A/N: Actually note to self – Do not try to publish two stories at the same time again – working on them is acceptable – publishing is not – too confusing (for me) & one suffers (story that is) – Now that the other story is finished I can be a better mistress to this one!

Warnings –murder, mayhem, swearing, conversations around possible attempts at suicide - angst - the usual.

Don't own – if I did I'm not sure they'd show it on the telly!

Chapter 3. Distractions

"Hutchison's Law: Any occurrence requiring undivided attention will be accompanied by a compelling distraction." Robert Bloch

2 Days Later

Early Evening

He was so very happy. Things were working out the way he had planned. The way that stupid woman from the shop had planned. It was a shame he needed her to fulfill the final part. She had to be there for the sacrifices. She was the priestess. It wouldn't work without her.

Oh well. C'est la vie. Two more murders and the doors would open and then for the Grand Finale. He would sacrifice four more on the altar and She would be here. She would be able to step through and walk upon the Earth, just like in the old days. It would be a win/win situation for the both of them.

Thank god for Virgil. The description of bringing Hecate into the world was right there. In Aeneid 6.257. Plain as day. If you knew what it really meant. Of course he wouldn't be using stupid bullocks. I mean really! How the hell was someone supposed to find bullocks in London for heaven's sake? No. Nothing but the best for the Goddess.

1 detective inspector (the Goddess insisted on that one)

1 pretty little maid (Shame about her. He'd rather liked her the first time he been here)

1 consulting detective

1 doctor

Yesssss! It would be just about perfect. It was always nice to tie up loose ends. And payback. Well, you know what they said about payback? She's a bitch, baby

Already the dogs were baying. The Yard had been inundated with complaints about dogs barking and howling, even if it wasn't their job. People liked to complain to the police. The dogs were the first sign. He clapped his hands together. So much more fun to be had when the snakes show up. And then the stones will cry out and the earth will tremble. There will be a whole lot more trembling than just the earth later on.

Some stupid Yarder walked past his desk.

"Going to the pub tonight?"

He smiled a charming smile. What a wonderful disguise. He got to help out in the investigation! They were calling everybody in on it. Hoping to solve it before the papers riled everyone up.

"No," he said, letting disappointment creep into his voice, make them think he cared, that he was one of the boys. "I have plans." Big plans. A whole lot of them. So many fingers in so many pies.

oOo

Later That Night

Sherlock couldn't sleep

Another body had been discovered. This time a young man. Same positions, similar clothing, same sacrifice. The only difference was location. As with the last murder it took place near Baker Street, within walking distance, but the first one had been to the east and this was to the south. He did not think this was a coincidence that they were so close to their flat. There are no coincidences.

He ran his hand down John's back, stroking it. The doctor was sleeping with his head resting on Sherlock's chest. He hadn't had a lot of sleep the last few nights either. The night of the first murder he had come home late from NSY while Sherlock had gone to the morgue with the first body. But John didn't sleep well when Sherlock was away. He didn't have to be in bed with him, just in the flat. If he was out of the flat it was too much like Sherlock's vanishing act. Then last night, when he finally reached a deep sleep, the first murder finally triggered what Sherlock had been expecting. A trip to Ancient Greece. Interestingly it wasn't his old dream about Eleri & Acrisias. It was a different one. One about temple rituals and sacrifices. It took John a while to snap out of it. When he did, he told Sherlock it was part remembrances from the past and part dream. Instead of a bull, pig or sheep on the altar it had been Sherlock he'd been standing over. During that part of the dream he'd been John, not Eleri.

After sidetracking him in one of the best ways known to humans, the doctor had finally fallen back into sleep. It had only been for a few hours, before once again he'd had to get up for work. He'd been there today whilst Sherlock was at the latest murder scene.

When John had come home from work, they had discussed the details of the case; John had been listening, more than contributing throughout most of it. Of course that was often the way things worked between them. This time Sherlock sensed it had more to do with how John felt about the case rather than his usual rapt attention to the detective's rapid-fire deductions.

