A/N: Huh, the way people act, you'd think I'd murdered Watson or something. lol

Guest: Thank you for the review! I would apologize, but I get the impression you're liking it. ;)

Riandra: Thank you again. I'm working on it! I promise I'll try not to take too long.

Chapter Two

Watson sighed yet again. He'd long ago given up any hope of winning the argument, but he knew it was his duty as both a friend and doctor to the man on the bed to persist.

"Holmes..."

"Mrs. Hudson will never find out. Provided, of course, that you don't attempt to prevaricate in your usual way."

This return was spoken with no little challenge in his voice as he continued to pout from his bed. Watson crossed his arms hiding his bandaged hands, giving every impression of an unmovable object. Holmes knew better. He'd already won the argument. Now he just had to convince Watson he'd won.

The two eyed each other challengingly waiting for one to back down. The sudden glint that lit in Watson's green eyes had Holmes frowning a moment later. He never did like that expression. It usually meant his Watson had managed to outmaneuver him. The knowing grin that began to form on his friend's face was enough to convince him he would not like the answer if he bothered to ask.

Reading more in each others' expressions in a few seconds than most did in hours of spoken conversation, Holmes already knew where this would end. And yet he couldn't help but wonder when it was Watson had developed such a wicked streak of cunning.

"Watson..."

"You're not getting out of that bed, Holmes."

Biting back some rather ungentlemanly remarks, Holmes shifted once more to lie prone on the bed. He could not deny the silent gratitude his body spoke in the form of reduced throbbing throughout the various parts of his body. Watson said nothing further for a few moments while he carefully covered Holmes in several layers of blankets.

"I will go talk to Lestrade and then we'll see what happens from there, dear chap." Watson finally said, pouring a glass of water. "For now, you need to rest. Give your body a chance to heal, and I'll do what I can."

"I was not planning on chasing all over London," Holmes replied testily, reminding Watson of a petulant child.

"No, just Scotland Yard, most of the area around Baker Street, and half a dozen or so drinking establishments," Watson threw back blandly.

Holmes gray eyes glared malevolently. Watson was not supposed to know about...

"Very well, then," Holmes finally huffed. "Go, see what your friends at the Dancing Duck have to say about the week's activities. Then, perhaps, you will see that I am not simply addled!"

Heaving another weary sigh, Watson turned down the gas. "I hope you're wrong."

The multitude of unspoken thoughts and feelings behind that phrase penetrated Holmes' irritation as Watson refused to face him. Watson was still haunted by the memories of guilt and loss. Though they had never spoken much about it openly, Holmes could tell his friend was fearing a repeat performance. Holmes knew Watson would not survive a second such abandonment. When his friend reached for the bag beside the bed, Holmes placed a hand on his arm to stop him. He waited until Watson met his gaze questioningly, so he could see the sincerity.

"Not this time," Holmes assured Watson that he would not be left behind.

The relief that flooded Watson's face was proof enough of what had been on his mind. Holmes was glad he could give at least that much reassurance. As Watson closed the bedroom door behind himself, Holmes almost wished someone could offer him the same reassurance. The shadowy threat he sensed that had invaded the streets of his city haunted him.

Some ghosts refused to stay quiet.

~o~o~o~

Lestrade eyed the man sitting across from his desk critically. It had only been three days since he'd found the doctor and Mr. Holmes tied up in the basement of a house that was to be set afire that very same night. He was not entirely surprised to feel a sense of lingering dread at the idea of what had almost become of the man sitting before him now.

"He's feeling better, then," Lestrade commented. When Watson glanced up at him curiously he threw a knowing grin as he said, "Otherwise you would not be looking like a man who could use a drink."

Watson's chuckle reassured him that Holmes was indeed improving in health, thus making life harder for his friend. "If I can convince him to rest for a few more days, he should be back to his usual in a week or so."

"Glad to hear it, John," Lestrade said sincerely.

Though he still bore a grudge against Holmes for what he'd done to all of them, most especially the doctor, he did not wish the man ill. Finishing the tea he had prepared, he resumed his seat across from Watson.

"So, what is it Mr. Holmes seems to think you'll find here? The arsonists are all sitting in gaols, the case was closed successfully."

