A/N; So I found my notebook, and hopefully this turns out a lot better than the original version. Also, I am so sorry for the hiatus, school has taken up most of my time and my family is trying to move, so things are crazy.

Also, the plot is advancing fairly quickly, so I apologize if anyone is out of character, but my characterization of Sherlock is taking into account that John has been giving him "How to be a decent human being" lessons, and that he has basic people skills after 5 years with him.

Please leave a review, I love reading them, and feel free to criticize.

I don't own this. _

Part 2

When we reached the street, Sherlock hailed a cab and held the door for me as I got in before getting in himself.

"Vauxhall Bridge," he called to the driver. He looked back at me and I glanced awkwardly around the cab before focussing again on his face. His eyes were a cold grey that betrayed no emotion as he looked me up and down. I had heard he could tell your life's story with just a glance, and I tried to read him with even the fraction of clarity that I was sure he was reading me with.

Sherlock's face was thin and angular, and his dark hair had thin strands of grey though he looked young. He looked tired, and, just a bit... defeated? I suppose I would give up a little bit if an enemy I worked so hard to get rid of suddenly show up again out of the blue. Suddenly I became aware of the silence and began to fidget, and Sherlock looked away.

"So I gather you figured out some things about me?" I didn't want to seem like an idiot in front of my new colleague, but also not too eager, as those things often went hand-in-hand.

"Well, I know you grew up in Northern America with your sister and dog, you have a library in your house, you like to draw but don't think you're any good. You don't much like the type of music that's popular today, you observe a lot of things, but don't know what to do with the information you gather. You have mild anxiety and rarely wear dress clothes." My mouth opened and closed like a fish as I thought through everything he had said, and it was true, it was all true, down to the last detail.

Sherlock opened his mouth again but the cab careened around a corner, and I reached out to grab something that would prevent me from falling.

Falling soon became irrelevant though, as the cab gained speed, hurtling through the streets of London. It flew around another corner, and this time I didn't have time to grab anything. I was thrown across the seats, my hand searching for anything that could prevent me from falling onto a near stranger.

At the last possible second, my fingers curled around a bar of a headrest and I pulled myelf up, brushing hair out of my face. I pounded my fist in the glass that separated us from the driver.

"Hey! You! What the hell do you think you're doing?" I pounded on the glass again and caught a glimpse of cold, dark eyes in the rear-view mirror before the driver wrenched the wheel to the left, slamming me against my door. My head crashed against the window and everything went black.

I woke to a shadow across my face. Sherlock was leaning over me, his face creased with worry. He saw I was conscious and his face went blank again, but not before his eyes softened a bit. He offered me his hand and pulled me up slowly, careful not to jerk me too hard, and my head began to pound.

"Are you alright?" I nodded as much as I could manage and squinted through the lights to figure out where we were. I was sitting in a booth at a small restaurant that was mostly empty except for us and a few staff.

"Where are we?" I managed to groan out through the pounding as a waiter came by. I ordered a water and searched through my backpack for aspirin.

"Victoria Station, about a kilometer west of Vauxhall Bridge. And before you ask, no, I have no idea who he was or why he suddenly decided to pursue a career in racing." He smiled a bit at his joke and I couldn't hold back a grin.

The waiter came back with my water and I sipped it gingerly as Sherlock steepled his fingers and closed his eyes. I played with the cheap paper placemat and recounted the last day. I had been in London less than twenty-four hours and I had already been recruited by Sherlock Holmes and knocked unconscious by a manic cab driver.

"Why would he not take us somewhere else where he could hold us, why drop us off at a random shop? We were completely powerless with him at the wheel." Sherlock mused, pulling me out of my own reverie. He glanced at me and I shrugged.

"Maybe he just wanted to scare us, or maybe he was buying time." Sherlock's head shot up, his eyes lit up with an almost wild light.

"Time. He needed time." Sherlock pulled out his phone and pressed a few buttons. "John! Where are you? Good. We need to check Baker Street. Moriarty may have been there. Meet us there in fifteen minutes." I followed Sherlock as he stepped outside and hailed another cab. It was a different one than we had ridden here, but I was still wary as I slid into the seat.

When we made it to Baker Street without incident, I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

When we get inside, search for anything that seems out of the ordinary, any clean spots in an area that hasn't been dusted in a while, books out of place, that sort of thing." He helped me out of the cab, and I followed him as he walked up the stairs to the infamous flat.

As we reached the door, I saw a shadow move behind the glass, and saw John with a cup of coffee through a second door to the left. We moved forward slowly, opening the door slowly, and then slamming it against the wall with a BANG. I heard the shattering of John's mug as we took in the guest.

"Well," Moriarty sang manically, "isn't this a pleasant surprise!" _

A/N: I may continue this, though it will probably be a while, since this is all that I had in the notebook, but leave a review and tell me what you think!

Ciao!