Thank you for the review Mine Alice, it is lovely to have feedback on my story. Here's the 2nd chapter - enjoy! :)

Madison lay spread-eagled for a while on the cold, damp pavement, shivering with shock and pain and the dread of what she would see when she sat up. She wasn't exactly sure what happened – just that the strange Mr Sherlock Holmes had jumped out of her house, pulled her away from it, and then there was an explosion. Her head throbbed and it was as if a thousand church bells were ringing in her ears. She slowly pushed herself up by the elbows, grimacing with the pain. She knelt for a little, swaying gradually, her eyes squeezed firmly shut, to catch her breath and gather her tattered senses. Her knees where grazed, her ribs were bruised, and her face was caked in blood from when her chin collided with the pavement and her teeth bit hard into her tongue. But considering the force of the explosion, she had gotten of lightly, for despite her war-torn appearance, most of the injuries were superficial. She managed to get back onto her feet, wobbling slightly like a newly born foal, and checked herself over. She was conscious of a sharp ache in her chest, but none of her bones were broken.

Madison then turned around to assess the damage. Her flat was now reduced to a pile of rubble, and tears stung her grazed face when she noticed various treasured possession now littered in the ruins, in shreds and charred – there was her collection of books, her dresser, her TV …. All of it gone, ruined, decimated. With her hands pressed against her head, she sank to the floor, wailing. What could she do now? Why was all this happening to her of all people?

Sherlock, meanwhile, seemed pretty much unfazed by the fact he had almost been blown up. He stood up, looking a little worse for wear but still intact, brushed himself down and quickly phoned in the emergency services, before fiddling with his phone again. People were coming out into the street, looking dazed and overwhelmed to see what had just happened. Some of them began filming the wreckage with their mobile phones, so no one noticed Sherlock when he began to melt back into the shadows. Well, no one except:

'Where the hell do you think you're going?' screeched Madison.

Sherlock froze in his tracks, before swinging back round gracefully to face the furious woman. Her eyes looked bloodshot with exhaustion, pain and despair, and her fists were in tight balls. Sherlock sniffed disdainfully at her, and as he was noted for his consideration and unparalleled sympathy to the human condition, offered some thoughtful words of comfort and advice to soothe her. Nah, only kidding, the sadistic git with as much emotional intelligence as half a brick retorted thoughtlessly and sardonically, completely indifferent to her upset.

'Oh, so I see we've finally finished with the mental breakdown. The ambulance should be here in a few minutes. Do me a favour and go, your presence is very trying and I've got so much to do. Go tootle off and do so more crying or something, although make sure you don't do it near me.'

He then turned on his heel and began striding off into the night.

Madison wasn't going to be evaded that easily though – Sherlock Holmes had a lot of questions to answer. With an immense effort, she sprinted after him and tugged at his coat so he came to a stop. Sherlock turned to face her once more, his brows deeply furrowed. Why wouldn't this woman just leave him alone?

'If you try anything, I've got 999 already entered into my phone so I just need to press dial, and the police will be on their way.'

She said it with such assertiveness and determination that Sherlock blinked a little in surprise. He soon smirked however.

'Oh please, do you really think that scares me? I'd be long gone before PC Plod eventually gets here. And why do you still think I'm a threat anyway? I've told you, I'm a detective, I'm on a case. And its success is being greatly hampered by you. Ta-ta!'

Sherlock began walking off again, but Madison kept a firm grip on the tail of his coat.

'What kind of detective breaks into people's houses? And just before an explosion like that? At the moment, it looks very much like you planted that bomb! You've got some explaining to do! I almost died, and my house is now a heap of rubble. Now in my experience, if people go around blowing up people's houses, it's generally because they're wanted dead'

'Oh for god's sakes I was on a bloody case, and at the moment I am still on it, so it would be most useful if you just went and talked to the police or paramedics or something.'

Sherlock strode off with Madison trotting at his heels.

'Why were you in my house?'

'I knew you were stupid, but an average goldfish has a larger cerebral capacity than you. What don't you understand about .on. ?'

'Well it may be news to you sunshine, but I don't care what kind of detective you are, or what kind of case you're on, I do not take kindly to people breaking into my house, especially when their visit coincides with a GODDAM MASSIVE EXPLOSION!'

Sherlock stopped overdramatically, rolled his eyes with as much sass as he could muster, and dragged Madison by the coat sleeve into a little alleyway. They were now several streets away from Madison's house.

'What do you want to know?' whispered Sherlock impatiently.

'Err, well how about for a start, WHAT THE HECK WERE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE?!'

Sherlock signalled frantically for her to shut up. He seemed to be looking over Madison's shoulder. She turned around to see what he was looking at, and seeing nothing but an empty street, turned to face him again.

'What?'

'The curtain twitched in the house opposite – no don't look around again!'

Sherlock grabbed Madison's wrist to prevent her from doing just that.

'And?'

'Well if you actually bothered to observe rather than just looking around aimlessly like a child who can't read, you might have noticed that when a curtain twitches in a house that clearly hasn't been inhabited for years, someone's in there who shouldn't be.'

'And how can you possibly tell that the house hasn't been lived in?'

'Well, do you know anyone who lives in a house with its door off its hinges?'

'But that's just obvious!'

'Well you didn't notice yourself, did you?'

'You didn't let me look around!'

Sherlock continued to stare at the house, looking for any more signs of life.

Madison thumped him on the arm to make him concentrate on her again:

'Quit you're paranoia for God's sake; it's probably just squatters'

Sherlock ignored this.

