After half an hour bundled in the back of the Limousine, with me hugging my battered rucksack and Sherlock glaring at the blacked out window, he began to speak.

"OK you have questions"

"Who are you?"

"Nobody, my brother however is the British Government"

"What?"

"My brother, my much older brother" he added with a smirk, "Runs the British government, oh and the secret service, and the CIA on a freelance basis"

I looked at him as if he was mad, but his pupils were returning to normal, and he was smiling at me.

"Really?" I asked, but he just gestured at the Limousine.

"Where are we going" I asked

"My brothers country residence" he frowned suddenly "he has facilities to contain me."

I sat in silence for a moment, "How did you?"

"Know about you?" he asked, when I nodded he continue "I observed, your haircut and bearing say military, you're physicians eye says Doctor. You are clean and streetwise, and your hair is cut and clean. A newbie would be filthy, but you are still slightly tanned so I made a deduction about 2 years on the street. You're sense of morality is obvious from you going out of your way to protect me, and the reaction when you thought you were talking out loud shows you have concerns about your sanity. The next bit is easy you know it already."

I smiled "I don't know!"

"Exactly, you clearly said you didn't know if you'd been in Afghanistan or Iraq, Amnesia. Then there's the alcohol."

"How can you possibly know about the drinking?"

"Shot in the dark, a good one though" he smiled "You are a clever man, educated and clean, you've clearly gone through some kind of massive event, probably military related, so you've been hospitalised. Someone like you, hospitalised with amnesia wouldn't have been let out on to the streets, probably sent to a halfway house. You've been forced to leave there for some reason, so alcohol abuse."

I sat there silently for a moment, and then whispered "Brilliant!"

"Really?" Sherlock asked

"Brilliant, amazing, extraordinary"

"That's not what people normally say"

"What do they normally say?"

"Piss off!"

About an hour later we pulled up outside a large manor house, and Sherlock held the door open for me. As we walked to towards the house flanked by the goons from earlier, he turned to me again.

"Did I miss anything?"

"I can't confirm a lot, but I was discharged from hospital just over 2 years ago, I am an Amnesiac, as far as I know I was some kind of army medic, and I used to be a drinker."

"Spot on then, didn't expect to be right about everything."

"The injury isn't military related." He stared at me "I was found unconscious and injured on a railway track in Shropshire."

"Really?" he looked shocked, then shrugged "There's always something"

"Sherlock what am I doing here?"

"I told you, being my Doctor"

All further conversation was halted when one of the goons grabbed Sherlock around the waist and the other grabbed me.

The world went black as a bag was put over my head, but the last thing I heard as I was dragged away was Sherlock shouting "DOCTOR" at the top of his voice.