"What are you talking about?" Sherlock asked and sat up straight.

"I just called Gail…I'm going to make a deal with them. In exchange for the data in my PC, I'm going to ask for a guarantee of my safety. At the same time, I'll give them the fake address of your whereabouts. You'll have enough time to get help." Sherlock brushed a hand up to his arm as he remembered the phone number he had scribbled on his skin for William. He wondered if it was still there.

"Do you think they would buy that?" Sherlock asked in an emotionless tone. Lydia didn't answer right away.

"No, but it should be enough for you to get away." Sherlock blinked.

"Protective of your experiments, are we? What about the data? Are you going to hand them all in?" Lydia stood up from her couch and turned toward Sherlock. Her face was stern. She pulled out a slip of paper from her pocket and handed it to Sherlock, who eyed it curiously.

"Don't open it yet." She started and squeezed her hand over Sherlock's. "I uploaded all files onto the internet. That password should disclose the account and all the information that's inside it. Keep it safe." Sherlock nodded and pocketed it into his trousers.

"Is that it, you're going to let me go to save the data?"

"You of all people should know how important data are. And besides, it has all the records of what we have done to you." She murmured. "I'm really sorry." Sherlock pursed his lips in reply. Lydia looked at her watch.

"If my calculations are correct, you would lose consciousness in two more hours. Then, you would back out for another two hours and then regain consciousness as William. I'll stay here while you're awake but by the time William returns, I'll be gone. I'll leave a note to tell him what to do, but you make sure he follows through." She instructed in a dry tone. Sherlock frowned.

"How do you expect me to do that?"

"He can hear your voice." She explained as she packed the laptop into her bag. "He complained about it earlier in the day. He's fully aware of your pretense."

"Well…that's good news." Sherlock mused. After that, Lydia handed him his clothes to Sherlock. It wasn't a pair of jeans and shirt that William used to wear. It was Sherlock attire with the familiar slim cut jacket, black open collar shirt and trousers. He took a long hot shower and changed as Lydia packed the rest of her belongings. Once Sherlock was dressed, he carefully wrote John's number on the inside of his left wrist and looked back at himself in the mirror. His hair was shorter than before but his curls were back. He realized that there was a rather nasty gash on his forehead which he guessed he got it from the last collapse. He straightened the creases of his suit out. He felt like himself in the familiar attire. Freedom was near and his heart thrived for it. This was all going to be over very soon. He ignored the light switch as he left the room. He couldn't turn it off. He had a feeling that he wouldn't be able to for a long time. What would happen even if he managed to escape from this whole ordeal? His psychological trauma would take an agonizingly long time before they heal completely. As he lurched out of the bathroom, he noticed that Lydia was done with her packing. She was tugging onto her coat. Noticing Sherlock's presence, she turned around to face him. She gestured at the couch.

"Here, sit down, let me take a look at that cut." Sherlock didn't hesitate as he plopped himself on the couch. He flicked an uneasy look at the window and edged the couch away from a little before Lydia crouched in front of him. She cleaned the cut with cotton and pulled out a bandage from her bag. She carefully taped it on his head. Sherlock stared back at her auburn eyes silently as she tended to him. Finally, he remarked,

"You love him. That's why you're letting me go." Lydia closed her bag and heaved a sigh. She looked back at Sherlock with a tired look. Sherlock could tell that she was confused. Slowly, she leaned closer to him and pressed her lips gently on Sherlock's. The detective's first instinct was to recoil but he closed his eyes and waited until it passed. He knew that the kiss was not meant for him. It was for William. As Lydia drew back, she blinked back her tears and murmured,

"Tell William that I love him. I always will." She looked down at her watch and stood up. She grabbed her luggage and started toward the door.

"Wait," Sherlock got to his feet and followed after her. She turned back to him hesitantly. "In the report, you said that my musical taste changed. You said that William prefers artists that I never listen to. Who was that artist?" Lydia flashed a weak smile at him as she answered,

"Miles Davis."

"I'll have to remember to…" But before Sherlock could finish the sentence, his knees buckled and he crumbled to the floor as his brain shut down for his personality replacement. Lydia caught him and gently spread him across the bed sheet. Then, pressed a note into his limp hand and closed his lifeless eyes. She leaned over him and laid another kiss on his forehead before she slipped out of the room.

…

Gail pulled the car into the vast parking lot. A figure was already awaiting him in the middle of the open space, standing in the heavy rain with no umbrella. Her hair and clothes were drenched. She must have been standing there for more than 15 minutes. Gail and several of his colleagues advanced toward her briskly.

"Dr. Marlowe!" Gail called out. The woman took a few steps toward him with the luggage dragging behind her. He held out his hand to shake hands but she didn't return the gesture so he pulled it back immediately. "It was wise for you to come to your senses."

