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Ok, hope you enjoy!

Chapter 26:

If John was surprised to find Alex asleep in Sherlock's bed when he returned the following morning, he hid it well. He was, however, slightly taken aback when, in the taxi back to the flat, she asked to borrow his phone to call Detective-Inspector Lestrade.

"Why? Has something happened?"

Alex glanced at Sherlock but he was turned away from her, stony gaze focused on the window.

"No, nothing's happened," she began slowly when she realized he wasn't going to help. "I'm going to ask him to find another place for me to stay until this is sorted. I've taken advantage of your hospitality for too long."

He gaped at her. "Nonsense… Sherlock, tell her."

"It just so happens, we're in agreement for once," he spoke calmly and turned to look at John.

"What? That's ridiculous! You're both being ridiculous!"

He sighed when they just stared, neither scrambling to contradict him. "Just use Sherlock's."

"Dead."

"Fine." He passed her his phone. "But I think you're making a mistake. You've no way of knowing one place will be safer than the other…"

"Her attacker knows she's staying with us John."

"Okay, well there is that," he admitted reluctantly, "but at least with us you're among friends."

Sherlock snorted.

"And," John continued, ignoring the other man, "it doesn't put me out any to have you there. I hope you know that."

She didn't know how to respond. The man's kindness never ceased to amaze her and she wondered, not for the first time, how Sherlock had been lucky enough to meet him.

"Thank you John, but I've made up my mind," she said finally.

His jaw clenched and he stared at her oddly. She could tell he wanted to say more but something was stopping him. He didn't protest when she pulled up Lestrade's number from his list of contacts.

It went straight to his voicemail.

She left a terse message, asking him to please call her back on John's phone when he had a free moment, and returned the mobile to it's owner.

A part of her was relieved he hadn't answered. Lestrade hadn't bothered programming a personal greeting and halfway through the generic, mechanical message she realized she didn't really know what to say… or if she'd be able to say anything at all, with Sherlock seated so closely that their shoulders knocked together every time the cabbie hit a bump in the road.

The taxi pulled up in front of the flat and they filed out. Mrs. Hudson met them on the bottom landing, announcing loudly that she'd just gotten back as well. She immediately fussed over Sherlock's stitches and overall haggard appearance, firing off question after question that he deflected with practiced ease. He leaned slightly and pecked the old woman on the cheek.

"Excuse me Mrs. Hudson."

Alex watched him retreat slowly up the stairs as Mrs. Hudson turned her attentions to she and John instead.

She scolded them, not unkindly, for not taking better care of themselves, informing them matter-of-factly that they wouldn't be young forever before jabbering about the mountains of dust that can accumulate in two days time and flouncing off.

Alex smiled sadly and shook her head. She would miss Mrs. Hudson.

After a moment she started up the stairs, only to have John stop her, a hand on her elbow.

"What are you doing?" he asked seriously. He stood two steps below her, the change in height forcing his chin up slightly.

"That's the second time you've asked me that question," she sighed. "My answer hasn't changed… I don't know."

"So what? You're just winging it? Making it up as you go along?" John spat loudly.

"Shhh!" Her eyes darted to the bend in the staircase. "He'll hear you!"

"So? What do you care?"

"I care John, don't think for one second that I don't," she whispered harshly, fingers digging into the rail.

"Then how can you leave?"

"I have to."

John huffed in annoyance. "For god's sake, why?"

"Because every time I look at him it's like a stab in the gut, a constant reminder that nothing will ever be the same between us! And it's my fault!"

She seemed to lose momentum all at once and slumped against the railing.

"I don't know why you've got this romantic notion that something's going to happen, but the truth is, we're not good for each other John. Why can't you see that? We have two settings when it comes to the other person; argue or ignore."

John pressed a finger to his chin in exaggerated thought. "Oh I see… what did I interrupt yesterday at the hotel then? Was that arguing or ignoring each other?"

Alex felt her cheeks burn as he continued.

