Hello everyone! Sorry it took so long but here is the next chapter! Hopefully I answered some questions and raised some new ones! Please leave a review and let me know what needs to be changed or if it's ok. Thank you!

I am in hell. The fires are consuming my left side, stroking, setting it ablaze each time I take a breath. The heat is another dead give away, all this heat with no respite in sight. I'm lying in my agony contemplating the existence of a hell, when suddenly the fires that had been contenting themselves with my left side suddenly spread to my chest and stop my breathing. Raw panic takes over and all thoughts of hell disappear as I fight to pull in life giving air.

My eyes shoot open and whom do I find? None other than my savior and faithful companion Gladstone, looking at me with those baleful eyes that seem to leak pity. I raise my right arm to shoo the thing impeding my breathing. This, however, turns out to be a bad idea as Gladstone takes this as a threatening gesture and uses my left side to leap off of.

Hell strikes back with full force. My eyes gray out and the agony that had been my left side turns into a tempest. I instinctively roll onto my good side and warp my arms around my midsection to try and douse the flames. I realize that my eyes are squeezed closed so hard that tears have started to leak out around the edges. I don't care though; I just want someone to put me out of my misery.

My wish doesn't come true. The tempest threatens to consume me until a soothing hand lays itself on my forehead. It seems to ooze strength lending me its own while I have none. Taking it's offering I turn it towards my side and realize that I haven't taken a breath in a while. Slowly, carefully I let out the air I've been holding. The tempest recedes to fire. I pull in a breath and it recedes further.

I finally get to point where I can pry my eyes open and find Watson kneeling over me. His hand lies gently on my forehead while his mouth is moving. Concern leeks out of his eyes. All I can hear is the thunder that has become my heart. I focus on his mouth and start to hear the mantra that he has been saying to me the whole time I've been in pain.

"Easy Sherlock, your safe now my good fellow. I'm taking care of you. You're going to be alright old chap." I allow my spent body to sink into the mattress and release the death grip I have on my left side. Seeing his opening Watson gently grabs my shoulder and rolls me over onto my back. Quickly his practiced doctor eyes catch the blood that is quickly starting to blossom anew on my bandage. Dully I realize two things. One I'm not wearing a shirt, and two that I must have reopened my wound.

Watson quickly, but gently pulls away the bandage and starts cursing. Quite so, I have reopened the wound. With a look that tells me I have a lecture coming my way, he sets about stopping the bleeding and prepping me for stitches. I lay back and allow him to work.

"Holmes, do you understand the Queens English? If so what happened yesterday? I remember telling you to stay perfectly still." Watson asks while casting me a sidelong glance that lets me know he's starting out easy. Shifting a little and receiving a glare from Watson I decide it would be in my best interest, seeing as how he has the needle and thread, to try and explain myself.

"Well," I start off slow trying to give my racing mind time to collect and organize my thoughts before I try to tackle the question. "After you left I was doing as you told me when I happened to look over at the dead Horsemen and saw this piece of paper sticking out of his pocket."

Watson pulls something out of his bag and fills a syringe with some fluid. Before I can protest he has the needle in my arm and has already depressed the plunger. A satisfied look comes across his face and it makes me wonder what he has just injected into my blood stream.

It does not take long for me to find out. The flames that had licked my side recede to a point were I can move with relatively minor pain, though this earns me a withering glare from Watson. I quite down before he decides to inject me with something to put me to sleep.

The side effects are mild as a soft fog floats into my thoughts, obscuring them and making me lose my place in the story. I lay content in the knowledge that Watson will have me patched up and ready to go in no time. Though I highly know, if he ever lets me out of bed again, that his sight will forever be glued on me.

A cloudy thought crosses my mind, reminding me that I was telling Watson what I had been up to. Not remembering were I had left off I decide to start back at the beginning.

"After you had left me to go find a carriage, I had been perfectly content to lie there till you returned. However my gaze wondered over to the body of our recently deceased Horsemen, skillful shot by the way, and I noticed a piece of paper in his pocket. Naturally I had to find out what the Horsemen was doing with said paper and discovered upon it a list of names."

So engrossed in telling my story was I that I had not noticed Watson had already begun to stitch me up. Ah the miracle of modern medicine. I realize that Watson wants me to talk to take my mind off of what he is doing. Obliging him I continue my story.

"On this slip of parchment I found the names of our four victims. But I was alarmed, however, when I found a fifth name. A name I recognized and knew was still alive and breathing. I knew something had to be done, and at once."

I suck in air as the medicine doesn't quite take the edge of some pain as he stitches a rather deep part. Not wanting him to see the pain I play it off as having run out of air.

He does not believe me however and before he continues he injects me with some more of the 'good stuff'. The fog becomes thicker but the pain is gone. With a sigh I lay my head back and continue my story.

"As I mentioned before, I recognized the last name. You were too far away to call and there was a time next to the name. Figuring it was when they would strike I decided to take action. I borrowed that horse and went to the man's shop. Once I got there he was saying something but I could not hear him. Then you showed up and I woke up with the dog on my chest."

Taking a moment to catch my breath I examine Watson's face. The whole time I had been telling the story he had been stitching me up. He didn't really react except for the parts were I mentioned the man's name and walking into his shop. He tensed up and now he was stiffly finishing his work.

Sighing he tied off the end and cut the thread. Putting a fresh bandage over the wound he carefully taped it down. Something is bothering him, it was written all over his face. Before I have to ask he starts to explain.

"Holmes, I came back just in time to see you wheel the horse around and race away down the alley. I ran to where you had been not quite believing what I had just seen. There I found my makeshift bandage and the scrap of paper. Looking it over I came to the same conclusion as you. I raced to the store and found you pale as the moon, barely standing, staring at the man, as he asked if he could help you, as if he was speaking another language. I got you to the carriage were you promptly passed out and brought you home."

I look at him confused. "But the man's name was on the paper. They were going to kill him! He should have been dead by the time I got there."

Watson sighs. "It seems that this goes deeper than just the four horsemen and their gang. After being startled by a half dead detective in his store, the man offered us a reason as to why his name was on the list. He has been picking up scrapes of paper like that one from an alley close by. Believing it to be some higher power giving him instructions he followed what the papers said."

I sigh. Things always get more complicated when people believe they have been chosen by some higher power. "Do we at least know who is behind this?" I ask.

Watson shakes his head confirming my suspicions. Things have just become a lot more complicated.