Another One. Not as good as my first.

She says you have trust issues. That since your return, you have found it difficult to trust anyone. She keeps telling you to blog, as if it will help. As if writing down your boring life will somehow help your post traumatic stress. Nothing ever happens to you, what is there to write about? You know you miss the battlefield, the thrill of adventure, the danger, you are a warrior at heart, but you are also a healer. But its the warrior in you that is restless.

You limp through the park, by surprise you meet someone you have not seen for some time. You don't realise the meaning of this chance meeting. You don't realise what it will bring, who it will bring.

The flat is, to put it lightly, a complete and utter mess. And theres a skull, a bloody skull on the mantle. This tall, dark individual has captured your attention. He is like no one you had ever met. And then He's off, leaving you alone in the flat that would one day be your home. But then He comes back. Danger, oh god yes, point the way and you will follow.

Another stunning display of intellect. He seems surprised. Has no one ever complimented Him before? You can't help but be amazed and you tell Him so. He seems pleased though He hides it well. You suspect He always his hiding His emotions.

He claims He's a sociopath, but you know its not true. Oh there's other things He could be, but He is none of those. You've only known Him for a day, but you see. He wears a mask, but He let it slip around you. The others call Him a freak, but you see Him laugh, you see His eyes twinkle. The smiles of glee at a crack in the case, the raw passion in His face. Later you would see His sadness, the lonely little boy inside. He'd built a wall around His heart. You see through Him, into Him. And He sees into you.

The adventure. Oh how you had missed that thrill of chasing danger. He's brought it back. You have Him to thank, He gets off on solving crimes and mysteries, oh yes. But you get off on danger. Thats your drug. You don't care, you finally feel alive again. He's brought you back to life.

You remember the cab driver. That sick feeling in your stomach when you realised what had happened. You'd only just met Him, why were you so worried, was it the thought that you may miss out on something incredible if you lost Him? You shot the cabbie, you saved Him& you saved your friend. And then you laughed, joked and teased Him and His face told you everything. It told you "You understand me, how can you understand me, no one does." And that breaks you.

A blind banker, chinese acrobats, yellow paint and hoarse voices. You find out later, your curly-haired detective had been strangled twice in that case. Twice! The doctor in you swears and throws things, the warrior in you marvels at the other man's ability to simply solider on. Thin He may be, he was nothing if not strong- willed. Or perhaps stubborn was a better word.

An explosion. A terrifying game. And you are apart of it. You felt strangely calm at first. Was it the thought that you knew He would come that held you together? Only months had passed, were you at that point already. You trusted Him with your life, your heart. And as such, you would never forget the look on His face when He saw you. He though you were His Fan.

Moriarty.

Evil wore Westwood. You were prepared to die, if you could take him with you and spare your detective. But that red dot on His forehead made you release your hold on the consulting criminal. Your arch-enemy. People don't have arch-enemies, you told Him that once, you were wrong. He was right, but don't tell Him that.

And then the bomb was ripped off you. Your detective begged to know that you were safe. Oh He cares, He loves, bloody idiot why do you hide your emotions behind that mask of yours? You sagged against that pillar, you don't notice just how out of character, how agitated, you thin, bold hero is.

Evil comes back. And then there was another explosion. The warrior in you takes over and you push your hero into the pool, your arms wrapped around you.

Water.

Blood. Some of it is yours. As you kick to the surface and climb out of the pool you realise most of it is not. Oh god. Where was He? You dove back into the water to see Him struggling, the water stained red around Him like some morbid cloak. You pull Him to the surface, you just about have a heart attack when He doesn't respond.

"SHERLOCK!"

Oh god, please answer. Please please. You just want to hear Him speak. He's always speaking, why isn't He speaking. Why won't he answer? Tears fall down your cheeks. Please, just one word. Just one.

"...John?"

It's so quiet, you arms tighten around Him. Sherlock, your Sherlock, He was ok, bleeding, but the doctor inside told you He would survive this. Together you lay there waiting, the British Government would come and find them, and together they will tear down Moriarty's world, they will "fix" Jim. No matter what it took.