I found a little time discrepancy in the last chapter and that's how long Sherlock stayed with Molly, so to clear anything up, he stayed with her for a grand total of three months.

This chapter shorter than the first but it kind a transition in the first place. The rest of the chapters I'm sure aren't going to be 36 pages long but hopefully a few more pages than this one right here. So read and hopefully enjoy and review.

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock BBC

Chapter 2

Six and half hours on a plane did nothing for Sherlock than to further along his thoughts, albeit in a broken pieces, in coach the sheer amount of people talking and thinking greatly inconvenienced him. The plane ride couldn't end fast enough. Once they landed, he wasted no time getting through security and looking at the location that was Tivat airport. Bags in hand, one beneath his armpit, he quickly scanned the arrival lounge for her. A minute passed where he almost believed she wasn't there. That anxious thought was fortunately short lived once he spotted her near one of the bright lit windows. Sitting on the edge seat, farthest from the rest of the crowd. Her arms crossed, a pensive look led to her hair brushed down to one side. She stared out the window, a bit lost.

For one second Sherlock thought of going on without her, but he abruptly turned on his heels and stumbled to her. The way his plan was progressing, he wouldn't make it very far. Irene turned her head as he got close then stood up.

"Oh, I was beginning to think you'd changed your mind." she looked in his face, placed her hand on it and turned him as she pleased "You look a bit pale, I thought that morgue attendant was feeding you? You didn't accept any food on the plane I take it?"

"You're not exactly dressed to impress either." Sherlock narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing her pale pink lips and nails void of polish. He then fell silent as is he had just been put off.

"You're not to care though, so why bother?" Irene smiled slightly at him.

When Sherlock didn't answer, Irene took a hold of his sleeve and dragged him along with her, surely towards the exit. "You can rest properly at the house."

It was another hour in a sweltering barely functioning bus down the coast to their location.

"You should be happy, it took me a whole afternoon to clean this place, leaves from the open window, everywhere, you'd think the people who owned this place would care to take care of the thing…." Sherlock had already begun exploring the rooms.

It was almost a vacation home, verging on luxurious hideout. Light crisp white carpeted floor with darker décor. A wide living room space with a dark green couch in front of large sea view windows, another white couch stood opposite the green one. Two white armchairs at its flanks. Between the couches stood a glass coffee table. And adjacent to the coffee table stood a short polished wood set of stairs with an iron looping stairwell which led to the second landing. A short hall branched off to one larger kitchen and two bedrooms, each with an adjoining bathroom.

"Two bedrooms….didn't know whether or not we'd be needing two but they're there nonetheless-"

"That's perfectly fine, a single bedroom is preferable for brainwork." he said lowly. Sherlock dropped his bags onto the floor of the small anteroom they were standing in and headed into the living room. He sat down on the green couch and adjusted himself, looked out the window then fell silent.

"I've got enough groceries to last us the week, I'll figure I'll do the shopping if I don't want to eat stale crackers and wine for the rest of my stay….I could deal with the wine…" Irene approached him.

"Sherlock?"

He said nothing.

OOO

For the next two weeks, Sherlock's responses were little to none. Irene ideas as to why were getting scarce.

"Separation anxiety?" When Sherlock didn't answer she continued, "if you don't lead me to think different then I'll take that as a yes." Irene was beginning to worry about him, she'd never seen him this silent.

"Sherlock, I'm sure if you really wanted to. You could change your mind and go back to London. Show up on his doorstep with some roses and he'll forgive you in a heartbeat." Irene didn't really mean for it to come out as harshly and mocking as it did, but she couldn't just take the words back in and expect him to act like he hadn't heard them.

"I didn't mean that." she approached him, smiling slightly. And he stayed silent.

And still there's nothing. Irene's admitted she'd tried nearly everything; baiting him, bringing up some kind of promising lead, just talking to him and even then he was silent. For goodness sake she'd even taken the shallow route and tried to get him to do something with sex. Whether it be giving him the quick intimate kiss in hopes he'll say something about the bedroom or pull her close. In the end, he was just unresponsive in every way shape or form. She wanted to hear his voice, feel the rough touch of his fingers. If that morgue attendant could get him to do something, then why not her?

Was it really the separation, the fact that he was farther away from those he cared about than he had ever been? With no hopes of going back to them anytime soon.

A few days passed and Sherlock was as silent as ever. He was thinking, just thinking. He wished he had his violin, or some nicotine patches, then he factored in the fact that he was already not sleeping or eating, but then he figured, how worse could it get? Sherlock vaguely remembered that Irene had left, but he couldn't remember how long ago that was. But he was sure it had been a few days since he'd seen her last. Had she been in trouble, she would have sent him a text. oh yes, that bloody phone. Sherlock turned over on the couch to stare bitterly at the new phone sitting on the coffee table. A completely different phone as well as number for emergencies. Since she hadn't sent anything, Sherlock assuming she's fine, closed his eyes and tried to forget. His stomach growled angrily but he ignored it. His eyes drooped but sleep didn't come. Sherlock rolled back over, showing his back to the room.

