Hopefully this chapter will make up for the previous one ^^;


My name was apparently Sherlock Holmes. I apparently lived at 221B Baker Street, and this John Watson was apparently my flat mate. I did not know whether to believe him, but as he seemed to have no ill intent, so I took his word as gospel. He was showing more concern than I knew any other Doctor to show towards a patient. I found myself watching him more often than not. Every time he caught me I felt the urge to look away. I did not know why this urge emerged, and decided to think about it later.

Leaving the hospital was surprisingly difficult. I felt as thought I were going to collapse and my skin was tingly and itchy. Mr. Watson lead me along foreign streets, his hand almost always guiding me. I had no idea where I was or who was around me. It was surreal. Mr. Watson didn't speak much. He pointed things out to me, but I knew not of what he was explaining. "Mr. Watson." He almost visibly flinched. He did not like the formalities. "We share a flat." He glanced at me, and then away again. "Yes, for a while now. I am... Upset that you do not remember anything,"
"And we are... Friends." His jaw clenched and he nodded as we turned a corner into Baker Street.
I stopped instantly.
I knew this place. It took a few seconds for Mr. Watson to notice the fact that I had stopped. He glanced back curiously. "Holmes?"
"I know this place,"
"Of course you do, you live here." Perhaps he wasn't lying after all.

I kept an air of indifference. "Maybe I do." Mr. Watson looked as if my words hurt him for a second, but he tried to conceal it by turning away. "This way." He then kept walking. I couldn't help but notice the writing on his cane. It was of intricate gnarled wood, and carved into it was 'To my dearest Watson, from Sherlock Holmes' it made me want to blink and look away, my vision swimming. A rush of nausea left me leaning against a brick wall, Mr. Watson holding me up. "Holmes, are you alright?"
"I don't know." He frowned and made me sit down until the dizziness cleared. "I do not know what just happened." I did not know why, but as soon as the words had left my lips I wanted to take them back. They left a bitter taste on my tongue. "I am sure you will be fine." Mr. Watson pulled me rather unceremoniously to my feet and we continued on.

If I was going to be honest, Mr. Watson intrigued me. More than anyone else I had laid eyes upon. He walked with a slight limp, obviously his leg was damaged in some way, yet he did not sit in the hospital, as if it was suddenly no longer a burden. He was clearly a military man, a Doctor no doubt. Why would I be acquaintanced with a military Doctor? Was I in the military? "Mr. Watson?" He stopped, and I almost walked into him. "We're here." I did not understand him for a few seconds until I looked up. Above us was the sign '221B'. He opened the door and motioned for me to enter. I found myself hesitating, but he had done nothing to indicate his actions were of any ill-intent.

I headed inside to see an elderly lady standing by a staircase. She gazed at me for a long while before smiling slightly. "It's good to see you home Mr. Holmes." I nodded, hoping my reaction was one she would usually have received from me, as Mr. Watson closed the door and did the same. "Good afternoon Mrs. Hudson." Her smile grew. "It's good to see you home too Mr. Watson, I was starting to get worried about you." Her smile was bittersweet. She was telling the truth. Why was she worried about us? Who was she? Who was she to me?

I followed Mr. Watson upstairs and into the flat that we must have shared. It was nice. I liked it. My eyes were drawn to a mahogany box on the mantelpiece, and to the human skull sitting atop it. It grinned at me wickedly. "This is where we live?" Mr. Watson nodded as he sunk into an armchair by a blazing fire. A gratefully sat beside him. "I like it." He smiled as a plump bulldog waded in and sat on my feet. I looked at Mr. Watson for encouragement. He just smiled. "Do not fear, he's harmless, Gladstone, shoo." The bulldog complied happily. I recognized it. More and more evidence was saying that this was my home. "There is a skull on the mantel piece." Mr. Watson smiled. "Yes, it's yours,"
"Why do I have a human skull?"
"Do not ask me, I haven't the faintest idea." It felt familiar, sitting before the fire, conversing with Mr. Watson. Even as it consoled me, much of my life was still unknown, as were the events leading up to my memory loss. I had not been given any indication that I was going to get answers any time soon, and I did not know whether I was prepared to wait.

Rain started to patter against the window, and the small flat seemed suddenly very warm and welcoming. I sat back and gazed around at all the various, strange objects. Most of them I had no idea as to what they actually were, and eventually my gaze was drawn to the envelope sitting innocently nearby. Why had Mr. Watson looked at it earlier? "What is in that envelope?" He blinked a few times, looked at it again and then cleared his throat. His voice was loud in the almost silence. "It is a letter for you, from-..." He gazed at the floor. "From someone you know." I frowned and reached for it, but he swatted my hand away. "Now would not be a good time for you to read it." I had a right to reading my own letters. I was frustrated by the sudden rudeness, but did not persist anyway.

The rest of the evening past rather thankfully uneventfully, and I awoke to bright sunlight showering my bedroom. I knew not what time it was, but it was obviously late. I dressed and headed into the kitchen to find Mr. Watson talking to a lady. Her hair had been pinned into a bun, but dark ringlets fell messily to the shoulders of her dark, burgundy dress. She smiled at my entrance. Did I know her as well? "It is marvellous to see you alright Mr. Holmes." I glanced at Mr. Watson for help. "Ah, Ms. Tanner, I am afraid Holmes is rather weary and is really in no condition to be walking around even, but it is a good start." I felt like thanking him, but now was not the time.

