Warnings (whole fic): Restraint, coercion, manipulation, language, sexual content. This was meant to be fluff but Sherlock just couldn't resist manipulating the hell out of her again.

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and never will, he belongs entirely to himself, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and those lovely people at the BBC, as do all the other Sherlock characters. I do not make any money from this. Adriane Woodford is a figment of my imagination and does not represent a real person, living or dead.

The following Friday I am half expecting a text at the end of the work day, but nothing happens. He's probably got a case on, I think and make my way home. It's a shame, because I have had all week to get a plan together and I even took some stuff with me to help me carry it out. It's getting dark outside and I have just flopped on the sofa, doing some channel surfing and wondering what to have for dinner when my phone beeps.

"Hide and Seek. Same rules. Two hours. You have ten minutes. SH."

I groan at the terrible timing. I have switched off for the week now, I really don't fancy the idea of getting going again. I text him back.

"If you suggest the Criterion again I am not playing. A."

Shortly a text comes back.

"One. SH."

There is an image attached. It is of a small bistro. "Angelo's," it says on the sign. It doesn't look all that expensive, but in London looks can be deceiving. I could look up their menu and check, but then I'd be wasting time. I grab my rucksack and make my way out of the flat. While walking, I send another text.

"No homeless network. A."

The return text comes in on the dot.

"Two. Fine. SH."

That should make it a bit harder, I think. Maybe I'll stay hidden long enough to at least not have to pay for drinks. After last week I am not going to make any assumptions though, so I decide to go with the plan I had made earlier. I start to walk over to Russell square tube station. It will probably take me the whole countdown to get there from my flat, but at least I know what I am doing now rather than making it up as I go along. The texts keep coming in on the minute, but without any further comments. I can feel my own tension mounting as he gets to eight, then nine. It's just a game, I keep telling myself, but after the total humiliation of last week I am determined to do better. As I enter the station, my phone beeps one last time.

"Ten. Coming, ready or not. SH."

I try not to let it get to me, to stay calm. Without the homeless network, it won't be so easy to trace me. I sit down on a seat close to the door and wait, counting down the stations until we get to Hyde Park Corner. That takes care of the first fifteen minutes, I think.

It is completely dark when I get outside the tube station. That's not a problem, in fact I am hoping it will help me. I make my way into Hyde Park. It is a place that I know well, many happy hours spent there with the family when I was young. My brothers and I had many games of hide and seek here, and I am convinced I must have the advantage of experience. There are some excellent places to hide.

I walk towards the Serpentine. There's a very nice coffee house there and I briefly consider the idea of just hiding in there. Too obvious, I guess. There's an old steam engine on display here, too, and that seems as good a place of any to sit for a while. I still think that moving regularly is my best option. I sit with my back against one of the pillars of the building it is displayed in, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. I look around me, thinking about my next move. It is still quite busy where I am, but the rest of the park is getting quiet now, just as I had hoped. I haven't been sitting down for more than five minutes when a text comes in.

"Do you know how many Internet sites there are that will give you the exact location of a person's mobile phone if you pay them enough? SH."

I jump. Stupid. I can't believe I have been that obvious. I frantically try to switch the thing off but I am fumbling. It's lucky I don't manage it straight away, as it works out. Just as I have got to the right button to start switching off, another text arrives.

"I am on the opposite side of Hyde Park. I'm going to count to ten. Do yourself a favour and give me a challenge. SH."

That's it, I am switching it off, now.

I get off the bench and start running along the Serpentine. I can't get very far in a count of ten, and it won't take him all that long to cross the park. Five, ten minutes I guess, to get away from here and hide. There aren't many people about now, just the odd dog owner and the unavoidable joggers dressed in dayglo. In the distance I can see a couple of policemen walking through the park.

I slow to a walk, not wanting to be conspicuous, not wanting to look like I am running away from something. Sherlock would have a field day if he found me being interrogated by the police. Maybe I should have dressed in dayglo running gear, because this is costing me time.

There are a couple of old buildings just to the north of here where the Royal Parks offices are, and I know there are a lot of big trees that we used to hide amongst there. If I remember well a few of them are quite easy to climb, unless the town council have done any tree surgery in the intervening years. As soon as the police are out of sight I start running again, towards the copse. I may just have enough time.

I am slightly disorientated in the dark, but it doesn't take me more than a few minutes to find the place I was looking for. The trees are still there. I remember a particular one, an impressive London plane, had some branches that went right down to the ground. I look for it, conscious that I must be running out of time. Either the council have done some work or I am not in the right place, because I can't find it. In the end I settle on an old sycamore. The lowest branch is just out of my reach, but I congratulate myself on being prepared for once. I take the rope out of my bag and throw it over. The loop at the other end helps me to secure it nearly instantly, and I make my way up the trunk of the tree using the knots along the rope for handholds.

