?" Joan opened up the notebook and began scanning the names looking for anyone familiar.

"Simple deductive reasoning was my method of compiling a proper list of suspects."

Despite his unexpected abundance in energy, and daresay, 'enthusiasm' Sherlock had to sit in the chair across from her bed. His body was still weak from the poison. Unfortunately he was too stubborn to take the appropriate time required to rest and recover.

"How far did you look back when you made this?" She turned the page.

"I started with the first case that you had so unwillingly and unknowingly assisted me. After which of course I proceeded to account for all the people involved with each case you had taken part in since then. But seeing as it is far more plausible that said people accounted for would indeed turn their wrath against me and not direct it toward you, I logically concluded a list of all former patients and the corresponding families for your time spent as a surgeon instead."

Joan's hands froze in place as she was turning the next page. She didn't know how to react to Sherlock's 'detailed' background checks. A part of her wanted to be (and deeply was) offended at his blatant admission of prying into her past, a very painful part of her past at that. Yet the part of her that had grown to respect and even understand Sherlock's methods was able to accept that his actions were only meant to benefit and potentially save her life.

"Now Watson, I must admit it was a rather impressive manifest of medical cases that you managed to diagnose. What's even more impressive was your ratio of surviving patients to dying patients."

Though he did not specifically the mention her losing patients or any actual names, the vague idea was enough to make her heart skip a beat.

"However, the most intriguing notion that I uncovered was how well you excelled in your skills a surgeon when compared to national and even, global statistics."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Tired and confused, Joan rested her chin in the palm of her hand as her arm rested against her knee. She watched her friend through her heavy eye lids, waiting for the answer.

"By having a very respectable record this allows us to eliminate a large portion of potential suspects who may be seeking revenge. With the list neatly compiled we must now analyze and catalog all the remaining suspects until we find our first lead."

"'We'?"

"Yes, 'we'. You are in fact my apprentice and therefore my future partner in consulting detective work. What I offer to teach you must be willing to learn."

"On only four hours of sleep?"

"Yes. Shall I explain how time is merely an illusion? A self and arrogant concept created by mankind as a means of having some sense of power and control over what is in fact, incapable of being controlled?"

"No. I'll help. Just let me get some coffee, okay?"

"There is a freshly brewed pot down in the kitchen."

Sherlock hastily rose from his chair, took back his notebook and exited her room. It was only then that Joan was able to detect the unmistakable aroma of coffee wofting up the stairs.

Joan plopped down heavily onto her bed, draped her towel over her face and shut her eyes tight. She wanted to savor every possible moment of valuable rest she could take in knowing that Sherlock would assuredly return to her room.

"I think I liked him better when he was unconscious."

Sherlock had taken the liberty of pinning up the multiple photographs of the suspects in question to the wall above the fireplace, and scattered all around his feet on the floor were the heavily detailed case files that had once been deemed 'closed'. As per his usual routine Sherlock sat in the middle of the floor encircling the invaluable documents around himself. His hazel eyes remained unblinking as he deftly scanned each line looking for any clue, any hint to Joan's would-be attacker.

With a single, decisive motion of his arm Sherlock pushed half of the files away from him and into the corner. Scraps of paper crudely carpeted the hardwood floor, while the now eliminated suspects' mug shots rained down onto the pile as they were torn away from the wall.

"Watson!" Sherlock stood with his back toward the wall, his eyes focused on the remaining cases still on the floor. "Watson? Your presence is required."

With a heavy sigh Joan sat up from her bed and tossed aside the used towel. Not wanting Sherlock to return to her room and overwhelm her with his deductions, Joan elected to dress later and go downstairs to satisfy his enthusiasm for his most current break in the case.

"It should be illegal for someone to have as much energy as he does."

Folding her arms across her chest in both an annoyed manner and as a means to keep as much as herself covered as possible, Joan walked down the stairs and froze at the bottom landing. In the sitting room she saw her friend standing in a sea of strewn about papers and photographs.

"Did you open a window or choose your suspects by random?"

