I'd like to take this time to thank everyone who reviewed, messaged and alerted or favorited this story. It means a lot to me. Anywho, on to Chapter 2. Enjoy!

I sat with my legs crossed on the wooden floor, tons of papers sprawled all around me. They were a bunch of recent newspaper as well as some from the past week. I was looking for any kind of clue, any sort of indication that would help me discover something about my current situation. At times I felt like a newborn baby. I felt clueless, ignorant, oblivious and naïve to everything around me.

Every second that passed by was another second of me getting mad at myself. I was frustrated and irritated. Every few minutes, I would pick up the pocket watch that was found on me and rub it vigorously between my palms, as if willing it to send me some of my memories back. I could see Holmes and Mr. Watson sending me curious stares every time I did it. Maybe Watson could send me stares, but Holmes certainly had no right to talk.

Holmes, as he had instructed me to call him, was probably the most peculiar person I could have ever remembered meeting. Everything about him was so… off. Sometimes, I would find him locked in his room, engulfed in darkness, working on some sort of abnormal experiment. He would perform dangerous actions on himself just to see the effects it had on the human body. It was no doubt that Holmes was a very strange man, but I suppose that was what made him so intelligent. At least, that was what Mr. Watson told me on more than one occasion…

"Can you please talk to him and tell him to stop before he ends up killing himself?" I pleaded. I had just walked into Holmes's room and found him hung from the ceiling by his feet, upside down. When I asked him what he was doing, he responded by saying…

"I am simply trying to see how long the human body could remain in this position before the blood rushes down to the head, submerging the brain in its own blood, stopping its oxygen supply and ultimately ending the life of that human being."

The doctor rubbed his temples and sighed. "I can assure you, even though his methods may seem-"

"Insane? Idiotic? Stupid?!" I interrupted.

"Unorthodox… he is no fool. If he knew he was intentionally putting his life in danger, then he wouldn't do some of the things he does. He is not always like this," Watson explained to me.

"Well what can be done to change this? His ridiculous shenanigans are making me nervous and anxious," I informed him.

"Simple. If he gets a case, he'll stop."

"You mean a case to solve?"

"Precisely… and thanks to your current situation, he just might have one."

Yes, my predicament had possibly became a case that would be solved by the detective. I wasn't exactly happy about my situation being considered a case, but hopefully he would be able to discover what exactly took place the day I was attacked. It would have been easier for him if I was able to remember what happened to me before I was attacked, but that was a lost cause. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't remember.

"Does anyone mind if I open the window? Maybe some fresh air will clear my head." Holmes, Watson and myself sat inside Holmes's personal study, which, much like his appearance, was unorganized and untidy. Books of all sorts were scattered all over the place. Papers, news articles and what appeared to be mug shots decorated the walls of the room. There were many tiny tables around the room that held various books, papers and writing utensils. The air was cloudy and made me wonder how it was possible to breath in such a toxic environment. The curtains were closed and only allowed a minimal amount of light to penetrate the room.

"Go right ahead," replied Watson, who sat at one of the many tables, filling out some kind of medical form.

"I mind. It is my room, after all," Holmes replied right after. "With all do respect, Miss McClaire, if you are still unable to regain your memories at this point, then I doubt a greater supply of oxygen will help."

I frowned at his response, his comment upsetting me a bit. I saw Watson look up from his work and send me a sorrowful gaze. I hastily rose from my spot on the floor and walked up to the curtains. I quickly pulled them open and let the sunlight engulf the room. I heard a groan escape Holmes's mouth, which gave me great pleasure. I then proceeded to open the window and allowed a gust of wind to enter the room. I closed my eyes and breathed in the fresh autumn air. Reopening my eyes, I looked up at the overcast sky that covered the city of London.

"Was I not clear enough, Miss McClaire?" Holmes asked, diverting his attention from the paper in his hand to me.

"I heard you crystal clear, Mr. Holmes." Yes, even though instructed to call him Holmes, I always call him Mr. Holmes, just to irritate him. "However, would you have replied with a more respectful answer, I just might have obliged. You didn't have to be rude about it." I walked back to where the papers were sprawled on the floor and plopped myself down. I pulled my bangs out of my face before focusing my direction back onto the matter at hand.

"I simply stated facts. I didn't in any way say anything that should have negatively affected you."

"London's greatest detective, yet he's as dense as a doornail," I muttered. It was loud enough for both of them to hear, and it caused Watson to chuckle in response. Holmes, however, gave me a rather scrutinizing look.

"I believe the correct term is 'dead as a doornail, Miss McClaire," Holmes corrected.

"I don't care what the correct term is," I said in a mocking voice. "The fact of the matter is you're dense. I'm aware of the situation I'm in. I'm aware that you can't help me unless I remember something. But unless I try, I'll never get anywhere, will I?"

