Thank you again to those of you reviewing; it does mean a lot. A bit of a fluffy one, this one. Thanks again to Skyfullofstars for the encouragement.

Characters don't belong to me….etc….

Chapter 7

"Don't taunt me Sherlock; you know already how I would choose to spend my last few hours."

"I'm not taunting you John, I'm being serious." He pulls me down into the sand next to him so that he can lean his head upon my good shoulder. "Tell me"- he whispers.

I place an arm around his own shoulders and draw him into me. "Well I suppose it would be unremarkable to any other day we have spent together, apart from a few minor deviations of course." He gets my meaning and raises an eyebrow making me laugh. "It would start with one of Mrs Hudson's cooked breakfasts; there is no better way of starting the day. Then I think we would walk, I miss London's parks already despite our 'break' from the weather. Then I believe dinner at the Royale. Yes, definitely the Royale, perhaps take in the LSO at the Royal Albert Hall on the way back to Baker Street. I know how you love their Vivaldi's Le Quattro Stagioni."

I feel him take a deep breath against my chest which I hold as agreement. He feels strangely heavy despite the water and I realise am not used to taking his weight in this fashion. He has been away from London for too long.

I am reminded of my reoccurring dream which I have not had since arriving here. It is much reminiscent of this scene I find myself in; the sea lapping at my trousers, happily wrapped about his person. It must have been some form of premonition. He would berate me terribly if I should mention it but I am thankful for the image that has replaced the nightmares that previously haunted my war-fraught dreams.

"Quite perfect my dear John. I was clearly wrong."

"About what exactly?"

"That you had poor taste in eating establishment, obviously."

I tut at him in mock annoyance and he comes to from his own imagination. Taking leave of my side, he stands and pulls at my hand.

"To the house I think. I've had enough of our walk"- he says with a carefree wink.

I take his hand, allowing him to begin our path back. Before our 'swim', I hadn't seen past Gabriel's wood shed and now that the sun is behind us, I see the small dark caves that litter the cliff side. I'm taken by our mood and pull him back, clutching his hips to mine and kissing him hard, still in disbelief that I am allowed. Once I am able to pull myself away, I take his hands heading towards one of the caves, the possibility of there being any danger inside as distant as London itself. He clearly approves of our detour and once inside the darkness, we are consumed by the shadows allowing other senses to take precedence.

It feels wonderful to be out of the heat of the sun and I place heavy hands upon his shoulders, pushing him down on to his knees where I am quick to follow. I start at removing damp clothes from a trembling Sherlock, his body seemingly unable to handle what is wrenching through him at this very moment. I would never admit to a soul, but I quietly congratulate myself at being the one to draw this reaction out of the great stoic 'Sherlock Holmes' and I thank the heavens that it is me and not some other poor wretch.

It is the briefest of tumbles, still desperate for the newness of it all. More than once a vigorous roll results in a scratch from a jagged rock for one or both of us, making it an encounter in which we have scars to prove. He tastes of salt and sand and it is heavenly. When we are both spent and have donned our wet sandy trousers, we lie for a minute regaling in the cool silence. I can feel him thinking.

"I must ask a favour of you John."

"Another?"- I say in jest. "I'm only just done with the last thing you asked of me."

He continues, ignoring my comment. "Despite our current situation, I still am unable to find solace at your arrival here and I still wish you had remained at Baker Street where I could be sure that you would remain safe. Anyway, that disappointment aside…."

"That disappointment?" I say, my mood shifting as I sit up upon my elbows.

"That disappointment aside, I must tell you that there is a letter I wish you to give to Mycroft in the event of me not returning to London. It will clear things up nicely and hand him some very concise leads indeed. It appears Moriarty has quite a bit going on in this part of the world." He looks pleased with himself.

"I refuse to speak of this any further"- I say getting up from the sand and picking up his shoes to hand to him. He looks surprised at my outburst, as I am myself.

"It's practicality John. It would be idiotic of me not to have put something in place."

"Yes of course, how stupid of me? Well, forgive me if I do not join you in this pessimistic outlook, I don't believe it to be of any use to us. Do you not think of how your words affect me, affect how I feel about this, here?"

"Will it change the outcome?"- he says coldly.

