Author's note: The First Chapter was just a set up and received some very nice comments, so thank you :) I'm hoping this second slice wets your appetite just a little bit more! Comments always welcome.

CHAPTER TWO

It was October. A year to the day. John Watson sat before his therapist not saying a word and chewing the inside of his cheek. She waited patiently, studying him. If she were to analyse this correctly she'd wager that he was here not to talk, but to get away from the flat. Silence was the loudest scream in many ways. She shifted forwards.

"I know it's difficult." John made a huffing noise in response. "Is there anything you believe you should have done this year? Anything you would change?"

John considered this for a long moment. He'd change a lot of things. Coming here, for one, because it wasn't doing anything to help him. He should have gone to his sister's but then she'd question him and it was too much to bear going through it all. One year. It didn't seem that long at all. Felt like only a month had passed when he thought about it. He should have visited the grave more, maybe spent more time with Mrs Hudson.

"I would… eat a lot less Chinese. Clean the flat more. Maybe get a dog, or a cat. I like cats."

Clearly this hadn't been what the therapist had intended but it was an answer all the same. "Anything you're proud of?"

It took John two seconds this time. "I got a job." He paused. "Yeah that's what I'm proud of. I'm damn good at it too."

"New friends?"

"Yes. Yep."

"How do you find working with your patients?"

John considered this a moment. He could have said boring, because that's what most of the job was like. He didn't want patients he wanted clients, though he didn't think they were too dissimilar. Both had a case they needed solving but with his patients, it was vastly health related and simple to resolve.

Instead he said, "Soothing. I like that I'm still able to help people."

This pleased his therapist and she nodded. "Getting satisfaction out of one area of your life is good, John. It helps you focus and helps you deal with other things you may feel difficult at times. We'll meet again next week."

John returned to the apartment which was no longer home. It was more his residence, the place he could sleep. For that reason it was more like a free hotel without the maids and room service. Mrs Hudson had taken to giving him space but he wasn't quite sure it was space that he wanted.

Because it was so spacious he thought that maybe he should really get a cat. Sherlock had never wanted pets, didn't see the point in them. John had never argued because he realised that the place wasn't a very habitable or normal one that a pet would deserve, but the temptation was there now. As he threw his keys on the table he was mulling over this option, when he was surprised to see a letter addressed to him.

He got the odd bill, mis-addressed because Mycroft was still taking care of things finance wise. It was the least he could do in the circumstances he'd said. John knew that he felt as guilty as sin itself but he didn't want to admit that he was somewhat responsible.

Since it wasn't from Mycroft, John released his grip on the envelope then tore it open.

You sounded annoyed.

""!

One sheet of paper, nothing else on it but those three words, signed in a code of punctuation John didn't understand. He turned it over to study it, see if there were any clues but of course there were none. When had he sounded annoyed? Probably most of the time, he'd become rather snappish lately.

Shrugging he threw the letter back on the table. Bless Mrs Hudson for her internal postal runs. Looked like she'd cleaned up a little too, allowing John to settle in for the night without too much trouble.

Jane Willows, 27, brunette, born in November, patient of Doctor John Watson, strolled the London streets with a spring in her step. The day was bright, she had a month til her birthday and her friends were planning a surprise party for her at the local pub. Of course she hadn't let on that she knew but it was a nice feeling. She'd felt much better ever since Doctor Watson had diagnosed her.

Her frequent fainting hadn't been diabetes like she'd been worried about, merely the fact that she'd missed two of her three meals a day for two weeks or more while she worked on the big advertising campaign at work. Now she'd learnt her lesson she could focus on her assignment.

The new guy at work seemed very friendly and he opened the door for her as she walked inside. Sort of cute, too; blonde hair, crystal blue eyes if a bit skinny all in all. He was shadowing her while she took on one of their bigger clients. As he made her a cup of tea he shoved his glasses up his nose with one finger, trying to avoid getting them steamed from the kettle.

"Are you feeling alright now?" Peter asked her. When she looked up he clarified: "The fainting? Light headedness… nothing serious?"

"Oh! No, so long as I remember to eat something more than two hundred calories three times a day I should be quite alright."

"So no more visits to the Doctor for you."

"Not if I can help it, no."