Oh how much he hated this place, he knew he had to vanish from the grid but he didn't want to be this far back into the box. This was too far for him, no one recognized him, not that he wanted that to happen but he wanted to be able to notice people who could possibly be involved with Moriarty. Over here, in the blasted Mediterranean, this was much too far out of Moriarty's reach. The sheer lack of leads was just frustrating him more and more. He didn't expect this task of chasing down one of the most dangerous men in the world to be easy. Just this location kept him from hearing even a whisper of what this man may be up to. It had been a solid three weeks without a scrap of news and that made Sherlock anxious and livid.

He couldn't understand why he wasn't talking to Irene, she was closest thing he had to a friend. At that point in time. Even he didn't know what they were. It was too complicated for him to spare a thought for. However he did now she didn't deserve his silence. But he found himself not really caring about that.

The sun was setting sending a warm orange glow into the room through the large windows. Sherlock heard the lock jiggle and turned his head with a lazy necessitation and his eyes narrowed and his fists tightened, once Irene walked through, his muscles relaxed, he turned his back on her, then resumed his blind thinking.

"Right where I left you." Sherlock heard her stop in the middle of the room. She dropped what sounded like paper bags to the floor. "Remember Sherlock, caring too much is dangerous-"

"I can't be wrong!" Sherlock shouted suddenly, and he heard Irene drop something presumably her purse. "I can't be-how can I-can I?" Sherlock's voice sounded hoarse and low from disuse, he didn't sound like himself and that on its own put him off. His head ceased to function.

"Oh," Irene approached him, she sat near his side and turned his face with her hand, "You've just put yourself off, haven't you?" Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out, Irene further quieted him with her finger, 'Shh darling, I figured you'd speak eventually. Just stay silent." She paused, "Eat something, you're too pale. Even for my liking." She brushed his cheek tenderly with her thumb, "A bit sickly," she mumbled then stood up and without another word headed up the stairs and into the hall.

Sherlock stayed still another few minutes, when she didn't remerge from the hall, he sat up and the hollow roar of his stomach awakened once more….

Irene sat up, the blankets creasing under her weight. She kicked off her shoes and glanced at the setting sun from her domed window. Sherlock was honestly beginning to seriously worry her. She couldn't begin to describe their relationship, it just wasn't something she could put into some simple term, because it just simply wasn't one. The only thing she could probably say that was mutual between them was maybe trust. He trusted her judgment and Irene could see it in his eyes mixed in with all that certainty. But what bothered her was the fact that he didn't seem so certain anymore. Sherlock was beginning to question and doubt his own head. And once he did that without turning back, what hope did any of them have? It had to be a phase, that was the only thought Irene let herself believe.

She stood up glanced at her open door, in hopes Sherlock would be there, looking for something. Hope, help, anything really. But he wasn't there. Irene pursed her lips and glanced down to take hold of the zipper on the side of her dress, she looked up to the sight of Sherlock now at the doorway, his clothes wrinkled and his hair messy, the sudden sight nearly managed to unseat her. Irene sighed, gave him a suggestive look then began to zip down the dress. Through her ministrations, Sherlock was standing stock still.

The look he was giving unnerved her. His eyes dark and narrowed, like he was both picking her apart and lusting after her. Sherlock fingers clenched, wanting to both strangle and grope her. Irene swallowed, she trembled slightly, but she wasn't afraid of him, she would never be. It wasn't until that moment that she found him a bit threatening. That look of the lost puppy he previously held, Irene didn't know what she had until it had gone. She swallowed slightly, clenched her own fingers then took a deep breath. Irene had confidence in herself, in the profession that she had chosen to pursue, she had to. She could calm him with little to no problem.

Irene stepped out of the dress and tossed it onto the back of a chair. She cocked her head and approached him. He wouldn't hurt her, would he? Giving a him a thoughtful look, she took his hand and led him to the bed. He followed on hesitant legs.

"Sherlock?" Irene cradled his head in her arms as she stood between his parted knees. The comforting gesture loosened Sherlock some, he reached around her bare waist and held her tight.

"I'm-I'm fine…" Sherlock swallowed, "continue…please."

His pleading tone frightened her. Her brows furrowed and she loosened her arms from his head, only her hands on his face now.