I stare blankly at him in disbelief, not feeling entirely sure that he did indeed come here to protect me after all. Once again I am left battered as I have been countless times before only this time it means more, feels more like a malice he'll never understand. It casts a shadow over our activities here and what may await us in London when we return. When we both return. I've never heard him so resigned to a fate such as this.

We walk back to the house in silence, the weight of my gun once more lying heavily in my pocket. I notice Sherlock flick glances at his watch and I wonder what on earth he is bothering with it for. Doesn't he know that time stopped two hours ago, he was the one that made it so? I'm still unsure of how the mood between us could change so quickly. Maybe it is because there is more of us to ignite now.

He sits where he had been before we left for the beach, taking up his earlier pose of stone as if the last few hours hadn't happened at all. My mind turns to what it always does when Sherlock is turned down so low; my stomach. I silently place the gun in front of him on the table, always longing for his safety above my own.

I pad to the kitchen, all nerves now fully back where they had been previously, erasing the carefree attitude teased so skilfully out of me earlier. As I round the corner towards the kitchen directly two floors below where I had left Sherlock, I smell it as only an Army Doctor could.

Blood.

My pulse quickens and for the second time that day I berate myself for leaving the gun behind. Maybe Sherlock was no good for me after all. I creep slowly, noticing red footprints of a larger man than myself leading out into the vegetable garden walked through on my arrival here. I swallow hard, making my mind up to face whatever is behind this door head on.

The scene that awaits me is that of a blood bath. The body of Maria lies on the cool tiled floor; exsanguinated of almost her entire blood volume with the peeling knife still in her hand from where she had stood at the sink. A clear gash from what appeared to be a cut-wire sits about her neck like a red ribbon, the blood pooling like silk. I want to be sick there and then, not just from the sight before me but also from the thought of the younger girl who had greeted us with a nervous smile that morning. Maria's body is cold to touch and I guess that she was killed a few minutes after we ourselves left the house, adding yet another casualty to this game we are locked within.

I make a strange decision which still confuses me to this day. I retrace my steps and close the large wooden door behind me, shutting out the devastation. It will serve no purpose to bring this to Sherlock's attention, he is placed on a scale at present and for selfish reasons I do not wish that scale to be tipped. He needs to be sharp, needs to be focused to await the next move. I will carry this enough for the both of us for the time being. He will not after all be inclined to use the kitchen.

After I scan the remaining rooms for any sign of the young girl and find nothing, I take the stairs back to Sherlock, making my mind up to brush over his blunt words and just be thankful that we have come this far. I take a moment to compose myself for he will see through me like glass if I return in this state and as I turn the corner into the room I almost smash into him.

"I was about to come and find you."

"Yes, sorry. I just, I…."

He takes in my features, and just when I think he may question me further or request to see my haul from the kitchen, he places hands upon either side of my face and brushes his fingers over my features.

"I hate it when we quarrel, say that you won't remember it of me John."

I feel like giving him everything in that second for his words sounds like a goodbye. My hands need to touch him, he is now a physical need, not just an emotional one and I think I should cease to exist outside of this man's company in the future.

"I take all of you Sherlock, not just the bits that sit well with me. We will discuss it further when this is over and we have returned to Baker Street, do you hear me?" This sounds harsher than I meant, the moroseness of what lays two floors below us weighing heavily making me feel terribly sorry for my companion, something I have never felt for him before. It is a week of firsts indeed.

He smiles. "Help me check that all the windows and doors are locked John. Then take me to bed."

I do, but it feels like misdirection. I am unable to argue, he is too beautiful. We are there for around an hour before he says it, legs entwined with my own.

"I believe Doctor Watson, that I may be in Love and that I have been for a while now, but I'm afraid I have no experience of which to judge it, and well that just makes for poor science."

"Well."- I say after a pause. "You can use my notes. I feel I may concur with your findings." He leans in and kisses me then buries his head in my neck so that I cannot see his expression. I squirm a little underneath him, curious to see what he hides. But before I can he pulls back the covers and jumps out of bed keeping his back to me and grabbing his clothes. His voice sounds funny as he pauses at the door.

"I'm going to check the perimeters John. Stay here, don't move. I will be back in a while."

I give him ten minutes before I step out into the hallway. The house is silent and my heart rate increases with every step that doesn't find him. When I make the living room all there is to see is the pale crisp envelope propped up on the table. It is addressed to Mycroft.