"I couldn't keep control of him. He's sedated at the moment; Sleeping like a baby at the hotel."

"And what about the data?" Gail asked.

"It's all in here." She handed the laptop over, careful not to expose it to the rain. "If you want to check, go ahead. I can wait." She shivered slightly in the rain. Gail nodded and received the instrument from her hand. Then, he handed it to one of his orderlies who flipped it open.

"How is our test subject doing?" Gail asked casually. Lydia shrugged.

"Like I told you, he's going out of control. That thing you gave him seems to keep him from doing violent things but he's becoming paranoid. He has panic attacks frequently." Gail nodded as he heard this.

"I guess we have no choice but to let him go then." Lydia's throat tightened at these words. "And his current whereabouts?" Lydia recited the name of the hotel and the room number. A man behind Gail relayed the information to someone on the other side of his mobile phone. Once the call was done, he looked up at Gail and nodded. The bearded doctor glanced back at Lydia and smiled.

"Now, all we have to do is wait."

Lestrade and John were taking a temporal nap in their car when they received a call from Mycroft.

"They found Sherlock. Gail's men are heading toward the hotel right this moment. I want you guys to reach the place before they do." Lestrade sat up in the driver's seat as he started the engine. John snapped out of his slumber immediately too. The ex-soldier was fully alert by the time Lestrade pulled out of the parking lot. "Right, tell me the address. Gotcha, that's probably only a few minutes from here." Lestrade answered briskly and turned the phone off. As he reached the traffic lights, Lestrade flipped on the sirens and the cruiser skidded down at the highway and the rain.

…

William opened his eyes and blinked. It took several minutes before he remembered where he was. It was completely dark in the hotel room and he could hear the rain splashing hard outside. He stared up at the dark ceiling with a numb feeling .All the details before he had collapsed, set in his head piece by piece. He remembered the details he had read in Irene (or Lydia's) laptop. He remembered how he had confronted her. The confused kiss and the moment he decided to leave her…and then…

Hell, I collapsed.

William slowly lifted himself up and rolled to the side to flip the bed lamp on. The moment the light came on, he winced. Once his eyes got used to the brightness, he slipped out of the bed, wondering where that woman had gone. Did she run away? Her belongings were missing. Suddenly, Will realized there was a piece of paper crumpled in his hand. He opened his fist and looked inside. He plucked the paper and spread it on the bed as he smoothed out the creases. At first, he thought it was a memo by Sherlock but the hand writing was less flashy and more contended. The "y"s and the "g"s didn't have Sherlock's flourish and the "a"s and the "c"s had a peculiar loop.

Dear William,

I'm sorry for everything that I have done to you.

You asked me why I did such things if I truly loved you. I asked the same question over and over again to myself and reached one final conclusion.

I don't expect to be forgiven or seek for redemption. But please understand that what I am about to do (or am doing at the moment you're reading this) is solely because I love you, and I always will.

Pay attention to what Sherlock says. He will guide you through the rest of your ordeal. Call for help immediately.

Lydia Marlowe

William flipped the paper over and looked for anything else that he had missed. There was nothing. He racked his head and wondered what she was talking about. What was she doing? What did she mean by "call for help immediately?" Suddenly, a small voice erupted in his head.

John Watson

But who is he?

Just call the number.

William rolled up his left sleeve to see the familiar phone number written on it.

But what about Irene?

Lydia's gone.

William got to his feet slowly. He realized that he wasn't in his usual attire and was instead wearing a rather expensive outfit.

Gone where?

Gone for good.

Suddenly, William felt blood rushing from his face. He picked up the crumpled paper again and read the letter over and over again, word for word. His heart thumped. The more he read it, the more it looked like a suicide note.

John and Lestrade dashed out of the car and hurried toward the elevator. Once they slipped inside the cargo, they checked whether their guns were properly loaded. John hid the gun under his jacket and went toward the right end of the corridor while Lestrade whipped his out and aimed it right in front of him. They dashed down the carpeted hall and held their breaths as they reached their destination. Lestrade double checked the room. It was right. Lestrade nodded at John. The doctor swallowed and knocked the door, his right hand still hidden under the jacket. Lestrade looked out for him. There was no reply. John knocked again.

"Sherlock!" He hissed. There still was no reply. John eyed Lestrade. The detective inspector nodded. He gestured John to back away. The doctor obeyed. Lestrade leveled the gun with the door knob and pulled the trigger twice swiftly. Splinters flew as the door was pierced with bullets. As soon as Lestrade stopped firing, John kicked and the door. It swung open. The room was completely dark.

"Sherlock," Lestrade called as he turned on the lights. No one was there.

"Shit" John breathed.