"My actions are always chosen after logical and deduction reasoning Watson, they are never random."

"Could've fooled me."

"Come Watson, I have halved the list of suspects and am currently one step closer to identifying the 'near' assassin."

Carefully stepped around the papers, Joan walked over and stood next to Sherlock as he continued to explain his latest breakthrough in deductive reasoning.

"By a simple process of elimination, I have concluded that the person or persons in question, who are now littered on the floor over there cannot possibly be considered suspects an longer. Through a fortunate yet dismal set of circumstances those particular suspects are either in prison with no means to connect to anyone else on the outside or they have no family who would want to seek revenge, but more convincingly those suspects would have no qualms against you, only me."

Joan rubbed her tired eyes, her fatigue made it difficult to keep up with his fast paced logic and overall explanation.

"So… All those people over there either can't get to me or they just want to kill you, right?" She pointed at the mess on the floor.

"Correct."

"Then these people do want to kill me?" Joan then pointed to the four organized files at their feet.

"It is very likely, yes."

"So now what? We go back through these files and start eliminating names based off of… what evidence exactly?"

"Ah, there's the rub. I have already through a careful and meticulous process analyzed and processed every vital detail and potential clue, coded it to my memory and have begun unraveling the complex connection that remains hidden within."

Joan leaned her head back against her shoulders and sighed. "So… These files are now useless. Just a collection of information we already have."

"Unfortunately yes. They provide very little, if any, information that could be of further value."

"Well, now what?"

"Now Watson, we begin the real work."

Sherlock walked toward the staircase, taking no liberty to avoid the mess about the floor. As he began to climb he had to pause for a moment to catch his breath, one hand clutching at his chest and the other hand supporting his weight against the banister.

"Sherlock, are you alright?"

He took in a deep breath then sighed. "Quite so. I am being honest this time around, merely a mild inconvenience from the remaining pulmonary edema. You're a doctor, you should be well aware of this."

"I am well aware it. More than you are apparently. You need to rest both physically and mentally. Or else you'll end up contracting pneumonia and then I can and will take you to the hospital!"

More impressed than annoyed with how assertive Joan was being toward him, Sherlock made a decision.

"Very well, I will postpone the investigation."

"Thank you."

"For one hour, then we shall begin." He walked briskly upstairs; she heard his door slam shut once he was out of sight.

Too tired to try and argue with the most stubborn man she'd ever met, Joan accepted his offer to wait an hour. She wisely spent her time attempting to rest and regain what energy she could. She collapsed heavily into the soft armchair and quickly drifted off to sleep.

Unfortunately the hour ticked by quickly, she was awakened by Sherlock tossing a pair of her jeans and a shirt onto her as she slept. He was kind enough to drop a pair of her boots onto the floor next to her, instead of directly on top of her.

"Watson, the hour's up and now the game is afoot. I shall wait for you to dress. Dress warmly I might add, the weather appears to be taking a turn for the worse." He was wearing a heavy black coat and had a scarf wrapped around his neck.

Sherlock eyed Joan anxiously as she slowly got up from the chair and walked into the bathroom to change. Taking one last moment to absorb every detail of the mug shots still pinned to the wall above the fireplace, Sherlock memorized every detail of the potential murder that stared back at him from the photographs.

"Sherlock." Joan was now dressed but still looked exhausted. "Are you sure we can't start tomorrow? You know, fresh after a night's rest?"

Marching with purpose to the front door, Sherlock took her heaviest coat from the hook and glanced at her from over his shoulder.

"The only thing I am sure of Watson is a person or persons has committed a grave error when they attempted to take your life. I have dedicated my life to correcting errors, a dedication that I am also sure you empathize with. No, the case cannot wait until tomorrow."

Sherlock was now holding Joan's coat open for her.

"Alright, you win."

With great reluctance in her steps, Joan accepted the opened coat from her concerned colleague. She then too wrapped a scarf around her neck and the duo left the brownstone in unison. Together the two walked down the street. The first address imprinted into Sherlock's memory was the only guide for their trek.

