Chapter Two:

It was afternoon and Holmes was sitting in the red leather chair. Yellow fall sunlight poured in through the windows to pool on the floor and he blinked his eyes until he could see through the dazzle. It was strange, not remembering how he'd gotten into the living room, but it sometimes happened when he lost track of time. But he wasn't working, just sitting. Alone. All of a sudden, he stood up, worry creeping into his bones as he glanced around. "Joan?" He called out.

There was no answer. He walked into the kitchen, then back out into the hallway. She was nowhere to be found. Her running shoes were lined up near the door. Her coat was on the hook. "Joan?" He asked more softly. With horror, he noticed a lone balloon floating at the top of the steps. Taking the stairs two at a time, he went immediately to her bedroom. It was empty, except for what seemed like hundreds of balloons bobbing at different levels in the room. They all said "Your move!" His heart stopped beating. Adam. How? He beat his way through the floating blobs of color, searching for her. She was nowhere to be found. He was paralyzed with fear at the thought of finding her hurt . . . or worse.

He turned around in shock. "No, no, no, no." He growled, his hands pounding aside the balloons. He escaped their snarled strings and was in the hallway, facing his door. A black envelope taped at eye level. He snatched it off. Finding gloves and preserving fingerprints ran through his mind, but it was Joan and he couldn't afford to lose so much time. He ripped it open.

In sliver pen on black paper, it read:

Holmes—

Your break's over.

Play the game.

M.

The paper fell from nerveless fingers. He knew there wouldn't be any clues to glean from it. Not if it came from . . . HIM. Fear and frustration swept through his body and he was paralyzed. He'd caused this himself. Joan was in danger from HIM, if not dead already, and it was all his fault. "NO!" He turned and punched a fist into the wall, tears of rage forming in his eyes.

Joan woke up at the sound of her name. She sat straight up in bed and listened intently as she checked the clock. 3:33 A.M.. Before he called out a second time, she burst from the bed and headed straight for his room, instantly awake. It wasn't the first time she'd been woken up in the middle of the night by a client who needed her.

The detective was caught in a nightmare, tangled in the bed sheets. She called his name, but he didn't wake. She hesitated about coming in, unable to help noticing the sheet which, while still covering part of him, was revealing more than she'd seen so far. Taking a deep breath, she stared at his perfect skin, the curve of his backside pale against the ornamentation of his ink. When he moaned again, she snapped out of her daze, blushing as much as if she'd been caught. For God's sake, Joan. Stop it, she thought, pulling herself together. She was a doctor, after all.

Stepping quickly in the room, she knelt down beside the bed. "Sherlock. C'mon, wake up. It's ok." He twisted towards her in the bed, but didn't wake. His sounds of terror made her blood run cold. Lately, he had changed. Something had been bothering him, and she'd not been able to get to the bottom of it. This had to be a part of the puzzle.

When he called her name again, she placed a hand on his shoulder. The warmth from his body seemed to burn her skin. "Sherlock. Wake up." He was usually such a light sleeper, and she began to worry that he wasn't seeming to come out of it. She shook him just a little more; there was no way she could let him continue in the grip of this nightmare.

She was calling his name again, frantically, when he opened his eyes.

His heart was pounding and she was right there beside him. She searched his face, while still keeping her grip on his shoulder. "Sherlock," she said his name, a whisper that hung in the air. "You're okay."

He continued staring at her. Then, before she knew it, he had swiftly enfolded her in his arms. "Alive. You're alive." He whispered against her hair.

"It was just a nightmare." She said softly, feeling herself return his embrace. The feel of his naked skin dazed her senses, and she found herself holding him longer than she'd meant to. Her heart was breaking at seeing this vulnerable side of him, a side she hadn't known existed. "It's okay. It wasn't real." He didn't reply, but she felt his breath against her neck. It was both heavenly and frightening at the same time. She struggled with the feeling of wanting to be in his arms.

"Sherlock?" She leaned back, but he held her tightly like a drowning swimmer holds onto a rescuer. She waited a few more moments, then tried again. "Um…Sherlock." Her body was flushed with a heat that she knew was dangerous. Somehow, she didn't care, but the last rational part of her mind tried again. She pulled away just a bit, and he released her, finally. She could see he was more in control of himself now. She, however, felt her pulse racing like she'd been on a three mile run.

"Watson." He said softly, looking away. "Sorry. It was…" He shook his head.

She nodded, letting out a sigh. "Must've been a really bad one." Knowing that he needed a few moments, to gather himself (because she surely did, she realized) Watson stood up and went to the door. "You ok?" She asked. He nodded. "I'm going to go make some coffee," she offered. "Want some?"

He nodded, finally able to reach her eyes with his gaze. "Be down in a moment."

"Okay." She reluctantly left the room, closing the door behind her.

**Author's note-please leave comments if you liked it! I live for reviews!