'So?' hissed Madison

Sherlock directed his gaze back to Madison, shooting her a quizzical look.

'So, what kind of case required you to be in my house?'

'Well I thought you might have some inkling by now, considering you discovered a rather revelational fact about the running of the office you work at a few days ago-'

Madison cut him short with a threatening glare.

'Look, instead of going on about how stupid you think I am, why don't you prove that you're not an idiot yourself and tell me what's going on.'

Sherlock sighed heavily.

'This goes nowhere you understand, or my elder brother will make sure you're incarcerated for the rest of your living days.'

'Ooh, I'm really scared now your big brother's on my case,' replied Madison with mock fear, 'what are you going to threaten me with next? My Dad's bigger than your Dad?'

'I'm being serious.'

'Whatever, just get on with it.'

Sherlock's stare bored into Madison's eyes with such intensity that she involuntarily looked away. Sherlock then launched into his explanation:

'The company you work for is a façade for a highly elaborate criminal organisation, with some extremely dangerous criminals at its helm. The masterminds in charge are behind many different crimes – drug trafficking, people trafficking, fraud and even murder. They mainly deal with drug shipments however, and extremely large amounts of money have to be transacted. Now this would look a bit fishy if they used their own accounts, or even fake ones. The continuous flow of large sums of money through regular bank accounts would immediately alert the secret service to foul play, and those accounts holders would soon be investigated, and their secrets discovered. So what do they do?'

'Well I don't know.'

Sherlock rolled his eyes impatiently.

'They use a company that regularly deals with money, as a front. That's where your office comes in. What does the company you work for ostensibly do?'

'Well, we mainly lend money to businesses so they can expand, and in return we get a certain share in the business.'

'Exactly. It's a company that deals with large sums of cash on a regular basis. So, it's not suspicious when the cash the ringleaders earn from their own illicit trading also gets transacted via the company. People don't give it a second look. But this cash is immediately reinvested back into their drug business, or their pockets.'

'Well I follow so far. But why do they want to make it look like there's no boss?'

'None of the employees know about the secret organisation running the firm. If you add a boss into the mix, who's also ignorant of what the firm really is, it's getting risky. It's easy to hide the secret from the basic office workers. But from a boss, who will regularly get access to information about the various transactions, it is much more difficult. Sooner or later he's bound to smell a rat. Solution: don't employ a boss. They create the illusion of there being a boss, with the office and rather clumsy cover stories about why he's never seen, and why no one is allowed in his office. The employees are too busy to care, and too concerned about keeping their jobs to ask any questions.'

'Why couldn't one of the criminals involved pose as a boss? Surely that would be safer than the melodramatic deal of the non-existent Mr Hobson?'

'Too risky again. All of these men are on the radars of the secret service. Surveillance would be instantly tightened if one of them suddenly became manager of a well-established financial firm; they'd be investigations, and the truth would be found out. They don't want to involve anyone else either. These men are greedy and cautious. Another one in on the secret both means less cash for them (it takes an awful lot of money to shut people up) and an increased likelihood of exposure.'

'So they're behind the explosion at my house? Why am I wanted dead?'

'Two reasons. One, they know about you going into Mr Hobson's office and finding the truth about him being non-existent. Two, you have something they want – a memory stick.'

'Oh my God! I'd forgotten all about that. It's still in my pocket!'

'I'm surprised they were so careless as to let it fall into the hands of the employees. Where did you find it?'

'In my pile of documents to file on excel.'

'Very careless indeed. Whatever's on that device is important. I broke into your house to try and find it – I remembered you telling me about it on that day when I broke into the office. I can bring about their downfall with that memory stick. However, when I broke into your house they were too quick. They'd been there before, looking for it too. Being unsuccessful, they planted an elaborate explosive device to finish you off instead. It was activated when I switched on the light to your living room. I had 15 seconds to vacate the house. Luckily, you hadn't found it first, and I was able to pull you away from the vicinity. You're not in danger for the time being, although when they find out you're still alive you're in big trouble.'

'And you were going to leave me ignorant of the danger I was in?' Madison growled this, anger boiling up inside her.

'I was going to leave you in the charge of my brother. He practically is the government, and would have offered you protection. This is why I was so desperate for you to stay near your house, with all the police and paramedics. There is safety in numbers. My brother would have found you, and escorted you to safety.'

'Oh, and is this the same brother who's going to lock me up and throw away the key if I leak any of this information?'

Sherlock wasn't listening anymore however. His focus was on three shady looking men who had since accumulated on the street corner, smoking, and looking over at him and Madison every so often.

'Whatever you do, do not look around. If you have any desire to remain alive, you will do exactly as I say.' He whispered.

Madison froze every muscle. Her pupils dilated with fear.

'What's going on?' she barely moved her lips to say this, so softly, that it was lost in the cool breeze. The only evidence of her having spoken was a little mist around her mouth, where her breath was rendered visible in the chilly night air.

'Run.'

Once again, Sherlock grabbed her by the upper arm and half dragged her back down the alley, for she couldn't keep up with the speed of his massive strides. She became conscious of heavy, rapid footsteps following them. Her senses reached a vivid sensitivity, her skin prickled and she sprinted, side by side with Sherlock, running for her life. It was funny to think how only last night she had been reading a thriller in which the main characters were pursued through a city by foolhardy criminals from the comfort of her sofa. Now the sofa was blown to pieces, and here was she, dashing through the night in a bid for survival, from a deadly criminal gang. She was living an adventure. Something remarkable was happening to Madison Smith, the humble office girl. And it seemed like she would pay for it with her life.

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