"There's something wrong?" She stated. Irene didn't expect him to answer, it was first and foremost his problem and he didn't have to tell her if he didn't want to. Irene stared into his eyes, without warning, Sherlock lifted his chin and captured her lips messily with his own. His large hands moved to her thighs, guiding them onto the bed on either side of him.

In haste, Sherlock half unclasped half ripped away her bra, tossing the piece roughly to the floor. Then he quickly flipped them, the fact that she was trapped beneath him, didn't make her feel any more comfortable. The first time she'd felt that rock in her stomach in that position. Her mind forced the next few moments to slur together like a blur.

His grip was too tight, and his demeanor was becoming overwhelmingly commanding and forceful. Irene wasn't going to take a chance if she changed her mind. The second one of her hands was free she went for it. Sherlock was on his knees, frozen, his eyes shifting between hers and the gun pointed at his throat.

"Not like this Sherlock. Never like this." She breathed solemnly.

Sherlock's eyes softened, "It wasn't intentional, scaring you was not deliberate-lower the gun." His voice seemed to start tender finishing with weightiness as soon as he mentioned the gun.

Irene breathed sharply through her nose, she slowly lowered the gun, Irene flicked on the safety before shoving it back beneath the pillow she was next to.

"Lie down Sherlock." Her tone bordered forceful. Irene motioned for the space next to her, and Sherlock did so, lying down on his stomach, his face turned away from her.

"Where do you keep yours?" It was a long time before he answered, Irene was beginning to feel a slight chill in the room, the tips of her breasts hardened uncomfortably, she hastily crossed her arms over them.

"A gun you mean?" He mumbled, "right beneath the bed…I can see how you'd benefit a bit more from having it stowed under your pillow…" He drifted off, the embarrassment was evident, he just wouldn't face her. Maybe the gun was a bit of an overstatement, Sherlock never meant to hurt her, hasty was all. But Irene couldn't just shrug away the fact that he was being too rough. She'd never thought she'd hear herself say something like that. Caution was all, she saved both Sherlock and her own life. Irene had saved Sherlock from something he wouldn't want to face the next morning, had she willed him to continue the bruised body that surfaced the next morning would have been unsightly for both of them, not to mention mentally bruising. Their trust of the all the remnants of it would have been gone. Irene didn't want to see him leave.

Sherlock shifted loudly and faced her.

"Irene."

"Yes Sherlock?"

"Do you still find me as one of those you can trust?"

"Can you still find it in yourself to talk to me? At all-"

"That wasn't deliberate either. I was just doing some well deserved thinking, the plane ride was ghastly…"

Irene couldn't help but chuckle, just a bit at him, "Do you usually shut people out for that long a period?"

"Never until now apparently, recently, I've had much to think about."

"Of course, plan of action?"

"Questionable."

"Do you still trust me, if only a little?"

"Yes." Sherlock peered into her eyes, they kept a solid contact, a petty little game none of them wanted to loose.

"Close your eyes Irene." His tone was thoughtful and without another word, Irene found it within herself to do so.

She felt him shift off the bed, something fell to the floor, presumably his blazer then silence. Irene's urge to open her eyes increased. If this was his idea of salvaging the moment then he was doing a poor job at it so far.

Irene was caught off guard by the warm feel of his hands on her arms, slowly, gently prying them away from her bare chest, the warmth traveled down her waist to her navel, and suddenly her slightly bent knees. He gradually parted them, leaving her completely open to him, save for her undergarment, at that moment, she let her trust for him consume her. The draft was quickly replaced as he settled between them, she could feel his breath hot on her throat. It wasn't long before he kissed her, too chaste for her liking, but enjoyable all the same.

Sherlock then kissed at her throat, "Open them," he spoke softly, lowly, from deep within his throat. It captivated her and her eyes flickered open.

"You don't have to," Irene spoke between his kisses, "it's my fault for choosing this place, I should have considered-"

"I want to." Sherlock pulled away, he searched her eyes, one of his hands cupped her breast, his thumb brushing the hardened tip. He rested his head on her shoulder, his breathing just a bit heavy.

Irene's impression of Sherlock was that he was unable to express things that pertained to his own emotion through words, actions were much easier. His hand moved to rest on her waist, then the bedspread. Irene rested her hands against his back took a deep breath of his scent. It had grown to comfort her, more so than the smell of leather or of sex itself. Her lids were beginning to droop, she could have fallen asleep just then if it wasn't for Sherlock suddenly pulling away. She stayed behind lazily, purposely. She watched Sherlock with half-lidded eyes pull the bed cover from the end of the bed and cover her with it. He headed for the door, giving her one last look.

"Stay, I'll be back in the morning."

Irene nodded slightly then fell asleep.

OOO

Her eyes snapped open.