"Shit it is." Said an unfamiliar voice from behind them. The two men jumped and whipped around. A man they did not recognize was standing there. "Good job for the swift reaction boys." The man said with a smile and raised his mobile phone. "Yes, it's me. There's no one here."

The man shook his head as he held the phone by his ear. Gail squared his jaw and turned back to Lydia who looked back at him fearlessly.

"You lied." He said coolly. Lydia stared back at him. He realized that her shoulders were shaking from the cold but her eyes showed no sign of waver of will. "Where is he?" Lydia didn't say anything. "Tell me where he really is." He demanded coldly. Still no reply. "Trying to be clever, are you?" For a few moments, only the sound of the rain hitting the pavement could be heard. With a swift movement, Gail pulled out his handgun and flicked his index finger over the trigger. There was a deafening crack and before anyone realized what was going on, a bullet pierced through Lydia's forehead and escaped from the other side of her head. Her soaked body collapsed to the cold wet ground with a dull thud. Gail turned back toward the car and ordered,

"Find him."

…

Will paced around the hotel room and breathed heavily. Where did she go? He had to find her. Tell her that he needed her. He needed to talk to her. He had to tell her that whatever she was doing was unnecessary. It was dangerous. He didn't want her to get in danger. He needed her by his side.

I have to find her.

Without a second thought, William burst out of the hotel door and into the corridor. He bolted toward the stairs and pushed himself out from the emergency exit door. It was completely dark outside and raining hard. He was in the back of the hotel, near the parking lot. He could see the road just up ahead. He looked around the area desperately, searching for any hints. Water poured down his face, making in eyesight blurry. The water was cold but he didn't care. He let the water get soaked into the fabric of his clothes.

I have to find her. Get her back; tell her that I need her.

William,

She shouldn't have left. It's not safe.

William,

She couldn't have gone so far. Unless she took a cab…

WILLIAM!

William squeezed his eyes shut.

"WHAT?" He screamed into the showering sky.

She's gone.

No, she can't be gone.

Looking for her is not your job. Call John.

William ignored the voice and huffed. He started toward the main road.

Do not go out onto the main street.

William ignored the warning and ushered on.

They will kill you. DO NOT GO TO THE MAINSTREET.

William pressed on, but the closer he got to the road, the more his body trembled both out of the cold and from fear. He gritted his teeth. They were just cars. There was nothing to be afraid about. Yet, the thought of countless people walking by made his heart skip a beat. Fear made his legs stoop. He gritted his teeth and clutched his fists. He ordered his legs to move but it didn't budge.

"Come on, move." He said through his gritted teeth but nothing happened. He looked back at the road. The headlights flashed by and it made him flinch. Pain erupted through his body. His breathing became shallow. Memories flashed before him. The flashing lights, pain, the countless screams he had conjured, the strained muscles, the burnt flesh…William sunk to his knees and hunched over his stomach. The cold rain pounded on the back of his head. A sob broke out as he tried to make sense of what was happening to him. What were these memories? Where did they come from? William tried to push himself to stand upright but the flashes frightened him.

Get a grip of yourself. This is what she did to you.

A cool voice said in his head. William shook his head.

You read the reports. You know it happened. Call John.

"I have to find her." William said through his clenched teeth but another flashback caused him to bury his head into his hands.

She's dead.

"No."

She's dead.

"No, she's out there somewhere…." Suddenly, he heard the faint noise of the police siren from the distance. William widened his eyes. He remembered Sherlock's previous warning; don't call the police. As if on cue, Sherlock's voice erupted in his head again.

William, Lydia…Irene told me to tell you that she loved you and always will. If you get caught right now…If the wrong kind of police finds you right now…what would Irene's sacrifice be worth? The fact that they are looking for you means that she's long gone. Accept it, pull yourself together and get help.

William hung his head and bit down his lips. He bit down so hard that it drew blood. His hair matted over his forehead. He was shivering violently in the cold. After a few seconds of self-meditation, he pulled himself up from the floor and dragged his feet away from the main street and into the shadows of the buildings. He needed to find somewhere where he could make a phone call.

Hurry, you don't have long until you black out.

I know.

After what seemed liked ages, William found a phone box in a rather deserted small street. He was completely soaked and his clothing was heavy from all the water it had soaked up. Fatigue was taking over him now that that the adrenaline and panic had ebbed away. All he could feel was despair. His shivering wet hands grabbed the receiver. He dropped some loose chains and peeled his left sleeve up again. The number was smeared but he could barely tell the numbers. Slowly, with hollow eyes, he started the dial the numbers. He didn't know whether it was raindrops or tears rolling uncontrollably down his cheeks.

…

John and Lestrade managed to fake themselves as average policemen as the man scanned around the room and sighed. The two men exchanged uneasy glances. The unknown man was obviously a worker from the research facility.