It's been some time since I last climbed a tree but at least I had lots of practice when I was younger. Even as a kid I was always hanging out with the big boys, looking for the adrenaline rush, forever getting into one kind of trouble or another. Nothing much has changed there then, I think, as I manage to get my leg over the branch with some effort. I am much more unfit than I thought, but at least I have managed to get up.

I quickly pull the rope in after me and untie it. Then I make my way up the branches until I am as far up as I dare to go. I make myself as comfortable as possible, and wait. It's a clear night, and once my eyes have become adjusted to the darkness I find I can see quite a lot by the light of the half moon that is shining through the trees.

Ten minutes or so pass. I daren't switch my phone on to check the time, and it is too dark to read my watch. I'm beginning to wonder whether I have managed to pass the one hour mark yet when I hear a noise in the direction of the path that I came from. Somebody is coming this way. I can see the light of a torch moving around the trees in the distance in a methodical fashion. I can't make out the person holding it yet, but I don't think I need to see to guess who it is.

As the light gets closer I can make out a tall figure in a long coat, dark hair, pale skin. He is moving quickly towards the tree I am in, his face ducking close towards the ground every so often as he stops to examine something, magnifying glass in one hand, torch in the other. Now and again he straightens up and looks at the trees ahead. I try to blend into the tree trunk. At this pace, he will be here in less than a minute. I watch, fascinated, as he makes his way near enough straight to my tree.

Suddenly there is a shout from further away. Sherlock straightens up and turns round to look behind him. He is only eight metres or so from where I am now. The two policemen I saw earlier are heading towards him, looking serious. Even from where I am sitting I can hear Sherlock sigh.

"Good evening sir," one of the policemen says, "is there anything we can help you with?"

Sherlock's answer is curt, and has barbs on it. "No."

The policemen are dumbfounded for a moment. Obviously this is not the reaction they expected. The second policeman tries again. "What he meant, sir, is whether there is a reason you are out here looking for something with a torch?"

Sherlock is stoic. "Yes."

I am trying not to giggle. It would give the whole game away, and I'm not sure Sherlock would appreciate the joke. I'm wondering how he is going to get out of this. The policemen are looking at each other a little uncertainly. The first one has another go.

"You must understand that it is our duty to make sure that you are not involved in anything… ehm… illegal, sir."

Sherlock just gives them a disdainful stare. Then he reaches into his coat and takes something out of his inside pocket. I can't see what it is, but he holds it up for the two policemen to look at. The look of controlled dismay on their faces is a picture.

"Gentlemen, unless you want me to have a word with your reporting officer about endangering a covert operation, I suggest you refrain from interfering any further," Sherlock says.

"Sorry, Detective Inspector, we didn't realise," says the first officer. He looks extremely uncomfortable.

Sherlock gives them a quick look over. Then he says to the first police officer, "Also, if I were you I would reread the regulations about accepting gifts from witnesses. "

The dismay on the face of the first officer changes into horror. He mumbles something unintelligible, and then quickly turns around and walks back to the path, followed by his colleague. Sherlock watches them go, smiling briefly to himself.

When they are out of sight he turns round again and looks straight up at the tree I am sitting in. His eyes find mine without hesitation.

"I suppose you thought that was funny."

How does he do it,is all I can really think.

He's still looking up at me, and he points at where I am and says, "It's not a bad spot, but you're against the light."

I make my way slowly down the tree. All in all I don't think I have done very well today. When I get to the lowest branch I let myself dangle for a moment before dropping to the floor. Sherlock is watching my progress. When I get to the ground, he looks at me with a slight frown.

"You climbed a tree."

"Sherlock, I grew up with two older brothers. There's stuff you learn."

He looks closely at the trunk of the tree, then at the branch I have just dropped off from.

"With a rope. You took a rope."

I find his surprise amusing. It is as if he was expecting me to have no initiative at all.

"I did have a week to think about it. Even my slow brain is able to come up with a plan in that amount of time."

He considers this a second and then says, "Hm. Even so, fifty minutes. Really not very good, considering that included five minutes of police interference. And I actually knew exactly where you were for about forty of those."

I don't have very much to say to that. The phone thing really was stupid.

"Sorry," I say, "brain freeze."

"Yes," he says. I didn't really want him to agree with me.

There's something that I still don't get. "Sherlock, Detective Inspector is a police rank. You're not police," I say.

He is still looking at me, and his expression doesn't change apart from a slight hint of a smile. "Clearly."

He's not going to answer that one, then. I am beginning to worry that my useless hiding has earned me an evening with a monosyllabic companion. Not something I look forward to. I decide to try once more.