"Where are we going?" Joan was walked a single pace behind the determined detective.

"To find our current primary suspect."

"Yeah, I got that. But where are we going?"

"If you had bothered to review the case files you would have been able to detect the pattern that I had uncovered and am now using to track down the assassin."

"Okay, I'm sorry. Next time I'll read the files, after I get done with the seventeen other books you want me to read."

"Sixteen, despite being ill I was well aware of you slamming shut my very rare 1st edition that I had so graciously allowed you to borrow."

Joan rolled her eyes. "Sorry if I damaged your precious book, but will you please tell me exactly where we are going and who we are going to speak with?"

"The first suspect on the list is one Mr. John McCoy."

"John McCoy… Why does that name sound so familiar?"

"His name is familiar to you because his wife was familiar to you."

"His wife… Like a patient- You're going to interrogate my former patients' families?"

"It would seem so, yes."

"Wait." She ran in front of Sherlock and put her hands up to stop him. "Do you really believe that one of my former patients or a member of their family would really try to kill me?"

"Well, we are on our merry way to interrogate the first of four, so yes, I really do believe that one of your former patients or a member of their family would really try to kill you."

For brief moment, the duo just stood on the sidewalk staring at each other. Her eyes reflecting disbelief and his brimming with curiosity.

"Well Watson, shall we continue?"

Joan said nothing as Sherlock swiftly walked around her and continued down the sidewalk. Joan stood frozen in place for a moment longer before jogging after Sherlock and keeping pace with him as the two arrived at their destination, tense silence filling the air between them.

Arriving at the modest apartment building, Sherlock quickly scanned the listings for the name in question and buzzed in on the intercom.

"Yes?"

"Am I speaking to one Mr. John McCoy?"

"Yes." Confusion echoed over the intercom as the odd conversation began.

"Good afternoon, my name is Sherlock Holmes. I am a consulting detective with the N.Y.P.D.; I would like to ask you a few questions."

"Why? What did I do?"

"Perhaps nothing, perhaps attempted murder."

"What?!"

"Sherlock, what are you doing? He might call the cops!"

"Call the cops on a detective? Really Watson?"

"Well, you're definitely making him mad and if he is the man responsible then that only makes things worse for us."

"Us or you?"

"Not funny."

"Of course not, murder has never been funny. Or in this case, attempted murder." He pressed in on the buzzer again. "Hello? Are you still there?"

There was no response over the speaker; instead they were greeted by a young man in his early 20's opening the front door to the lobby to meet the duo outside.

"What the hell are you doing? Why would you come to my home and accuse me of murder?"

"Attempted murder. It sounds less evil. Technically it sounds more like you failed actually, but a less serious charge nonetheless."

Joan was both embarrassed and mortified by Sherlock's brazen attitude to a possible murderer; she stood back a few feet and positioned herself behind her much taller friend as he continued his interrogation.

"Are you one Mr. John McCoy?"

"Yes, well actually, I'm John McCoy Jr. My father died a few years ago, but I didn't kill him if that's what you're here about."

"No Mr. McCoy, there is another person in question. Do you now or have you ever had an ill feeling toward one Dr. Joan Watson?"

"Dr. Watson? She was the one who performed surgery on my father about 6 years ago. Why would I want to kill her?"

"Did not your father die from complications shortly thereafter said surgery?"

"Well, yeah, but he died from an aneurysm a two days after checking himself out of the hospital."

"I assume when you say 'checked himself out', you of course mean he left prematurely and against his doctor's order."

"Yeah. Dad wasn't the smartest man on the planet. Or reasonable."

"I see. So despite your father's unfortunate death, you bode no feelings of anger or hatred to his doctor, Joan Watson?"

"No. Like I said, dad died because he was an idiot. The weird thing is no one in the family really misses a man who drank himself into the hospital just so he could die a few days later and have his donated liver go to waste."

"Ah, well then, I would like to take this moment to apologize for my accusation, though they did carry merit and I will not bother you again. Good day."