"Well, boys, looks like we need to start sweeping again." The man said and patted a hand at Lestrade's shoulders before he strode out of the room. One his footsteps were inaudible, the two let out a sigh of relief.

"False alarm…" Lestrade breathed. John didn't know whether he should be glad about it or not. Lestrade seemed to have the same feeling. The two hurried down toward the elevator, out into the parking lot and climbed into their cars as they brushed off the rain from their jackets. John looked at his watch. It was two in the morning. Lestrade leaned back on his driver's seat and heaved a sigh. He took a pen from the side pockets and flicked it at the dashboard.

"Now what, do we wait for another false alarm? The facility staffs and the other police are looking frantically for Lydia Marlowe." As if on cue, there was another phone call on Lestrade's phone. He looked at the caller ID and answered swiftly.

"Yes," He said and there was a moment of pause as John watched the detective inspector's face lose color. The doctor frowned. "What…no, I'll be there immediately." He said and looked up at John with an alarmed look.

"Lydia Marlowe was just found dead." John felt a weird rushing noise in his ear. "But no other bodies so far…" Lestrade started the engine again. "We're heading toward the crime scene."

By the time the two arrived, the scene was already secured and blue sheets were blocking their view. Numerous police officers were buzzing around the place. Lestrade climbed out of the car and hurried toward the center of the scene, followed by John. The two were just able to see the body being zipped into the body bag. John bit his lower lip. His heart pounded.

"A bullet in the head from a point blanc range." Lestrade explained to John as he returned from chatting with one of the investigators. John's mouth was dry.

"Do you think..."

"No, it's too early to say that." Lestrade snapped before John could finish the sentence. Just then, John realized that his phone was buzzing in his pocket.

William was shivering like mad. The surrounding unnerved him. The artificial light that came from the phone box made his eyesight flash. The darkness and the rumbling thunder in the distance made his fingers twitch. As he waited for the phone to connect, he tried to suppress his teeth from chattering and leaned back on the grimy glass. As the line connected and started to play the dial tone, he exhaled weakly and slid down onto the floor. He checked the smeared number on his wrist. He was pretty sure that he dialed the correct number. He hugged his knees and tried to keep himself from whimpering. Suddenly, a man's voice answered,

"Hello?" William's eyes fluttered. He drew in a deep breath and tried to calm himself down. "Hello?" The voice said again. William mustered his strength to fight the cold.

"J-John Watson?" His voice cracked.

"Yes, who is this?" The man said suspiciously.

"Sherlock Holmes t-told me to…call you." William stuttered weakly. There was a moment of silence.

"Who is this?" William looked up at the ceiling, unsure how to answer.

"W-William Cr-Craw…ford. Sherlock told me that y-you would be able to h-h-help me." There was a long silence and William realized that this John person was going to wait until William provided him with more information. "Hurry…" William rasped the name of the street he was on.

Tell him I'm here.

A voice said faintly in his head but before he could say anything, the man on the other line gasped.

"Sherlock…is that you?" He asked in a hushed voice. "Tell me it's you." The voice begged. William shook his head.

"You don't understand…I'm not…Sh-Sherlock H-Holmes. But he will be here…he w-will be here v-very soon."

Hurry

The voice demanded in his head before the lights in front of William disappeared and his hands went limp. The receiver crashed onto the floor with a clang.

John wanted to shout for Sherlock's name when he heard a clang.

"Hello, hello?" He demanded urgently. There was no reply but he could tell that the line was still on from the faint static-like noise from the other side. It was probably the noise of the rain.

"What is it?" Lestrade asked, sensing John's alarm. The doctor's fingers shook slightly as he looked up at the detective inspector.

"I got a call from…someone." He said with wide eyes. "It sounded like Sherlock but it wasn't. Something wasn't right. He told me to come immediately." Lestrade looked hard at John.

"You sure?"

"I don't….I'm not sure. But he seemed weak. Asked for my help." Before they knew it, the two were dashing toward their car.

John fumbled with the phone when he dialed Mycroft as Lestrade drove his car hard through the streets.

"Yes," Mycroft answered in an alert tone.

"It's me, John. I just got a call from someone that sounded like Sherlock."

"What." The elder Holmes blurted.

"He seemed delirious…told me he was William something but he really sounded like Sherlock…but weaker. He told me the address where he was at and asked me to come immediately. We're heading there right away."

"Are you sure about that?" There was a moment of pause.

"No, but I need to make sure. I'm going to call the paramedics. It looks like the caller collapsed during the call. I'm getting no response."

"The normal paramedics might be controlled by Gail. I'll send our specialized paramedics, then." Mycroft replied briskly. "Tell me the address."