A/N

tanzanitehyacinth Thank you! I hope you enjoy this new chapter just as much!

Companion Teresa It was a desperate move by Cassidy. Kyrie got in the way between him and his planned escape so he pushed her through, figuring correctly that Sherlock would be too distracted to go after him. He really did not think things through as we will later see…

DreamonAlina Glad to see you are back too! I didn't really plan on writing a sequel but a lot of people asked for it and then this popped into my head :) I hope you enjoy sequel!

elbafo Hehe yeah Sherlock sometimes really can go a bit overboard but hot damn if that's not what I love about him! Poor Sherlock. Poor Kyrie. Poor St John! And as we both know… it's going to get a lot worse before… Let's not go there. Spoilers!

CeriseUnderwood1996 I generally don't do spoilers but since you already guessed… yes that is baby Evelina coming up! I am so glad that 15 Minutes is also one of your personal faves. It really does deserve all the attention!

Lovesagoodstory19 So glad to see you as well! And glad I could make your Saturday morning. I hope to be able to make your Monday now as well :) I'm also really happy that my readers, so far, seem to embrace the sci-fi theme to this sequel. I have to admit… The inspiration was more Stargate related than Doctor Who. I personally loved each new doctor since the reboot, except for the current one. The current doctor does not exist for me :(

Okay, let's continue the story and see what's in store for Kyrie and Sherlock!

S S S

Kyrie wished she could fast-forward time to the point where everything was normal again. Troubling thoughts kept plaguing her and rest did not come easy, if at all.

Doctors and nurses kept bothering her, checking her vitals and offering medication she would not take. No matter how hard they tried to convince her the medication was safe to use during a pregnancy, Kyrie refused. She was not in pain; Doctor McKenzie had already said that physically she was in great shape... she would not take medication. The only other reason they could be offering those meds was to help her deal with that delusional thing she had already forgotten the name of. And she was not delusional.

When the door creaked open, Kyrie looked up and relief slammed into her when she saw the familiar large figure of Greg Lestrade fill the doorway. The warmth she felt for that man flooded through her and she welcomed every ounce of that fuzzy feeling. Finally a friendly face! Someone who actually knew her, and Sherlock, and what they meant to each other!

"Greg!" All of her joy, relief and hope were expressed in that one utterance of his name. Finally Kyrie felt she could relax a little and she gave her friend and elated smile.

The smile that Greg returned to her was awkward at best, which put Kyrie immediately on guard. Greg was a close friend; she refused to accept he was in on this. Greg would never... he'd never hurt her like that!

"So, Sherlock's wife," Greg said with a tight smile as he sat down in the seat next to her bed. He flipped through some papers he held in his hands. "According to this report, you were found unconscious in a field, close to the area where earlier an explosion was heard. Do you have any recollection of that?"

Kyrie didn't know what to make of this, but the warm feeling of relief instantly vanished. "Explosion? No, I-I don't know anything about an explosion. I was at the Bradbury Centre this morning to pick up Sherlock. You called him in, remember? For the murder of one of the scientists? Hawthorne? One of the employees there shoved me, I fell and I then I woke up here. The baby is just fine, thank you for asking."

The way Greg was looking at her made the little hairs in her neck stand on end and she could feel her mouth running dry. The empty void in her stomach that was left after every bit of warmth left her system, was now slowly filling up with stone cold dread.

"Greg?" she asked hesitantly. When he didn't answer her, but kept staring at her in that odd way, Kyrie gulped and felt like cringing back in her pillows.

"M'am, I'm sorry, but I don't know you. I did not call Sherlock on a case and I know nothing about this Hawthorne or a Bradbury Centre. I am here to help find out your identity. When we manage to find out who you really are, we can contact your doctor or other caregivers and figure out how to best help you."

It felt like she had just received a punch to the gut. Kyrie opened her mouth but the words wouldn't come. Even the simple task of breathing seemed to be an insurmountable task. She was at a complete and utter loss. Was this a nightmare? Was she high on some mind altering drugs? Was someone playing a cruel joke on her?

"This isn't funny, Greg," she whispered. "Please, stop this. I can't... I can't deal with this. I just want to go home, I want to be with my family. I want to see Sherlock, I want to see my son, St John –"

"Your what?" Greg asked surprised. "You... have a son?"

"Come on, Greg!" Kyrie was desperate to jog a spark of even the tiniest bit of recognition inside of him. "You know St John! Precocious little boy who didn't utter three syllables until he turned three and started talking with perfect sentences! You babysat for us on several occasions! You were as proud as anyone when he gave Sherlock the clue to solve the 'Call of the Nightjar' case!"

Greg rubbed his mouth with his hand and gave her a thoughtful look. "M'am, I know Sherlock Holmes personally, if he had a son, I think I'd know. What I'm going to do-"

Not Greg too! She'd been banking on him believing her and alerting Sherlock to her situation! He was supposed to tell all of these other idiots that – Oh God, what the hell was going on? Kyrie broke down and started to cry. Greg seemed to be at a loss how to deal with her grief so he started talking louder. "We are going to broaden the search area where you were found. The fact that no belongings were found near you, doesn't mean you had nothing with you. We will help you with this. We will find out who you really are."