After, John had fallen asleep in his chair. Sherlock hadn't wanted to wake him, but he knew John would be stiff and sore if he left him there. So he did wake him and bundled him into bed and joined him, hoping the doctor would get a decent night's sleep.

But that wasn't why Sherlock wasn't sleeping. Nor was the cause the usual aspects of working a case.

No. He had two other reasons for not sleeping.

One was he strongly felt he was missing something. There was something he had been trying to remember, but he couldn't, something to do with the case and with them. Whenever he went back into his memory, his mind palace, to go over any and all facts relating to this case and John's merry trip through hell with Moriarty and Hecate, the second reason why he couldn't sleep haunted his thoughts.

It was a song.

A song he couldn't shake.

A song he didn't recognize.

He thought it might be the same song John said he'd been humming.

What he really wanted to do was get up and play it on his violin, but he did not want to wake up John. So he lay there trying unsuccessfully to think of anything else.

The song was getting louder and words were beginning to creep in.

He could almost hear the words right there.

Sir you're a stranger not long to this land

Over again and again.

If only he could think of the next line in the song.

Sherlock sighed. It was most disconcerting.

He very carefully rolled John off of him, covered him with the duvet, ran his fingers lightly through John's hair and slipped into his robe. He quietly went into the living room. He took his violin out of the case and crept up the stairs to John's old room, now a haven for storage and Sherlock's extra science equipment. He opened the window and went up the fire escape to the roof. Once there he tucked his violin under his chin and began to play as softly as he could, hoping to get the song out of his head.

After a half an hour he was startled by a noise from behind. He turned and saw John standing there.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asked the shorter man.

"No," John's face was hard to discern in the dark. Although there were lights from the city illuminating parts of the roof, it also played with the shadows. John was mostly in shadow, "I woke up and you were gone. I worried." He walked closer to Sherlock "When you disappear like that it makes me wonder."

"Wonder what John?"

John paused and looked down at his bare feet. He was silent for a few minutes. "Wonder if you are really back. That I'm not imagining it. Like I use to, sometimes."

Sherlock looked at the man he loved.

He swallowed. Feeling it again. All the pain he'd caused.

"I'm sorry. I didn't think. I wanted to, I needed to play, but I didn't want to wake you."

"I know. It's my problem, not yours," John said quietly.

Sherlock walked up to John and holding on to the bow and violin in one hand, he carefully wrapped the other arm around the doctor, holding him as gently as he would his violin. "No, John. It is both of ours."

John lowered his head against the other man's chest listening to his heart, seeking affirmation that Sherlock was real.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For doubting. Not believing."

Sherlock held him tighter.

"Why should you? I lied to you. I made you think I was dead."

John's breathing sped up. They really hadn't talked out all of their problems, all of their hurts.

"It's hard because in the past…from before…whenever you died, I died. I thought you had died and I wondered why I couldn't, why I didn't."

Sherlock leaned his chin on top of John's head.

"John…"

John cleared his throat. "Let me talk. Sometimes I feel as if I can't tell you, but now I can, for the moment. So let me try to explain."

They stood in the dark, quiet for a moment.

"Greg probably told you, in fact I know he did, there were a couple of times when…when I was going to follow you. He stopped me. There were a few times when he came over to keep me company, just to talk. He needed to be there to make up for the other times, the times when I was alone and I'd make two cups of tea and I go so far as to bring it to the living room, only to realize you weren't there. "

Sherlock closed his eyes, squeezed them tight.

"But, sometimes, especially late at night or early in the morning, I thought I could hear you, feel you in here," he put his hand on his chest, "far away. I'd think I was imagining things again, but now I know I was hearing you, feeling you. You and I have this connection. I know where you are all the time. I just have trouble believing it sometimes. Please be patient with me."

The detective lifted his head off of John's and looked down at him. The doctor raised his head and looked up at him. Sherlock pulled John closer and lowered his head and kissed him, softly on the lips and then brushed his lips across John's forehead.