The blonde gave her an odd sort of smile which Jane supposed was just nerves. He handed her the tea and she thanked him as he sat down opposite, looking over the proposals. Unnoticed by her his blue eyes scanned the text and then set her; so engrossed was she in proof reading her own presentation notes she jumped when he spoke.

"You misspelt 'categorically'." He gave her a soft, reassuring smile when she looked for her mistake. "Just there. Sorry, I'm sort of a grammar Nazi."

The misspelt word was upside down, in size ten text and the document closest to her. Getting over her flustered state she chuckled, shaking her head. "That's what we need around here. Clients take no prisoners, if there's a mistake please let me know."

Peter gave a laugh and nodded. "Very well."

Two hours later, with the whole document almost entirely re-written and the copies neatly fastened in an immaculate way, Jane stood ready to enter the board room to present her most recent concept for the campaign when she suddenly felt rather odd. It was nerves, that was all. Peter gave her a silent thumbs up which she returned with a lacklustre smile, feeling her body drain completely.

Ten minutes later she awoke with a mask over her face, breathing in fresh oxygen from a tank. She was still at the office and had apparently been awake the whole time but her eyes now held her conscious state of awareness.

"Thank God," said a balding man, her boss, who was by her side. A paramedic in a green suit shone a torch into her face at which she grimaced. "We wondered what the hell was wrong, Jane…!"

Jane removed the mask, wincing. "I'm a little confused myself…"

"We'll take you for overnight observation, ok Ms Willows?" said the paramedic. Jane found herself agreeing to it, but she was still in a daze. One minute she was standing, the next…

"The presentation… oh god, Larry…"

"It's alright! Peter stood up to the mark, he's still in there now presenting your work, the board are fully aware of what's happened."

Without further argument Jane was ushered into the back of an ambulance and taken to the hospital. She was asked routine health questions, felt better every moment but she knew that this was possibly a false alarm. The feeling of dizziness was not as dense or soul destroying as the one of failure, at having worked so damned hard just to be unable to physically present her blood, sweat and tears and be damn well proud of it.

Spending the night staring at white ceilings, Jane did nothing but dwell on it.

It was six am. John awoke to the sound of his phone vibrating on the bedside table. At first he thought it was a dream because nobody ever called him at this time of night any more. When he picked it up and felt the cold case in his fingers he knew he wasn't imagining it.

He managed to mumble something that sounded remotely like "Hello?"

There was silence, then a breath. John recognised this from a few months ago but his thoughts couldn't join with his mouth to make a comment. Apparently he didn't need to.

"Do you know what happens to good people, Mr Watson?"

He didn't recognise this voice, a man's voice, deep and dreamy. John sat up in bed, the springs giving a creak under his weight. "Who is this?"

"Bad things. Terrible things."

He put the phone from his face and tried to see the number; withheld. "Sorry but I was sort of in the middle of something… sleep, it's called, you might like to try it."

"You sound annoyed again."

The note. John was waking up more every moment. "What do you want?"

"Irrelevant questions, all irrelevant – are you losing your touch? Or was it Holmes' all along?"

"What questions should I be asking?"

There was a chuckle on the other end. "Good boy… co-operation, thinking on your feet – or in your bed."

"Why did you send me that note?" There was no reply to this. "The letter, why did you send it if you were only going to ring me afterwards?" Still silence. With no chance at all of dropping back to sleep John swung his legs over the side of the bed, glaring into the darkness. "What game are you trying to play with me?"

The dial tone signalled the end of the conversation and John stared at his phone, a glowing white beacon in the center of the room. Why was it that it always made the rest of the room look darker? John switched it off, trying to calm his breaths. He'd thought he would be rid of mystery and nutters who liked to toy with people. Apparently there were more out there, always more, and this one had happened to find John's number.

For the first time in a long while instinct kicked in and he scrolled through the phone, standing up and heading to the door. He crossed the hall, went to walk into Sherlock's room to alert him of this development, then stopped dead in his tracks.

Sherlock wasn't in there. He hadn't been for twelve long months, yet somehow John had quite forgotten this fact in the need to share the phone call with someone who'd understand. His hand hovered over the doorknob, like if he touched it he'd be electrocuted. Slowly he withdrew and let his hands fall to his sides. It was the closest felt to crying in a long time.