I did not know what was happening. I sat in the same armchair I had occupied the previous evening, Mr. Watson and Ms. Tanner's voices drifting in from the kitchen. This was all overwhelming. Mrs. Hudson was our landlady, Mr. Watson was my 'friend' and flatmate, who was Ms. Tanner, who wrote the-? I looked up. The envelope remained where it had been the previous night. It was addressed to me. Surely I was allowed to read it. I stood to do just that as there was a knock on the door. I hesitated, unsure of whether answering was a good idea. Mr. Watson solved my dilemma by answering it for me.

Standing upon the threshold was the 'Inspector' I had seen at the hospital. He cast me a meaningful glance. "I was wondering if Mr. Holmes was free,"
"It depends, why?" I was surprised Mr. Watson wasn't letting him inside. "We found a case he might be interested in." Mr. Watson did not reply immediately. "I do not believe Holmes is in any condition-"
"It's fine." He looked at me sternly. "I am in a perfectly fine condition, thank you." He was about to disagree, but the Inspector interrupted him. "Fine, fine, good." Then let himself in, sitting in the armchair Mr. Watson had previously occupied. "I hope I haven't put you in any bad spirits because of my statement earlier,"
"No, it is fine." He then handed me a large envelope.

"These are all the case files. It does not make much sense to us but perhaps you could figure something out." I did not believe I could, but I opened the envelope anyway. There were photos and written documents inside. "So will you help us?"
"When he is ready." I looked up at Mr. Watson. How rude of him. I was perfectly ready. The Inspector seemed unhappy as he rose to his feet. He paused in the doorway again, said, "think about it," and left. "Why do you insist on babying me?" Mr. Watson gave me a strange look. "You are injured Holmes, and I am a Doctor, therefore I am determined to look after you and make sure you don't injure yourself further."

I could not think of a suitable comeback. Ms. Tanner decided to choose that moment to enter the room. She was smiling. Why was everyone smiling? It was awfully tiresome. "I hope you feel better soon." She then turned to Mr. Watson. "Thank you for looking after him Mr. Watson; I understand how much he relies on you now. Goodbye!" She finished in a singsong voice before leaving in a dramatic flourish of frills and hair. "Can we talk?" Mr. Watson had been about to return to the kitchen, but he stopped and looked back. "Yes, of course." He came back over and sat down.

"Who are you?" He blinked a few times and didn't answer, so I rephrased the question. "Who are you, to me?"
"I do not quite know actually. I fancy myself as a friend, but Sherlock Holmes does not have friends." What was he implying? "You have never directly referred to me as a friend, rather more as a colleague or as your flatmate,"
"No, no, none of that matters. How did we meet?" Mr. Watson smiled nostalgically. "I was introduced to you through a friend. I had just returned from Afghanistan and was in need of lodgings when I ran into an old friend, he told me that you, too, were searching for somewhere to live, more specifically a flat share." I nodded to myself.

There was so much I didn't know, so much I wanted to know, so much I needed to know. "Tell me about myself,"
"Tell you what about yourself?" What did I want to know? "How old am I? Where was I born? Have I lived in London all my life? Have I-"
"I am afraid I do not know any of that." My jaw snapped shut. "What do you know about?"
"You play a Stradivarius at all hours of the night and do not eat while you are working and sleep very little and can be very self-destructive and quite frankly a pain in the-"
"Alright, I think I've heard enough." He tried to keep a composed, serious face, but that did not work for long.

I looked at the cane propped against his chair. I started to feel dizzy again. "I gave that to you." He looked at it and then nodded. "Yes, you did,"
"When, why?"
"You gave it to me as a Christmas present earlier this year, apparently you carved it yourself." I gazed at it sceptically. "Hmm. 'My dearest Watson' suggest we are friends at least,"
"You would think that." I looked back to his face, startled by both the change in his tone and by the fact that his face had been wiped clean of emotion. "I do not understand." He smiled wistfully. "You do not usually hear that come from Sherlock Holmes." Was he patronizing me? "What happened to you, why did I 'rescue' you, were you being held as some kind of ransom?" His jaw set. "Why will you not tell me? Do I not have a right to know, or have I done something to anger you?" He averted his gaze, his mask cracking. "It is not your fault Holmes; you have done nothing, I... Am ashamed,"
"What? Why?" He sighed. Mrs. Hudson decided that now, of all times, was the perfect one to enter with a tray of tea and biscuits. She placed them on the little stool between us, nodded at me and then left. I did not get any more information out of Mr. Watson.

He left near noon to visit his wife, or so he told me. This left me all alone with the letter that had been taunting me the whole morning. I took it from the mantel and sat back down with it, carefully opening it and pulling out its contents. It read as follows:
We thank you for your cooperation Mr. Holmes, and are glad to return your precious Doctor Watson relatively unharmed. We are quite surprised you gave us what we wanted, but perhaps no one should ever try to guess your actions or intentions. We apologize for the drama and for the explosion on the way out. We hope it hasn't caused you too much pain.
Yours sincerely.
It did not have a name.

I turned it over multiple times. This was of no use to me. It only confused me further. From what I could gather, Mr. Watson had been kidnapped and held as a way of assurance. What had this unnamed party wanted from me? What was worth the life of an innocent man? Was he innocent? Had he brought that upon himself? I growled, stuffing the letter back into its envelope and placing it back where it was. I waited all morning, plotting how to obtain that letter, and turned out being absolutely no help to me at all. Great.


I may be writing a BBC Johnlock fic and another BBC fic, but I don't know whether I'm going to put them up or not. Who knows.
Also, I think I'm going to start updating maybe once a week or so from now on. Hopefully.