"Of course," was all he said.

After a few minutes, after a lifetime they both went back down the stairs, back in the flat, back to their room, back to each other.

If nothing else came about during the night at least Sherlock forgot about the song for a while.

oOo

Next Morning

Sherlock was up and dressed when John made his way into the kitchen. He filled the kettle still half asleep. Sherlock was sitting in his chair, but not in his usual thinking pose. He had his head in his hands as if he had a headache. He looked as tired as John felt.

"Why didn't you wake me?" John asked.

Sherlock snapped his head and his gaze towards John. "I knew you weren't working today and thought you could use more sleep." He let his head fall back into his hands.

John snorted, "You're one to talk." And then he woke up enough to take in Sherlock's pose. "Are you all right?"

"No!"

John just raised an eyebrow. Sherlock, since his return, usually refrained from shouting at John. It didn't prevent him from yelling at others.

The detective sighed. "I'm sorry. I just can't get this damned song out of my head."

"Earworm?"

"What?"

It's called an earworm. When you have a song playing over and over and you can't get rid of it."

Sherlock frowned, "That's ridiculous. I have never had that problem."

"Well apparently you do now."

The sound of the kettle let them know the steam was rising and the water was boiling. John made his way into the kitchen and made two cups of tea. He threw a couple of slices of bread into the toaster. He pulled a light breakfast together for the two of them and brought it back out to the living room. He set the cup and a plate of toast beside Sherlock's chair. The detective hadn't moved the entire time John had been gone.

He knelt down beside the chair.

"What can I do? You are more than upset about this."

Sherlock looked up again and took in the worried expression on John's face. "John, I…," he hesitated. "I need your help."

John frowned and pulled at his lower lip.

"Of course. Why would you even have to ask?"

Sherlock sighed, "Because I'm having trouble accessing information." He grimaced. Even with his partner, the one person he could share everything with, he had trouble talking about personal failings.

John looked surprised. "Okay," he said slowly.

Sherlock looked even more uncomfortable.

"Every time I try to make connections in this case that damn song gets louder. It's almost as if it's trying to stop me." He sat back abruptly and said, "There's something I need to tell you, as well. From…before…before I jumped. I think it's connected as well."

John just looked at him. The Captain Watson stare. Seriously? He was still holding back information?

Sherlock recognized the look and shook his head. "I was under advisement not to tell you at the time. And then when things got out of hand with Moriarty, it rather slipped my mind."

"Under advisement? Under advisement from who? If it turns out to be your brother, then he and I are going to have words again. I still haven't forgiven him for not telling me you were alive!" It came out rather growly.

Sherlock smirked a bit. Even if he ended up on the receiving end of a full out tirade from John it would be worth it if Mycroft got the same treatment.

The he sobered again.

"Not Mycroft. Athena."

John's eyebrows went higher.

"Would you care to explain?"

The detective looked at the doctor. "What do you remember about the time you were held captive by Moriarty?"

Nothing like being blunt, thought John. He shifted uncomfortably.

"You should know. I told you what I remembered at the time. I remember some. Not a lot. I try not to think about it much. Once I got the telling out of my system with that therapist. Well, and you. Why?"

"Do you remember getting shot?"

John's eyebrows really couldn't get any higher.

"Ummm, no that's a bit hazy. I think, what I jumped in front of the bullet?" he frowned. "Really I should have been dead, right? The bullet should have gone right through me. Angle of the thing and all."

"You were dead," Sherlock said softly, remembering that moment far too clearly.

"What? No. It just grazed my side. Have the scar to prove it. Why are you shaking your head?"

"I neglected to tell you everything that happened with Athena after you were shot. I told you how she intervened and saved you. She broke the curse. No more tragic death and when we do finally die, no more remembering past lives. What I didn't tell you was that you were shot in the chest. It wasn't a graze. You died in my arms. There was something else as well. Something I asked for."