His words only made her cry harder.

"You wear a ring, you are pregnant," Greg said desperately, "that must mean at least someone is out there who is probably sick with worry!"

Kyrie sniffed but she stopped crying. "Yes, Greg!" She hiccuped. "I have a husband and his name his Sherlock Holmes!" With trembling fingers Kyrie wiggled her wedding ring from her finger and showed it to Greg.

"Here, see? It's the ring Sherlock gave to me when we renewed our vows. You were there! And look at the inscription. S and K! Sherlock and Kyrie! Pari Passu. It means with equal step. His- his ring has the same inscription!"

Greg had an infinite look of sadness on his face and he shook his head with pity. "I'm sorry, m'am, but that doesn't prove anything. SK, they could be your husbands initials. And your – uhm – maiden name?"

Kyrie closed her eyes and she tried to swallow a huge lump away. "Ellison," she said softly. "Kyrie Ellison. I'm the daughter of Albert and Isolda Ellison."

Greg nodded at her. "I will get back to you as soon as I can."

Tears were blurring her eyes as she watched Greg hurry out of her room. Greg was a poor liar. He wasn't pretending to not know her and this wasn't some sick joke. The man that had just left her alone, really didn't know her.

Suddenly, a stray thought got stuck in her mind. What if... What if... something had happened in the Bradbury Centre? Greg mentioned an explosion. Maybe chemicals had been released in the air, causing mass amnesia? She had been found in a field, clear of the explosion, perhaps she had not been exposed. Had Greg been at the Bradbury Centre? He must have been! Must have! And with the Bradbury Centre being the epicentre of what had happened, that's why he could no longer remember it, or Hawthorne, or anyone working there. So, if Sherlock and Greg had both been exposed to those chemicals, that would mean they... both had different memories now? And depending how far the chemicals had spread…

Kyrie blew out a shuddering breath. That made no sense at all. She knew she was grasping at straws, but she had to keep hope. She had to keep believing that her life had not just been completely destroyed in the blink of an eye. Mary and John, she needed Mary and John. They had been at home, or at least not near the Bradbury Centre. She crossed her fingers that they hadn't been infected too by now.

"I want to make a phone call," Kyrie said the next morning, her arms folded across her chest and her chin jutting forward in a silent challenge.

"Or am I not allowed to make a phone call?"

"I can make a phone call for you," Doctor McKenzie suggested. "Who would you like me to call?"

A question she was expecting and she had already given considerate thought.

"Mary Watson. Or John Watson. Either of them."

There was a simple reason why she didn't ask for Sherlock. She was deadly afraid of what would happen. If things were to go pear-shaped again she'd rather handle that facing her friends… not her husband. Because… if Sherlock would look right through her like Greg had done, Kyrie wasn't entirely sure she could handle that.

"John Watson, as in... Doctor John Watson? Sherlock Holmes' best friend?" the doctor asked her.

"The very same." Her voice had a sharp edge to it and she gave Doctor McKenzie a daring look. He sighed deeply, shook his head wearily but finally gave her an acquiescent nod.

"I'll see what I can do for you," he promised.

Nurse Marlowe helped her out of the bed. As she was physically fine, there was no objection to her leaving the bed and waddling about. She was however restricted to her room only for now. With a hot cup of tea in her hand, Kyrie stared out of the window, dressed in a formless nightgown and a bathrobe.

She sighed deeply, trying not to pay too much attention to the passing time, but with every fleeing minute, that slowly turned to hours, she considered it less and less likely that John and Mary would react any different to her than the doctors and Greg had done. Her John and Mary would have dropped anything in a heartbeat for her and they would have rushed to the hospital. This John and Mary took their sweet time, if they would show up at all. Still, Kyrie held on to the faint hope that John and Mary really were tied up in something time consuming they just couldn't walk away from. She couldn't fathom what that could be, but it was better than considering the alternative.

S S S

The Holmes brothers not seeing eye to eye, again. That was... Actually not that different from usual. It was just, John had not seen them at odds with each other for a long time. Oh, there were always the occasional grievances of course, but, John had a sneaky suspicion that both Sherlock and Mycroft just loved to get in each other's hair every now and then. Kyrie didn't like it when they were 'verbally sparring' with each other, so they kept it to a minimum and they preferred to do so only at times when she was not around.

As John watched the two men staring each other down in Mycroft's office, the one under the Diogenes Club, John realised this was not just 'verbally sparring'.

"Stop being so difficult and pull your head out of your arse! I know how this sounds!" Sherlock snapped at his brother while doing his best to pace the thick carpet on the wooden floor bare.