"Uh, yeah. Thanks… guy."

Sherlock turned on his heels and continued on down the sidewalk. Joan looked at John and shrugged her shoulders innocently before she too walked down the sidewalk a quick pace. Once she was again at Sherlock's side she began her own interrogation.

"What the hell was that?"

"An interrogation."

"No, that was harassment. You had no right to call him a murderer to his face and then simply walk away because he said he wasn't mad at me."

"You are mistaken Watson, allow me to explain why."

Oh, please do." There was no mistaking the anger in her tone.

"First off, I accused him of attempted murder with emphasis on attempted, that's important."

"Right." Her voice was becoming steadily more agitated.

"Second, when he spoke of his father there was no emotional upheaval in his tone. He reacted negatively of course when I accused him of attempted murder but the thought of his father's death did not invoke an emotional response at all. Which of course means when he spoke of his father's ignorant choice from the past, he was sincere with the overall disappointment he felt toward his father in general. This would suggest that he had emotionally detached himself from his father several years prior to his death, and the end result is the apathetic young man, with no homicidal tendencies, that we just had the honor of interrogating."

"I wouldn't exactly call it an 'honor' or an 'interrogation'."

"Call it what you will, Watson. We have eliminated one suspect leaving us with only three."

"And I suppose you want to keep walking, right?"

"Why not? It's much easier to navigate through the city without the nuisance of traffic."

"Well, you're looking pale again and you seem to be running out of breath."

"Considering the fact that I have recently survived an unintentional poisoning, that was originally intended for you I might add, I believe that my current health status is of minimal concern."

"Minimal concern after a near lethal poisoning?" Joan took his injured hand looked at the bare wound. It was no longer as inflamed as it had been but the signs of infection were still lingering.

"I am conscious, I am coherent, and I am able to move about the streets under my own will. Therefore the concern for my health can be, and preferably will be, minimal." He pulled his hand from her grip and stuffed it into his coat pocket.

"You're insane."

"Perhaps, but at the very least I am not the one following an insane person about the city, am I?"

There was nothing else to be said after the awkward exchange of words. Luckily the silent tension only lasted for a few minutes before they arrived at the apartment complex of the second suspect. This building was much older, more rundown than the previous building.

"There is no intercom Watson, we'll have to go inside and ask for Mr. Derek LaMonte."

"Oh God, not Mr. LaMonte."

"Curious. Why does this man's name ring familiar to you?"

"Because Mr. LaMonte's daughter, Jackie, died on my table during surgery."

"Due to an error on your part?"

"No, worse."

"His daughter died under your care, how can it be worse?"

"Because Jackie was only 7 years old and she was the victim of a hit-&-run drunk driver."

"Tragic, no doubt. Yet I fail to see how-"

"The driver was one of the doctors who worked in the hospital with me." She wiped a tear from her eye. "When she died the hospital had been sued and of course the family won and they should have. But then they tried to sue me because they got it through their heads that I let Jackie die on purpose."

"Fascinating. Though completely illogical."

Joan was trying to hold back more tears. "What do you mean?"

"Their implication that you deliberately allowed their child to die is in fact, illogical. If young Jackie had lived then the guilty doctor would have faced a lesser charge. With her unfortunate passing the doctor undoubtedly endured a much harsher sentence and the family would subsequently win a larger settlement."

"Yeah, that's what the hospital's appointed attorney said to them. They didn't say in such a condescending manner as you did, but in the end the family let it go."

"Yet you still feel guilty?"

"She was just a little girl! It's not right."

"No, it's not. But it has happened and now this is happening. Time to focus Watson."

Sherlock walked up the crumbling stoop attached to the rotting wooden porch and paused his hand in mid-air just as he was about to knock on the weathered front door.

"You claim that this family gained a rather large sum from their lawsuit?"

"Yes." She remained at the foot of the steps.

"Then why would a family that has a substantial monetary gain live in such a desolate locale?"

A foreign voice from behind the building answered the question. "Because we didn't keep any of it."