Irene squinted at the clock on the nightstand to meet the ungodly hour of four that morning. She really couldn't blame herself, she'd fallen asleep so early the day prior. Irene sat up, clutching the bed sheet around her to keep in what warmth she had. She looked straight ahead and noticed the sliver of golden light from the bathroom door being slightly ajar. And now that everything from last afternoon began coming back to her she had to wonder, where had Sherlock gone to?

She abandoned the bed sheet and stood up. Her eyes shifting in the dark, searching for her robe, finally finding it hanging on the doorknob of her closet. She slipped it on then made her way to the bathroom.

"Sherlock?" Irene peeked slowly around the door, "Are you alright?" This silence was different, Sherlock lying on the floor unresponsive wasn't typical of him. She rushed to him.

"Shit!" She looked at the fluttering eyelids and the slack mouth, Sherlock had begun shaking; quickly becoming more severe. A thin sheet of sweat was culminating on his forehead. Hair plastered to his skin. He wasn't moving, only shaking his chest rising is a staggered rhythm. His eyes icy and unfocused. It didn't take her very long to recognize he was currently in the middle of a seizure. Her eyes scanned the floor, the capped syringe, and his belt rolled up next to him at once told her of his activities. Irene quickly stood up, searching for his phone, she shortly found it lying on the bathroom counter.

"911, what is your emergency?"

"I need help, I have someone here who is having a seizure, it may be from an overdose." Irene said, the phone in the crook of her shoulder, her hands scrambling in the first drawer of her counter, her fingers wrapped around something then she shut it hastily. She glanced at him as he had begun convulsing violently, "please, get here as fast as you can-"

"And where is your emergency?'

"Forte Mare, Herceg Novi.."

OOO

Her stony features were the first thing he laid eyes on the second they opened. Her pale lips were pursed in a line that looked like it'd been there for centuries. Like nothing could change it even of he tried his hardest. Eyes trained on whatever was on the other side of the window. She had on a black coat, held tight around her by crossed arms. Body language that betrayed her facial features. That was when he realized he was in a hospital, the whitewashed walls deemed too bright for his just awakened sight. Sherlock blinked lazily. Opening his eyes once again to find her eyes now scrutinizing him. Brows furrowing, Irene didn't say anything.

"Disappointed?" He croaked.

"That's all I am these days." She ran a hand roughly through her hair. "I was right."

"About what may I ask?"

"Were you seeking a 'better' high? You were a former drug addict. Cocaine to be exact. Is sex suddenly beneath you? Is that why you didn't continue yesterday? I'm not good enough for you?" she hissed. Her hands abruptly clenching at his bed sheets. That was when Sherlock noticed it. The ring on her left hand. It took him a second longer than usual to comprehend, and he quickly looked at his own.

"Only way they would let you in?"

"I didn't want to take the chance, I slipped it on you before the ambulance arrived at the house."

"Ah, clever. Even under pressure, you consider the possibilities." When she didn't reply he continued. "You weren't enough. Honestly. Even the best sexual climax wouldn't have been able to deter the frustration I felt for having not achieved anything in the past four and a half months. I needed something stronger-" He ground out.

"Something strong enough the stop your heart? Something strong enough to kill you and leave the rest of us to the world Moriarty has created for us? I'm not placing everything I have in you and I never will," she paused, "you're just our best chance."

"So you're done with Moriarty I take it?"

"I don't want him to find me, I'll be killed."

"Appears we're in the same boat. Except, I want to find him."

"We can't stay here Sherlock."

"Oh, the papers," Sherlock's lips parted, "we're both legally dead-"

"What I submitted was our old records, names changed, everything of personal effects have been changed, and it should hold up alright, however I want to leave incase it falls through."

"I understand." Sherlock nodded, "the Balken cocaine route."

"What?"

"You're wondering where I acquired it, aren't you?"

"Of course, but our lives don't depend on it."

"In recent years, this country has become a stepping stone in the smuggling of the drug from South America to Europe. It took me most of the night to track them down, once you find them, it's easy to tell-"

"I'm I supposed to be impressed? You showing off the fact that you're able to find a drug smuggler by his clothing? They attempted to keep you stable, they chose to let the drug run it's course. I stayed with you and the whole ordeal was horrifying, watching you writhe around while your heart strained to pump blood-" Her voice was vulnerable but tense.

"Well, I was just informing you-"

"We should go back to the house and pack, I want to leave before nightfall." Irene coldly, letting go of the sheet, "you have limits Sherlock," she grabbed his hand briefly and squeezed it, "you need to realize them." Irene stood up, smoothed out her coat, "I'll check you out, get dressed." She gestured to a neat pile of clothes on his night stand.

Hopefully you enjoyed, please review and give me some feedback. All of it's much appreciated.