Amy's POV.

My head is spinning but my feet continued to walk down the long stretch of road. I had nowhere to go. Well, nowhere I wanted to go. I couldn't face going home and putting up with the ridiculous excuses her family would make to cover their lies and deceit. I didn't want to make a scene so I decided the best way to do that was to enter the house. Instead I decided to follow a shadow.

I had watched the person dressed in all black inconspicuously hand over money to another stranger in exchange for brown paper bag. I'm not naïve and I knew that it would lead to somewhere dangerous. It's either drugs or a gun. I hoped for the first one. Whilst I'm not afraid of dying, I didn't want to be roped into another police investigation. Death was probably the only thing that didn't cause me to be anxious.

The shadow lead her to an abandoned pub, to the right of a huge industrial estate. I could hear the vicious barks of the estate's German shepherd guard dog in the background. The pub however was not guarded and was missing a front door. From the spray paint around the front, I guessed that this place was a drug den and despite their hostility, they wouldn't exactly kick me out. I don't know why I wanted to go in there. Maybe it was the fact my arms were shaking from the cold breeze or the fact the shadow was the only interesting thing I saw all day, well apart from the brief encounter with the two men.

Maybe the man from earlier has a drug addiction. He did seem agitated and looking for a distraction as much as I was. I had always contemplated using drugs to quieten down my thoughts but always assumed that it's just make it worse. I don't think I could deal with worse. Instead she made her mind busy, usually by listening to music. Since my headphones broke, my brain was been buzzing and not in a the way you'd want it to.

The shadow disappeared by the time I reached the door frame. Not that I cared much where he went, probably make bad company. I wondered if anyone has said that about me before? I scold myself, everyone else sucks. I shouldn't care about what they think.

It's dark in this pub. Well it's hard to class it as a pub. There was no furniture but I wasn't really expecting any. There are a lot more people than I expected to be in here. I peeked my head in each of the rooms. The first one was the liveliest and had a group of sick looking men fighting over something I didn't care about. The rest had their fair share of drug users and unconscious people scrawled across the floor. The last room was the quietest and only have the occasional shriek and a low hum of chatter which mostly consisted of grunts and sighs.

Although, the quiet tended to make matters worse, it was the only way I could sleep. I blamed my 'family' for the conditioning of a silent household at night for my light sleeping. I hope that there is enough jittering from other people to focus on so I could stop internalising myself. I found an unoccupied corner and rested my head against the side of the cold wall. I wondered if I was the only one in there that wasn't high. After scanning the room, the only person I could tell that was shaking in some way, apart from the majority that were passed out, was the person wrapped in their coat a few feet away from me. It was a long coat and it made me envious of their warmth. I should have brought my coat. After staring at this person for a minute (it took me a while for my eyes to adjust and even then, I could only make out outlines), I concluded he was male. Before I could gather any other information, I decided I better stop looking at him. I was too exhausted to find somewhere else to sleep.

I could feel his eyes on me. I once tried to explain to my sister the feeling of another person's eyes on you. To me it was always disturbing and unwanted. It felt like a weight was dumped on your body and build up of pressure. She didn't understand the feeling. She says a person's eye couldn't be felt and it was illogical to think they applied any pressure. I disagreed.

"If you've got something to say, just say it." I said loudly targeted towards the area in which the man was sat. There was silence which for a moment I appreciated and the man looked away. This was then broken by the sound of static and mumbled words only associated with the garbled signal of a radio. I could feel myself panic and myself and the man both rose to our feet. The gleam of the broken slat in the bordered up window shown on the man face. I barely had time to recognise the slender man from earlier before the unmistakable sound of clinking of a flash grenade arrives down the corridor. My heart races but my feet are glued to the floor.

"Amy!" Sherlock shouts impatiently as he climbs over the scrambling idiots running towards the danger.

I know I should be running but I can't move. Through the faint buzzing, I hear another grenade hit the floor. It's closer this time. He yanks my arm towards the wall with the window. Without thinking I help him snap off the wooden slats. I however hesitate after he looks at me expectantly to jump through the window. Without my permission, I am thrown through the glass and land hard on my hands and knees. The nameless familiar man lands a whole meter in front of me and looks around with bloodshot eyes only to spot a shadow turning the corner. He extends his hand towards me, frantically.