"Maybe I should have done a background check on you before I let you take up residence in my home," I heard Holmes muse. "It isn't uncommon for people to somehow stage a fake attack upon themselves. They pretend to be severely injured and they wait for someone to find them. They convince their rescuer that they remember noting in an attempt to make their rescuer pity them and take them into their home. Then, within time, they gradually gain their trust and form a rather strong bond with said rescuer. Next thing you know, the rescuer come back to their house one day and find that they've been robbed blind and the victim in question is nowhere in sight."

"Wow. That just might be the biggest load of bollock I have ever heard. If that were true, then how would-" I stooped mid sentence, a thought suddenly crossing my mind. 'Within time. Time…how long have I been here?'

"Mr. Watson, how many days did it take before I woke up?"

"You were comatose for three and a half days."

"And upon finding my body… If you had to make an estimate, how long would you say I had been there, before you found me?"

"I would say three… maybe three and a half hours. Why?"

I quickly scribble down the information that I had received before asking my next question. "What was the date? And the time?"

"October 15th, 6:33 in the evening," Holmes answered this time.

"Today is October 27th…how come there hasn't…"

"Yes?" Holmes insisted. Knowing him, he already knew exactly what I was thinking, but he wanted me to state it instead of having him reveal it.

"Do you happen to have all the papers from October 15th to today?"

Holmes quickly handed me his paper before disappearing from my sight. "If I'm correct, the paper tells of all the disappearances and missing persons every day, right?" I asked Watson.

"That is correct." I could see the bolts working in his head as well as I hastily scanned the paper from today. A minute later, Holmes returned with a stack of papers in his hand. He quickly discarded them next to me and took a seat in the chair that stood a few feet away. I ignored the stare that I could feel him giving me and checked the missing person's section of every old paper.

After about ten minutes of looking and triple checking, I ran a hand through my hair, mulling over the new piece of information I had discovered. Grabbing the pocket watch I had discarded on the floor, I stood and walked over to the window, shutting my eyes as I rubbed the smooth trinket in my hand once more, silently begging it to send me some of my memories back. I opened my eyes as another thought dawned upon me.

"Where was I found?"

"Croydon. A city in South London," Holmes replied.

"Which is basically next to the London and Croydon Railway. My assailant, whomever they are, could have easily carried out the task of getting rid of me and hopped the train," I explained as I walked away from the window and leaned on the edge of one of the tables, deep in thought. "Croydon is also a very populated town. It would have been impossible to just attack me out in the open…"

"But you weren't out in the open. We found you unconscious in an alleyway that was near the railway. The way I see it, you were either forced to get off of the train at the Croydon stop because of some unforeseen circumstances, or asked to rendezvous at that place with someone you already know."

"The second one would be more likely. As far as I know, I have never traveled to Croydon before. I don't see why I would have started then."

"Well that's good. At least we have something now," Watson stated.

"Greenwich. That's where I live. Greenwich is north of Croydon. It's a rather large distance apart from each other. Why would they go through all that trouble? And why leave my seemingly dead body in such a crowded area where it is most likely to be found?"

"That is true. The whole thing seems rather sloppy, don't you think, Holmes?"

"Not necessarily," Holmes replied. "They may not have been trying to hide the body. Their plan may have been to dispose of you in a crowded and run down area. This way, the number of suspects can increase greatly. As for the trouble they went through, they obviously didn't want people finding out about it."

"It's either someone in your family or someone who knows you very well," Watson stated.

"It is," I agreed. "I have been out of Greenwich for approximately twelve days. If I was attacked by a stranger, then there is no doubt that my family would have alerted the authorities by this point in time."

"You sound quite certain," Holmes pointed out.

"I am. I'm positive my Father would have sent out a search party by now. He would have alerted every paper in London of my disappearance…" I said. This was good and bad for me. It was good because now, even though I don't have the whole story behind my attack, I had some sort of lead. However, the bad news made my stomach turn…

Someone I knew very well wanted me dead.

My eyes scanned the room and I grabbed the brown coat that lay on a nearby chair. Quickly slipping it on, I started my search for my pair of shoes.

"What are you doing?" Watson asked.

"I'm going to Croydon."

"I can't allow you to do that," Holmes stated.

"Yes you can. Maybe if I go and I see something, then it'll awaken something in my brain and allow me to recall some of my memories."

"It is extremely dangerous for you to go back to the place where you were almost killed. What if someone is there and they recognize your face? That won't bode well for you at all."

"He has a point. Although it is important to find out what happened, your safety must come first," Watson agreed.

"Well, it's not like anyone will be able to recognize me while I'm dressed like this. All I need is a walking stick and a hat to hide my face and I'll be fine," I assured them. I still hadn't gotten a hold of my dress, so I've been wearing trousers and shirts since I've been there.