Sherlock walked to the edge of the porch peeked around the corner. "Mr. LaMonte?"

"Yeah, that's me." A large man in his mid 30's walked toward the front of the house while removing his thick work gloves. "Who are you and what the hell do you want?"

"Pardon us for the intrusion Mr. LaMonte, I am Sherlock Holmes I work as a consulting detective for the N.Y.P.D. and I wish to ask you a few questions."

"Alright. Shoot."

"Do you remember a Dr. Joan Watson?"

LaMonte rubbed at his chin anxiously. "Yeah, what about her?"

"There was a recent attempt on her life."

"Someone tried to kill her?"

"Yes. Unsuccessfully obviously." He motioned toward Joan who was still standing nervously at the bottom of the stoop.

"And you think I did it?"

"Yes, but there are several other names on my list of suspects as well."

"Look, I was mad at her because my only little girl was taken from me. It took me a long time to get over the anger but in the end I realized that she was one of the good ones. She wasn't the drunken fool you took my daughter away from me; she was the one who tried to save her with no questions asked."

"I see. So you do not blame Miss Watson for your loss."

"No I do not. I'm still mad but I'm trying to let it go."

"Thank you for your time, we shall be going."

Joan didn't wait for Sherlock to catch up to her before she stared walking back down the sidewalk. She only paused when she heard Sherlock stop and ask one final question.

"If I may ask Mr. LaMonte, what happened to the sum from your lawsuit?"

Mr. LaMonte shook his head with pity. "I didn't want that money, it was blood money. My daughter's blood. I donated it to charities all over the city, but a lot of it went to A.A."

"Hmm… Admirable. Thank you for your contribution."

As Sherlock finally caught up to Joan, who was walking at a much quicker pace than usual, she turned to him and hit him in the chest with the back of her hand.

"Will you please stop?"

"Stop now? We're officially half way through the list, to stop now seems pointless."

"No, I don't mean the investigation, I mean I want you to stop bothering these people, they've been through enough."

"And you haven't?"

"What are you talking about?"

"In the past you've had no hesitation to assist with the interrogation of suspected murderers, you've even gained the nerve to look them in the eye. But not now, not today. Today you are avoiding the suspects as though they are carriers of the bubonic plague."

"Talking to these people is very uncomfortable."

"Uncomfortable for you yes, but not for the reason you wish me to believe."

"Oh really? What supposed reason am I trying to hide from you?"

Sherlock stopped on the sidewalk and stared at Joan, who quickly stopped shortly after him. The wind started to pick up and the distinct aroma of fresh rain began to fill the electrifying air.

"You're not hiding the reason from me; you are hiding it from yourself. Every time you look at one of your former patients, you are looking at your former self. You see who you used to be, you see all choices that you have ever made and how they affected their lives as well as you own. You also see every error you've ever committed with a scalpel. You cannot look them in the eye because you cannot look yourself in the eye."

Cold rain drops began to sprinkle down from the darkening clouds. Pushed to her emotional limits Joan was unable to stop herself from slapping Sherlock across the face.

"You can be a real ass, you know that?" Her hand was stinging with pain, her eyes welling with tears.

"So I've been told." He rubbed at the point of impact on his face, just below his left eye.

"I'm going back home. If you want to stay out here in the rain and annoy innocent people, then that's fine with me. You're doing it alone."

"As you wish."

Sherlock watched as Joan wrapped her arms around herself and walked down the sidewalk heading back to the brownstone. The cold rain began to fall heavier from the sky, quickly coating the streets with a chilled dampness and a low rumble of thunder began echoing from the distance. Sherlock pulled the collar of his coat up further to protect his ears and turned on his heels walking down the sidewalk opposite of Joan.

The investigation would continue but now with only one detective on the case.

-The End?

Authors Note: Sorry about this cliffhanger ending, but let's face it, they keep you coming back for more! I will have the third portion up as soon as possible, I will bring you closure, I promise! Wish I could've made it longer but I don't want to drag out the suspense too much. :)