A/N: Very sorry I'm being so rubbish with this story! Exams are coming up soon, so my mind's occupied.

I realise this chapter is boring, my pace is annoyingly slow, but my head isn't in it so I don't know what the characters are doing. I thought it would be nice if anyone reading this (if anyone is!) had any idea's for what they'd like to happen! Review and let me know. I know I won't let down for action, but what...

Thanks to anyone who is reading this :)


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Chapter 6:

Breaking Away

Sherlock peeled his eyes open and welcomed the warm light that instantly filled his vision. He smiled. An odd thing to do after waking up, but the need to smile just suddenly hit him. The need, also, to twist his body about in the luxurious bed, crumpling the crisp white sheets, and nestle his face into the disheveled brunette hair that fanned out on the pillow next to him.

Lazily- contently- a sigh of pleasure passed Irene Adler's lips. She slowly turned around to face him, stretching out her arm sky-high, as if relishing in the delight of the moment.

Her eyes, large and magnetic, gazed into Sherlocks. "I thought you'd be gone." She said with a yawn in her voice and quiet satisfaction in her eyes.

Sherlock tilted his head further into the pillow. "So did I." He mused.

Gradually, he brought his lips to Irene's...


"Sir? Sir? Excuse me, Sherlock, was it?"

An irritating newt seemed to be intruding Sherlock's dream. His memory. One of very few that brought him great pleasure- if a little subtle discomfort and guilt- to relive. But there was some sort of animal, thingy, on his shoulder. Shaking it relentlessly.

"Sherlock?" The girl sat in the seat next to him, who's name Sherlock had deemed too unimportant to retain, shook his shoulder awkwardly. "Sir, I just thought I'd wake you. The plane has landed.

With these words, so rushed in the sound of bustling bags and scrunching sweet-wrappers, punching Sherlocks dreary senses. He sighed. That journey had been far too swift.

Blinking away the fatigue, Sherlock thanked the woman, who nodded shyly in return before taking her luggage and slinking away with the other passengers.

As the hoards loaded themselves off, Sherlock quietly sat back in his chair. There was no use in hurrying with that maddening crowd. Anyway, after the events of the past few days, he couldn't say he felt as comfortable in tight crowds as he used to. He reached and touched his head, remembering the horrible spinning sensation that had sent him to the ground to be trampled underfoot. Left powerless. No. He'd wait for the crowds to lessen.

The last couple of stragglers began to make there way off of the plane, and Sherlock began to stand.

"Is there a Sherlock Holmes on this plane?" Someone called.

Sherlock looked over to the pilot's cabin from where a uniformed man had emerged, asking for him. Oh no. Not this again. What was it this time? Sherlock was beginning to really despise airplanes.

"Priority message from England to a Mr. Sherlock Holmes." The young man became irritated. "This is quite unorthodox so if a Mr. Holmes is here, could he please speak up?"

Sherlock sighed. "John. You fiend." He mumbled, before sinking his hands in the depths of his pockets and stalking off the plane without a word.

As his skin hit the humid wall of hot air, Sherlock found himself caught off guard. He cleared his throat and pulled off his jacket, feeling uncomfortable in just a shirt. Sooner than expected, the sharp material began to feel like an unwanted hide, quenching any hope of air, confining the beading sweat already forming on his back.

Already, his heart pined for London. The streets there felt so familiar that if he stood on Carnaby Street, he could close his eyes and map out the way to Trafalgar Square. The only reason he wasn't turning back from this foreign land was because his heart pined for someone else more.


"Well?" John pestered, hands leaning firmly on the cluttered desk.

Greg shook his head gravely. "Nothing. Again."

John sighed irritably, raking his hands through his thinning hair. "You assured me that this was defiantly the right plane." John said, narrowing his eyes at Lestrade.

He defensively raised his eyebrows. "It was. CCTV proves it."

"So he's ignoring us now. Well that's just flipping great, isn't it! First I find out Mary's in Serbia, which means Irene bloody Adler is in Serbia, then Moriarty is revealed as being in Serbia... now Sherlock's in God damn flipping bloody Serbia! Everyone's going to Serbia! Will there be a surprise party for me there? Is that what this is all about?"

Greg could see that John was becoming erratic. He paced about the office, muttering in fury at the walls.

"John, calm down. Look, let's get some perspective on this. Where did it all start?" Greg spoke slowly. Thinking logically would calm John down, Greg knew it. In some ways, John's brain was wired similarly to the consulting detective's.

John took a deep breath. "Okay. It started with your little case. That was linked- I guess- because it was apparently Irene who killed the man. I've figured out that much. Took me a while. Took Sherlock minutes." John pondered. "Sherlock said it was her father that she shot."

"Okay. So this - this woman- kills her dad. You get an unrelated call and all that crap in the airport happens. Which, we now know, is to do with Moriarty wanting Sherlock." Greg's face was turning red from all the thinking. A laborious job.

"I don't get how Irene ended up with Mary though! I mean, they didn't know each other." John sighed, exasperated.

In this moment, he couldn't think straight. It had only taken a couple of days for his entire world to come crashing down around him, as if the whole time it had been made of glass rather than built as the sturdy construction that lives were supposed to be. It had been his responsibility to build this stable life for him and his family. So how had it come to this? His wife and child in mortal peril, and his friend risking his own life to save them. Disaster.

"Maybe they're old palls." Greg shrugged.

John paused. Then took an intake of breath. "Well... I guess it wouldn't be all that surprising." John bowed his head. "Sometimes I feel like I barely know her at all."

John retreated within himself for a second. Greg found the moment very awkward.

"Hey, I know what'll cheer you up!" Greg said in a half-sarcastic cheery tone.

"Hmm...?"

"A holiday in Serbia! I've heard it's absolutely beautiful this time of year."

John stumbled into the wooden chair in the room, almost missing in his haste to relieve his aching legs. He put his head in his hands and let it loll. He mumbled a 'yes'. He knew he'd they'd have to.

Greg slapped his hand on his friends shoulder. "You'll be fine, mate. We'll save them. All of them."

"I hope we can. Last time we were up against that snake Moriarty, the worst happened. I can't imagine what's going to happen this time."


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