"Or a few weeks ago, when Sarah and I walked in on the two of you on the couch? For the love of god, you were in his bed this morning!"

"Nothing happened."

"I never said it did, you're missing the point…"

A loud chime issued from John's trouser pocket and they both fell silent. He hesitated, letting the phone ring once more, before fishing it from his pocket.

"It's Lestrade…"

He looked at her expectantly, shaking his head in disappointment when she held her hand out for the phone.

"Please John…"

"Morons, the both of you," he grumbled in frustration and pressed the phone into her hand. He caught her wrist before she could pull it back. "I just want him to be happy."

"Then you should be begging me to leave."

John shook his head wearily and didn't stick around to hear what she said to Lestrade. Alex waited until he disappeared around the bend in the stairs before answering.

She caught the DI just as he was ready to hang up. He seemed startled by her request but recovered quickly and, unlike John, he didn't try to talk her out of it. She was surprised, however, when he said it might be several days before he could find a place for her and that it would take a few more days to get the paperwork sorted, but in the meantime she was welcome to a cell at the Yard.

Alex couldn't tell if he was joking.

In the end, he asked her to give him a week.

When she went upstairs John was sat in his chair, feigning interest in a newspaper, and he barely looked up when she handed him his phone.

The door to Sherlock's room was closed.

She thought it best for everyone that she avoided him as much as possible while she was still there. It wasn't hard, he was almost never in the flat and when he was he usually resigned himself to his room.

She had a feeling he was avoiding her too.

The only time they came face to face was when he cornered her in the kitchen, waving a stack of papers under her nose.

She signed them all without a word and scarcely a glance. She knew what they were.

That night she watched from the bedroom window as Sherlock and John got into a car with Lestrade. They didn't return until the next afternoon and if Sherlock learned anything from the excavation he kept it to himself.

That was fine with her.

The next few days passed quickly. She spent most of her time in John's room, watching the comings and goings of Baker Street from his window.

The old lady who lived across the street walked her dog at eight thirty every morning, like clock work. A yappy little thing with strange tufts of hair and big ears. Right before that a young man would ride by on his bicycle, a brightly colored messenger bag strapped to the side.

If Carrow was on duty he left the car at nine forty five on the dot and went into Speedy's, returning two minutes later with a Styrofoam cup in his hand. He'd sip his coffee and have a cigarette, eyes sweeping over the street, before getting back into the car. He was relieved by a string of police officers every nine hours or so. Some she recognized, some she didn't. They never left the car.

In the late afternoon a curvy blonde woman always jogged by on the other side of the street, apparently impervious to the cold. Alex wasn't the only one watching her either. At the same time an absolutely ancient-looking man, with lines on his face so deep he looked like he'd been caught in a net that was pulled tight, appeared from the same block of flats as the old lady. He would watch the blonde runner go by, one long turn of the neck, and back inside he went. Alex had laughed the first time, taking a strange comfort in the truth that men were men, no matter the age.

It was surprisingly peaceful, watching them go about their daily routines, seemingly oblivious to the world around them.

She envied them that.

It wasn't until the second to last day of Lestrade's requested week that there was any deviation in the pattern. It could have been anything; an illness, a family emergency, or maybe he was just running behind that day. But when the cyclist with the neon bag failed to pass that morning, Alex felt a strange uneasiness settle in her chest. Somewhere deep in her belly, she knew things were about to change.

The feeling stayed with her throughout the day and into the evening, and when she finally fell asleep she did so in fits and starts.

John was spending the night at Sarah's and Sherlock had been gone most of the day, no doubt running the new officer Lestrade had tailing him completely ragged, if he didn't manage to shake him all together. Alex woke when he finally returned and glanced at the small clock on John's desk. Eleven. She listened for the sound of his door closing before relaxing into the bed as best she could and letting her body succumb to sleep again.

When she woke again it was to bolt upright in the bed, breathing heavily as the last vestiges of her nightmare slipped away and she could barely remember it.