"You're not leaving this residence," Holmes stated.

"Is that so?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Yes it is. I forbid you to leave."

"Oh really?"

"Yes, rea-"

Before he could finish, I dashed towards the door and threw it open. I could hear his shuffling form from behind, but I tried to ignore it and focused on the task at hand. I dashed across the hall towards the stairs that would lead to the front door. Just as I had started descending the first flight of stairs, I suddenly felt a hand around my wrist and something tripping me, knocking me off balance and causing me to fall to my knees. My left hand was supporting my weight while the other hand was twisted behind my back. He held my hand without inflicting any pain on it, but it was upsetting nonetheless.

"I apologize, Miss McClaire, but this was the only option left. Allowing you to go outside would be allowing you to walk right back into your captor's hand. The culprit may still be in Croydon and he may be looking for you already," Holmes explained, slightly out of breath.

"I thought I was supposed to be dead. Why would they be looking for me if they think I'm already dead?!"

"I don't know, but we can't risk letting someone see your face and return to finish the job."

"So what are you saying? I'll never be able to leave this building? Are you planning on keeping me prisoner until we find out who tried to kill me?"

"If that is what is necessary, then that is what will be done," he replied. After a moment, I let out a pitiful sigh and relaxed my body. Seeing this as a sign of defeat, he slowly released his grip on my wrist. Perfect.

Before he could react, I slid my leg underneath his and caused him to lose his balance. I quickly grabbed both his wrists and pinned him to the wall before he could regain his composure.

"I apologize, Mr. Holmes, but this was my only option. I appreciate the fact that you're trying to protect me, I really do… but I need to find out who tried to kill me and I won't be able to do it if I'm confined in this house. I understand I'm still in potential danger-"

"No I don't think you do!" he interrupted.

"I do… but I'll have to take risks in order to solve this. Isn't that what you do on a daily basis?"

"What you are trying to do is much different than what I do."

"How so?"

Before he could respond, I slid my leg under his for the second time, which caused him to fall on his side. Not wasting any time, I dashed down the second flight of stairs and dashed around the railing, towards the kitchen. 'If I'm not mistaken, there's an alternate exit in the kitchen. If I can make it there, then-'

I let out a gasp as I felt something grab my leg and caused me to fall onto the ground. I made an attempt to crawl, but Holmes was a very persistent man. He pulled both my legs back. Before I could even try to fight back, he grabbed me by the waist and flung me over his shoulder. By now, I was flailing all over the place and the maids and cooks in the house had stopped their work to see what all the commotion was about.

"Everything's all right. Just a bit of misunderstanding, that's all," Holmes informed the workers as he began ascending up the stairs.

"Sherlock Holmes! Put me down this instant! This is no way to treat a lady! I'm warning you… I am going to make you suffer greatly. PUT ME DOWN!!"

He ignored every word that came out of my mouth and walked back into the room. Watson eyed the scene curiously, a small smirk on his lips. I flailed around for a bit longer before letting out a gasp as Holmes threw me onto the sofa, exhaling shortly afterwards.

"You know, I don't think I've ever met anyone quite as stubborn as yourself, Miss McClaire," Holmes stated as he leaned against one of the tables, reaching for his pipe.

"You know, I should have you turned in to the authorities for manhandling me," I stated as I stood up from the couch and folded my arms across my chest. "I honestly don't see why I can't leave. What good is going to come from me staying in this house?"

"Well let's see. I don't know… maybe it's the fact that you won't die?" he retorted before lighting his pipe and taking a puff.

"Dr. Watson, please enlighten me. Sherlock Holmes is a name known widely around London for his amazing intellect and deductive skills. Now, wouldn't that put him in potential danger every time he steps outside, seeing as how criminals of all sorts would want him dead in order to prevent him from interfering with any of their present or future plans?"

"Yes, I suppose that would be true."

"Okay then. So how is that different from me venturing outside? I am less known and less susceptible to identification, thus making me less susceptible to danger. Am I right or wrong?"

"Well-"

"You are wrong," Holmes interrupted. "You are still forgetting the fact that your life was threatened for no apparent reason at all. When my life is threatened, it is because I interfere and try to stop a greater evil. Besides, I am a man. The mere fact that you are a woman and the reason I previously stated makes you much more susceptible to danger than I."

"Huh. Kind of a sexist comment, don't you think?"

"That was basically stating fact. Naturally, the male is more stronger than the female-"

"Then how come you couldn't stop me when we were on the stairs?" I asked smugly.

"You caught me completely off guard with that move," he defended immediately.

"Excuses, excuses," I said, waving off his explanation.

"Wait a minute! What happened on the stairs?" Watson asked this time.