Mycroft seemed unperturbed. He was seated in his leather chair and ignored John who was studying this for him new environment. Was that a treadmill? He really didn't mind to not be the current focus of Mycroft's attention.

"Haven't we been down this road of impossible before? Or more accurately... you and John?"

Sherlock gave a dismissive wave with his hand. "No, this is nothing like in Dartmoor."

Mycroft threw back his head and sighed over-dramatically. "So, because this Hawthorne had theories about alternate realities, you now believe that Kyrie has vanished into one?!"

John had to agree with Mycroft. It sounded ludicrous. That was why he couldn't help but worry about his friend. Sherlock did not do ludicrous; he was all about definite and exact knowledge. This sudden conviction of Kyrie being in a different dimension, it was just not like him.

"Fine, you don't want to believe me. I get it. Had the roles been reversed, I would not have believed you either. I still want you to put all of your resources on Cassidy."

The air in Mycroft's office seemed to get even more suppressive than before and John kept his focus on the toes of his shoes.

"So he can reactivate that machine you were talking about?"

Yep, Mycroft was losing his patience now.

"Where did she go, Mycroft?" Instead of answering, Sherlock threw Mycroft off balance with a question of his own.

When Mycroft didn't reply, John slightly turned sideways to see Sherlock's brother sitting open mouthed in his chair, as if he was about to speak, but he didn't say a word. He just licked his lips and closed his mouth again.

"It's all nonsense," Sherlock continued, "the theories, the machine, the entire project. It's all nothing but a flight of fancy that just happened to get someone killed. Hawthorne was wrong, so is Cassidy, meaning Cassidy killed Hawthorne for no reason at all. Leaving one question. Where is Kyrie?"

"Obviously, Cassidy has taken her with him; he's holding her captive somewhere."

"Brilliant deduction! You still want to tell me it's pointless to go after him?"

Mycroft threw up his hands. "Fine! Cassidy is our best bet to finding her, but she is not in another dimension, Sherlock! Please tell me I won't have to worry about your sanity. I'll admit domestic felicity suits you, but don't take it overboard!"

"There is nothing wrong with me. Just make sure that the reward is substantial. I want my entire network to spread out all over London, all over England. I want them to see everything, hear everything and notify me the moment Cassidy reveals himself. No stone will be left unturned. The reward better be worth their efforts."

Nothing wrong with him? Sure...

S S S

Looking at the young boy, Sherlock realised he needed at least some access to his emotions. He lowered himself to St John's level and studied the small face looking back at him. It really was astounding how much the boy resembled him. A surge of fatherly pride deep within, but only a small portion was allowed to treacle through.

St John's face might betray as little emotion as his own, but his eyes told him everything he needed to know, just as he knew that St John could read the truth in his own eyes. He was scared, they both were.

"I have to go away for a while." He kept his voice solemn. "I'm going to look for Mummy, I will find her and I will bring her back, all right?"

St John just looked back at him with those stormy grey eyes, filled with violet lightning. There was insecurity in those eyes... and fear; a little boy's fear his mother had left him.

"She didn't go away, St John," he said, forcing his voice to sound softer. "Your mummy did not want to leave either of us and I bet that, wherever she is, she's very afraid right now. And so, we have to be brave for her."

"You will find her, daddy," St John said with an unwavering voice. Sherlock nearly smiled hearing his son's rock steady belief in him. Nearly.

"Yes, I will." He blinked his eyes as he remembered something and reached for the bag he had packed for St John's stay here with John and Mary.

He pulled back the zip and rummaged through the contents of the fine leather holdall until he found what he was looking for. He held out a book for his son.

"I'm sure Mary would love to read you your favourite." He attempted a smile but his facial muscles refused to cooperate.

St John instantly shook his head. "No."

Sherlock knitted his brows together. "What... you don't want this? I thought..." He blinked his eyes in confusion. Surely he wasn't such a lousy father that he didn't know his son's favourite book? He re-checked the title. The Snake and The Rose. He was fairly certain that was the one...

"That's Mummy's story."

Of course. St John was very attached to familiar routine. Hugs, kisses and stories from his mother; science, knowledge and experiments from his father. They mixed sometimes, but not often. They did mix now though, because Sherlock couldn't resist to pull his son close to him, to plant a firm kiss on the top of his curly head and to inhale the faint scent of his sweet shampoo.

"Be a good boy for me. I will try to come back as soon as possible. And when I find Mummy... We will all go back home, together."

St John wrapped his little arms around his neck and clung to him, unwilling to let go. Sherlock carefully freed himself from his son's embrace. It was a good thing his old persona was so good at detaching himself from emotions, otherwise he would not have been able to bear to see this look on his son's face, without his own heart breaking. St John's lips were quivering and his eyes red from tears he refused to cry. He averted his eyes and looked at the book Sherlock was still holding in his right hand.

"For Mummy" he said in a tiny voice.

Sherlock drew in a steadying breath and simply nodded. Two simple words, but they meant so much more.