Out of habit, she glanced at the clock. Five minutes after two in the morning.

Alex sighed and flopped back on the bed, willing her pulse to stop racing. She'd been running from something in the nightmare. Something big and her dream self had been terrified, but that's all she could recall. There was no doubt in her mind she'd known what it was in the moment but it had slipped away while she straddled the fine line between asleep and awake. All that was left of it now was a quiet anxiety that made her want to curl into a ball and pull the blanket up until it covered her completely.

Alex turned onto her side and pulled her knees up, head pillowed on her arms. She fought the urge to pull the duvet over her head like a scared five year old and closed her eyes. She felt her body relax a piece at a time. First her heart slowly stopped pounding and her breathing returned to normal, then her arms and legs became heavy and sluggish. Finally, her conscience mind began to retreat, crawling towards darkness like she was slipping below water, deeper and deeper until there was nothing…

An unexpected noise called her back to the surface and Alex tensed. She opened her eyes and blinked into the dark room, holding her breath.

Just when she'd convinced herself she'd imagined it, it happened again. A sudden tap-tap-tap on the window, almost like the patter of heavy rain on glass. She looked over her shoulder towards the origin of the sound and waited. Thirty seconds later, she heard it again and sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. It had been slightly different that time, less of a patter and more of a single tap.

Alex ignored the pounding in her chest and stood, tugging on the hem of the white t-shirt she'd been sleeping in. It had belonged to Charlie, a favorite for lounging around the house on Sunday afternoons. It was one of the few things of his she'd taken when she left. It had been big on him and it swallowed her, the hem resting just above her knees. She pulled on it nervously and stared at the window but the room remained quiet, the only sound her heavy breathing.

Like it knew it already had her attention.

She shivered in the cold and padded to the window even as her brain screamed at her to stop. As she got closer she could see a light issuing from behind the curtain, a strange orange halo where the fabric failed to cover the glass.

She mustered her courage and, before she could convince herself not to, wrenched the curtain to the side.

What she saw completely stopped her and all she could do was gasp, one hand still gripping the window covering tightly.

The building across the street, the same block of flats she'd been watching for the past six days, was on fire.

It's funny, the completely irrelevant thoughts that run through your head when you panic. Almost like your brain is shutting down, refusing to process the information right before your eyes. All Alex could think was "I'm not dressed for this" and "I wonder if it's warmer now?"

She had no idea how long she stood there, mesmerized by the yellow and orange flames, when, all at once, the world seeped back in around her. She blinked and stepped back from the window quickly, letting the curtain drop into place. Now that it wasn't right in front of her she could think, and it hit her like a slap to the face; she should be calling someone.

It took her another minute of searching to remember that she didn't actually own a mobile and she raced down the stairs on bare feet, straight to Sherlock's room.

In her haste she didn't bother to knock and, luckily, the door wasn't locked. She stepped into the room, hand splayed on the wall in search of a light switch. When she found it she froze, momentarily blinded, and waited for her vision to clear. After a few seconds she could see Sherlock stretched out on his back in the bed to her left.

"Sherlock?" she whispered and stepped farther into the room.

He was asleep, still fully clothed in his trousers, shirt, suit jacket, even his shoes, but despite what he was wearing, he looked comfortable. There was a peacefulness on his face that just wasn't there otherwise and she didn't want to wake him.

She searched his room as quietly and quickly as she could but there was no sign of his phone. She turned back to the sleeping figure and she didn't know why it even occurred to her that it would be anywhere but on his person.

Bracing a knee on the bed, Alex leaned over and carefully lifted one side of his blazer. She slid her other hand into the inside pocket, a surge of triumph coursing through her when it closed over the warm plastic.

But her triumph quickly turned to fright.

As she began to pull her hand away Sherlock's eyes flew open. With lightning speed, his hand clamped down on her wrist and tugged her closer. His other hand closed over her throat and squeezed.