Before anyone had a chance to speak again, our attentions were directed towards the door as a man came bursting in, looking frantic and panicked. Just by looking at his attire, I was able to ascertain that he was a part of the police force. Scotland Yard police, if I wasn't mistaken.

"Mr. Holmes!" he started, but upon seeing Mr. Watson and myself, he stopped to greet us. "Dr. Watson. Madame."

"What is it now, Clarkey?" Holmes asked, clearly not wanting to waste any time.

"The Inspector wishes to see you immediately."

"About?"

"Something that's been stolen. Sir."

"Surely Lestrade should be able to solve such a petty crime on his own, despite the lackadaisicalness of the Yard."

"Well, it's not so much the act sir… it's what's been stolen. It's a piece from a museum."

"Which museum?"

"The Royal Armouries. In the Tower of London, sir."

"The most valuable items that are stored in the Armouries are the Crown Jewels of England," Watson mused.

"Yes, but that wasn't what was stolen," the Constable explained.

I furrowed my brows, watching as Holmes and Watson exchanged glances. 'The Crown Jewels are by far the most valuable article in the Tower. Why would the culprits steal anything less?

"That is a very interesting fact," Holmes stated. Watson nodded in agreement.

"Perhaps we should go and take a look at this," Watson announced.

"Indeed."

'Yes… if Holmes and Watson go and investigate this … then I'll be able to leave the house without any interruption,' I though to myself. A smirk threatened to find my lips, but I controlled myself. My eyes, which had been staring into space while I was thinking, darted to Holmes's face. I was surprised to see him staring at me so intently. I blinked before addressing him. "Yes? What is it?"

"Nothing," he said, suddenly turning away from me. "Well Watson, I say this deserves a bit of investigating, wouldn't you agree?"

"Indeed. The situation is most peculiar."

"May I come along?"

All three man directed their attention towards me, Holmes observing me more than the other two. "I'd like to see what this whole thing is about as well. Besides, you'll need all the help you can get," I explained.

"I don't see a problem with that," Watson replied. I nodded my thanks and waited for Holmes to answer. 'He wouldn't want me to go out regardless, so he'll most likely disagree, then I'll have no problem venturing out when they're gone.'

"I don't see any problem with that."

"What?" I asked incredulously.

"I said I'm fine with you going along, Miss McClaire. Isn't that what you wanted?" he asked, and I could see a faint smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

'Why that conniving, pig headed arse!'

"Of course that's what I wanted. I'm just surprised that you actually agreed to it, is all."

"Oh, very well then. I'm off to go change. Watson, Miss McClaire and myself will meet you downstairs in a few minutes Clarkey," he finished as he walked out the study to go and change. The constable gave one last bow before heading back downstairs. With that, I dropped back onto the sofa and let out a loud, frustrated sigh.

"I'm assuming you didn't actually want to come along with Holmes and I?" Watson asked, and I could hear the laughter in his voice.

"No… I wanted Holmes to object, that way I could leave after the two of you were gone," I sighed.

"I must warn you, Holmes is not that easy to trick. He could read anyone he wanted like a book. He's able to tell if someone is lying just by studying their face. That's most likely how he discovered your true intentions," he replied as he rose from the chair and grabbed his coat.

"Yes, he is quite the brilliant detective, isn't he," I said as I got off the couch and found my black boots that were laying in the corner of the room. "That only gives me reason to hate him more!" I said as I stood, my shoes now on. I heard Watson laugh as I stormed out of the room, only to be met with Holmes who was standing not too far outside the door. He was now out of his house clothes and had on a regular day suit paired with a black bowler that stood perched atop his head.

"Ready to go?" he asked, a smile on his face. Only God knew how much I wanted to wipe that smile off his face. I turned my head as I heard Watson approach from behind.

"Yes, let's be off," he said as he walked out and grabbed his walking stick from out of the holder that was at the end of the hall. I turned back around to Holmes, who had a black bowler hat in his hand. He handed it to me, and I slowly took it, looking it over before meeting his eyes again.

"It's a mere precaution. To keep your identity secret, of course," he explained. I stared at him a bit longer before bending over and letting my black curls fall down. I quickly bunched it up with one hand and held it up with a few pins that I grabbed from my pocket. Securing the bun atop my head, I placed the hat on my head. My bang remained it from of my eyes and a few curls framed the side of my face. Pushing my bangs to the side, I looked back to Holmes, who had an unreadable le expression on his face.

"Happy?" I asked.

"Ecstatic."

"Good."

"Fine."

"Let's go then," I stated and didn't wait for a final response. I heard him mutter something, but couldn't quite make it out. I walked out the stairs and out the building. As I made my way towards the black stagecoach that was parked at the side of the street, I let out a sigh, as only one thought was swimming through my head…

'Damn detective.'