"Hold on, give me a moment here. You're saying I died? But…but the bullet wound wasn't even close to being fatal!" John sat back stunned. "That's a lot to take in. And why the hell didn't you ever tell me?"

Sherlock shrugged. "It wasn't convenient at the time."

John just looked at Sherlock. He felt he was getting angrier by the second, but instead of getting loud and yelling, he became cold and distant. Sherlock had only seen him this angry a few times.

"What do you mean it wasn't convenient?" he said in a deadly voice.

Sherlock frowned at John again. "I didn't tell you because you seemed to be having enough to be going on with at the time. I was waiting to tell you and then events unfolded and I didn't get the chance. I'm telling you now. After I rescued you and we left the warehouse, we came across Moriarty and Sebastian Moran. We didn't know that it was Moran at the time. Moran aimed a rifle at me, you shoved me out of the way and he fired. You were hit in the chest."

Sherlock stopped talking. Even though he knew the outcome, even though John was sitting here in front of him, royally pissed to be sure, he couldn't get past the fact that John had died. And he had lost him just after finding him. John must have seen something of that in Sherlock's face, because he turned down the glower slightly. He leaned forward and took Sherlock's hand. He gave it a squeeze.

"I'm still angry with you. You really haven't learned to stop keeping things from me have you? You know it doesn't work that way. You damage both of us when you do that. But I'm here right now and I'm alive and you're alive so tell me the fucking story."

Sherlock just stared at his doctor, his John. He really didn't deserve him.

"After you were shot and after you…died…the paramedics came. One of the paramedics was Athena. She told me I had to do something, but I didn't know what. She made me remember what I had done, what Acrisias had done. She showed me and I saw it all. I had to forgive you just as you had forgiven me. And after she brought you back. She told me because she was Goddess of Just Warfare she could change how you got shot. She also said she wasn't sure about the after effects of the poison Moriarty had given you, but there never appeared to be any side effects from that. She told me something else after and I can't remember. John, I didn't delete it. I just can't remember and that doesn't happen to me." He suddenly stood up and began pacing the flat. "I use to know it. I would have been able to remember a few days ago, but ever since the first murder I haven't been able to access information regarding any of it. Information I know is important to the case. It's driving me mad!"

He stopped suddenly and ran his hands through his hair as if trying to scrub the information out.

John stood up and grabbed his hands. "Shhh, it's okay. How can I help you?" John could see his eyes were filled with confusion and pain and fear. He let go of his anger for the moment in light of the issues Sherlock was having. Not that he'd forget about it. He just put it aside for the moment.

"I don't know."

"Maybe if we use one of those apps to figure out the song, maybe that will help you. Maybe if we know the name of the song you can get rid of it."

Sherlock nodded.

John pulled out his mobile and found the app he was looking for. "Okay, I don't know, play it maybe? On your violin? Maybe it will recognize it."

Sherlock walked over to his violin, picked up and slowly started playing the song. After about 30 seconds the app chimed.

John looked at the information displayed on the screen. "Okay it's called Barque in the Harbour. It's apparently from Newfoundland. Does that mean anything to you?"

Sherlock shook his head. He was beginning to feel uneasy.

John began to play the song on his mobile.

As soon as the first words poured out from the tiny device in John's hand a change came over Sherlock.

John looked up at his partner and confusion flowed over him. Sherlock's face had changed. Sherlock had changed. Gone were the confusion, fear and pain. In its place was someone cool and aloof. His entire demeanor and stance were completely different. He stood with his hands in his pockets and a grin lit his face. A wild manic grin.

He looked John up and down. "Hello, Johnny boy. Long time no see."

A/N: Hopefully you have read The NeverEnding Road and you will recognize the significance of the song as referenced in Chapter 4 of that story. The description of calling Hecate to earth is from Virgil's Aeneid. More information about what the hell is going on will be forthcoming in later chapters. Confused? Excellent (Evil maniacal laughter & much rubbing of hands).