Tears came to her eyes as her airway was restricted and she scraped with her free hand, her fingers digging into the fist locked, vice-like, around her neck.

She stared down at him but his expression was vacant, eyes focused somewhere behind her.

With a jolt, she realized he was still asleep. It was all reaction.

His grip tightened and Alex felt herself getting light headed.

"Shlock don…" she managed to croak, relief flooding through her when his grip began to loosen. Something shifted and his expression changed to one of surprise as his eyes slowly began to focus on her.

"What are you doing here?" His tone was accusatory but he seemed to realize he still had his hand wrapped around her throat and let it drop to his chest.

"Getting bloody well choked apparently!" Alex rasped when she could speak again, fingers rubbing gingerly at her throat.

He didn't look the least bit apologetic as he released her wrist and sat up.

"What are you doing here?" he repeated seriously and her eyes widened.

In her alarm, she'd almost forgotten.

"There's a fire in one of the flats across the street! I don't have a phone…"

In a blink he was up and out of the room. By the time Alexandra had the sense to follow he was already at the window. He saw flames licking out of the windows on the top floor, a steady stream of black smoke funneling into the sky.

When he turned there was a gleam in his eyes, like the images of the fire had somehow superimposed themselves over his pupils.

"Finally!"

Before she could protest he dashed past her again and she followed, close on his heels.

"Wait! Where are you going?"

"Across the street. Call 999."

"What? Sherlock no! Are you insane? You cannot go over there!" She jogged to keep up as he raced down the stairs.

"It's more beneficial if I can examine the crime scene while it's still fresh," he called back over his shoulder.

"But it's not a crime scene yet! It's still a crime! Maybe not even that, it could just be an accident."

He turned abruptly and Alex skidded to a halt to avoid running into him.

"How did you know?"

"What?"

"How did you know? What made you look out the window?"

"I… there was a noise. Something on the window… a tapping."

He gave her a look that said he suspected as much. "Accident? Don't be an idiot."

He threw open the door, letting in a gust of heated air and the putrid smell of smoke, and Alex grabbed his arm.

"Sherlock, don't do this…"

He turned in the doorway and stared at her before pointedly dropping his gaze. His eyes bored into the small spot where her hand met his arm until she let go.

"Sherlock…"

"Call 999," he repeated, "then Lestrade. In that order."

Before she could say anything else he was sprinting across the street and into the building.

Alex stepped, still barefoot, onto the street and the odd combination of heat in the air and cold snow beneath her sent a chill up her spine. For the first time, she realized she wasn't alone. The street was full of people. She recognized the old man with the face and the old lady with the dog and some others she'd seen entering and exiting the building, and silently thanked the inventor of the smoke detector.

There were far too many people on the street that she knew at least one of them had to have already called 999, but she still dialed the number anyway, ignoring the tremor in her hand as she raised the phone to her ear. While it rang her eyes scanned the street and she raked her unoccupied hand through her hair nervously.

"Shit, shit, shit… pick up!" she mumbled and turned her head, a shift in the crowd catching her attention. She could see Carrow's car clearly, in it's usual spot, but paled when her eyes fell on the driver's side door. It was standing open for no reason and the police officer was nowhere in sight.

She felt nauseous suddenly and the hairs on her neck stood at attention.

Something was wrong.

If she'd been in a better frame of mind she would have chided herself for that thought.

Of course there was something wrong. She could see the evidence of that in the blaze that nipped at the sky and the worry in the faces around her.

But this was something else, something more… and Sherlock had just run straight into the middle of it.

Sherlock…

"Emergency. Which service do you require?"

Alex didn't hear the operator speak. If she had it might have made her realize that what she was about to do was stupid, dangerous and completely reckless.

But the phone had already fallen from her hand, knocked free as she plunged into the crowd and hurried after the detective…

I have no idea what the operator would say if you called 999 but I feel like I've heard that somewhere...

As always, thanks for reading and please take the time to leave a review and let me know what you think.