I apologize for the lateness of this update! I had midterms, you see, and of course, I had to start this story up just before them! I believe updates will go faster from here, but we shall see. I also would like to warn you that the style of this chapter is different from the previous-apparently, I cannot make up my mind how I'm going to do this. But I think I shall stick with this. The first chapter was written in one sitting without even a thought to tense and the like, and being without someone to edit, I didn't really think about the confusion. So I apologize for the disparity! And the general shortness of this chapter. I hope you can tolerate it.

I believe what I thought would happen was a look of shock or instantaneous denial, not for his face to turn a shade whiter and his eyes to roll back into his head. I do not know how I managed to dash from the bed as I did without losing balance myself, but I caught him in my arms nonetheless.

"It was not my intention to make you faint," I panted.

I dragged him onto the bed instead of returning him to his chair, not thinking the article of furniture looked particularly comfortable, and myself feeling that I no longer needed to rest. I was as steady as an appropriate simile, and the false start of a few moments ago seemed far off.

"You are preposterously pale," I told him as I pushed him beneath the covers. He is remarkably stout, though not heavy, and I felt rather weak. How long had I been unconscious? And where was I, exactly? It was here that I looked fully at my surroundings, from the papers that scattered the floor to the-why, was that a shelf of beakers?

Had I deluded myself in thinking I was the unfortunate Dr. Frankenstein? I shook my head. I decided this was my room. It was too untidy for a man such as Watson. His clothes were wrinkled, certainly the result of his kindly vigil, but still clean and neat in style.

"I believe I'll take a good look around, old chap. Ground myself, you see," I told his taut and sleeping face. I patted it absentmindedly, and exited the cozy room only to enter another. It appeared to be a sitting room of sorts, with two chairs pulled up to an unlit fireplace, and...a chemistry set in the corner! I must be a scientist, then, and a poor one at that, to afford so little equipment. Watson must think me quite an odd fellow, I considered as I viewed bemusedly the bullet holes shaped in a "VR" that pocked the fireplace and the knife stuck sharply next to it.

Or a maddened killer, perhaps.

I was somewhat disappointed that this domestic setting did not spark a memory within me, only a feeling of ghostly dread, as if the very act of breathing would make it vanish. It could use a bit of light, I determined, and with this thought went to the window and pulled back the drapes. Morning sun filtered in through the dark clouds above, and I determined it was too early for polite society to be up and about. Looking at the quiet streets of...

The realization that I did not know where I was struck me with such force that I thought I had taken a blow. I have, I thought hazily as dizziness washed over me, and I clung to the curtains to keep my balance. For what felt like hours I remained there, however the dizziness only lessened, not recede, and after involuntarily deducing the age, fabric and the number of the launderings that the curtains had received (a year, cotton, a large number), I pulled myself away from the accursed things and stumbled toward the closest seat. Another round of clinging desperately to the back of the chair and I collapsed into its softness, only to shout in pain when I collided with something hard.

"Dammit-!" I cursed and yanked the thing out from under me. I nearly tossed it across the room when the sight of it arrested my hand. It was a violin, well polished and tuned, its glossy sheen heightened by the specks of dim light from the window. A feeling of intense remorse bubbled up within me, and I let it rest against my knee.

"A chemist, a violinist, or neither? I am quite a mystery," I muttered to myself. Watson could not be the instrument's owner-he hadn't the delicate hands for it as I had. Watson's conscious presence would be useful at this moment.

And then I felt quite ill.

Fortunately, or perhaps, unfortunately for the object in question, there was an empty flowerpot just to my left, and I emptied my stomach into it. It was at this untimely moment that Watson bellowed my name from the formerly quiet room.

"HOLMES!" he bellowed for the second time and came storming out of the bedroom, his hair in so wild a state that I could not help but smile sickly over the pot. When he finally saw me, he breathed a sigh of relief and tromped to my side. "Thank God...I thought you had run off." He placed a hand on my back and slipped the flowerpot from my trembling fingers, grimacing as he peered at its contents.

"Mrs. Hudson is not going to be pleased with you, Holmes," he admonished. I did not like being chastised; whoever she was, she should not have left it there in the first place. What were flowerpots good for, other than to contain flowers? I would have said as much, but he began to talking again before I could open my mouth.

"I had the strangest dream! Oh, and I thank you for removing me from my chair, Holmes. You suffered a very dangerous concussion! It is not the time for your stubborn behavior."

Oh dear.

"You are going back to bed, I hope you know," he said with the raise of an eyebrow. I tried to speak again, but he silenced me. "None of your excuses! To bed." And with this, he helped me to my feet, though I staggered, and gently steered me to the bedroom.

I protested: "I protest, Watson-I only need to sit for a little while..."

He ignored me quite unfairly, and once in the bedroom, seated me on the bed. Before he could reach for his bag and pull out a sedative, for the look was in his eyes-how would I know such a thing? Had he done it before?-I hurriedly spoke.

"Watson, what was your dream about?"

"Something ridiculous-that you had gone amnesiac," he grunted as he dug into the bag with a voracity that did not bode well.

"And what if I have?" I questioned warily.

"I should hope you are aware of the commonality of memory loss after such an event-I will explain what happened when you awake again." He snorted derisively, as if the very thought of my ignorance was laughable.

You have and you haven't. He had already taken my arm and inserted the sedative, frowning deeply at the action, and again I could not think of an explanation. But before I could puzzle his reaction out further, the effect was instant, and I found my eyelids growing heavy and my mind drowsy. I felt my head touch something soft and heard Watson's wish of "good night" before I lost consciousness altogether.

Only to be awakened some time later by the sound of glass breaking.