Watson sipped his tea with a frown, trying to gather his thoughts. He didn't like where this was headed, and there seemed no easy way to broach the subject.

"Holmes thinks someone paid them," he started off hesitantly, still trying to organize his thoughts.

"That I don't doubt," Lestrade said, "but none of them would say a word. They all claimed they were doing it for fun."

"Seven people, Giles. Seven people were killed in twelve fires."

Lestrade nodded. "Yes, it is a rather high number for just being arson. They were obviously employed by someone who wanted these people dead. The other fires were to throw us off who that might be. But for all the victims, we could not find a common link."

"And most arsonists are lone operators. They don't form gangs. They don't use it as a form of assassination. Holmes thinks we need to look at all of the arsons. He thinks they're all tied together, and not just by the firestarters."

Lestrade frowned unhappily, already picturing the hours spent in going over the numerous fires for any clues. "There's more."

Watson nodded guiltily. "He thinks the murders, the fires, the thefts, and more are all being coordinated by someone."

Lestrade sighed and dry-scrubbed his face with his hands. "Sounds familiar, doesn't it?"

Watson nodded again.

"It's not him, is it? I mean, the body was never recovered."

"No. Holmes is certain of that much. This person, or persons, is not as cunning, but would appear to have just as far of a reach. They are much more open in some ways, while concealing their true purpose. Unlike Professor Moriarty, he feels there is some greater goal in all of this than the accumulation of just wealth or power."

"More than 'just wealth or power'?" Lestrade asked incredulously.

"He says it is much more intricate. There is a greater force at work, and he is trying to find out what their ultimate goal really is. Holmes was never able to bring Moriarty's true goal to light, and he had felt even then that there was more to it. Whether this is a continuation of the original aim, or something entirely different, he is determined to find out. I'm sure he has his suspicions, but he does not intend to share them with me just yet.

"Essentially, he wants us to evaluate all of the arsons and a number of other crimes he has marked as potential connections."

"I'll see if I can't get McAllister..." Lestrade trailed off as Watson shook his head vehemently.

"No, we can't. Holmes says it is to stay between the three of us. He doesn't want anyone to know we even suspect there is more yet."

"He suspects Scotland Yard?" Lestrade bristled slightly at this.

"I'm afraid so," Watson confirmed, somewhat uncomfortable with the admission. "And I agree with him."

Lestrade sat back in his creaking chair scrutinizing Watson thoroughly. He had no need to ask the question that hung between them. Watson ran a hand across his face as if to wipe away the darkening thoughts of suspicion. Obviously he was no more pleased with the idea than the inspector.

"Holmes has always had a way of identifying patterns in criminal activity, no matter how cleverly someone attempted to cover their tracks. What he's seeing now ties together more crimes in the last two years than either of us could likely begin to guess. The scope of it astounds even him. And the only way he can think that all of the links between these crimes could so easily and successfully have been overlooked or disregarded would be intentionally.

"I don't like it anymore than you do, Giles. But someone is diverting attention away from the source and helping to make them seem random. Who else would be in a position? Holmes fears it goes even higher than that, but this is where we start."

Lestrade grunted thoughtfully. "I'm sorry, John. I can't accept that without some proof. I will do what I can to help in searching through the case files. But I will not do so under the suspicion that someone is deliberately sabotaging investigations."

Watson nodded wearily in understanding.

Lestrade felt the need to lighten the atmosphere, even if only a little. "Besides, Holmes knows what a bunch of bunglers we are. He might be wrong."

The grin that lit the doctor's face did not reach his eyes, but Lestrade thought it enough. This topic was far from over, and both men set to planning their next moves. It would be slow going with only two of them, and most of that being Lestrade. As he was employed only occasionally by the Yard, Watson would have to be far more careful and less involved. Holmes did not want him bringing attention to their private investigation by digging through files that had nothing to do with his medical reports. The two quietly plotted out how to go about searching various files, and Lestrade even managed to contrive a way to get Watson more involved at the Yard to help allay suspicions. Watson checked a sigh that rose as he considered how this was going to fit in with his current rounds. His mind already planning for the days ahead, he bid farewell to the inspector.

As he left Scotland Yard to turn his feet back toward Baker Street, he failed to notice the brightly glittering green eyes that followed him.