"How did you know I was going to be in the trees, though?"

He weighs up whether to answer this or not. In the end, it seems his need to show off wins. And no doubt he also sees it as an opportunity to rub in quite how rubbish I have been tonight.

"All week you have gone to work wearing smart blue and black office wear, in black ankle boots with a heel, and carrying a small shoulder bag. Today you went in wearing baggy greens and browns, and while it's not quite camouflage the fact that you were also wearing a pair of trainers and carrying a rucksack told me enough to know that you were planning to hide somewhere natural, and possibly thinking of doing something athletic. Pair that with the fact that you left the tube at Hyde Park Corner, which is the closest station to the area with the highest density of trees in Hyde Park and it becomes obvious.

I knew you had stopped at the edge of the Serpentine. All I had to do was walk from there to the place where you had left the path and follow the track. Your trainers leave quite a distinctive footprint. I didn't bother following the little detour that you took looking for the most suitable tree, as by that time I had already spotted you. If it hadn't been for the police I would have found you within seven minutes of finishing my count."

I didn't really take in much of the last half of that as I got stuck on the first bit.

"You've been watching me at work," I say, after I have managed to recover my composure. This is beginning to creep me out.

"I have been bored, Adriane," he says.

"Is this something that happens regularly?" I ask.

"Only when I'm bored," he says. I think he can tell I didn't really appreciate the wisecrack that time.

"You're not all that interesting. Most of the stuff you do is pretty routine. Usually I follow Lestrade."

I manage to bite back an obscenity. He hasn't finished, though.

"I notice Phil is still avoiding you. He's been doing that for weeks."

All I can do is stare. For the moment, I have lost all capacity for cohesive thought. I am not sure what I can say that will make him understand just how disturbing I find this.

"Sherlock, you can't do that," I finally manage. It isn't enough, I know that as soon as the words leave my mouth.

He looks at me blankly. "Why not? You get recorded on CCTV a hundred times a day. You have no idea who watches the footage, and you don't even think about that."

There's no denying the logic. I just feel very uncomfortable about it.

"I bear no ill intent, Adriane." He says. "It's not like I interfere with your work."

I shake my head, "What? No. That's not the point. I just find it..." freaky,I think, but I remember Sally Donovan's use of the word. "…very uncomfortable," I say.

Sherlock shrugs. "Not really my problem. I find it useful practice." He seems to think that concludes the discussion.

"You need to get changed. I doubt even Angelo would let you in looking like that," he says, giving me a look of plain disapproval. I check myself. Even in the darkness I can see I look a mess, and I'm probably covered in green smudges. There's twigs in my hair, too. I am sure under his coat Sherlock is impeccably dressed as always, every crease ironed to perfection, and his shoes never picked up any mud this evening. The thought is probably written all over my face, because he gives me a quick superior smile and says, "Let's go."

We get a taxi back to my flat. It's a quiet drive. I have nothing to say and am still getting to grips with what he has told me. Sherlock just looks out of the window, letting me stew. We get to the flat and I have a shower and get changed. When I come out of the bathroom, I find Sherlock back in my kitchen with his head in the fridge. He re-emerges holding a bowl of roast chicken that was going to be lunch tomorrow, and starts eating it.

Just make yourself at home, I think, but I say, "I thought we were going out for dinner." I'm trying not to sound like my mum.

Sherlock shrugs and puts another piece of chicken in his mouth, "I'm hungry now."

He's looking at me, daring me to say something else. I'm sure he's making some kind of point, but I decide it's not worth the argument. "I'm ready," is all I say.

When we arrive at Angelo's, the restaurant owner comes straight over. "Ah, Sherlock, I'll get you your usual table." Then he looks at me, raises his eyebrows and says, "Oh, hello."

I'm not sure what to make of it. I look at Sherlock for some guidance, but he just walks across to a table in the window. I follow him and sit down. It's a nice spot, with a view on the street which is still busy with people. Within seconds of us sitting down, the owner is back with two menus.

"Anything you want of course, Sherlock, no charge for you and your pretty date." Sherlock smirks. The man now looks at me. "He's a good man, Sherlock. Got me off a murder charge, he did. I am indebted to him forever."

Sherlock says nothing but just nods. Angelo slaps him on the back, "I'll get you a candle."

Sherlock says nothing, looking out of the window. He hasn't even looked at his menu. In fact, he hasn't said more than four words since we've got into the taxi back at my flat. I'm not sure what is going on. I take a good look at my menu.

"Was he serious, Sherlock, about there being no charge?" I ask.

Sherlock nods, and says, "Hm."

"Did you know about that? I mean, before you suggested coming here?"

He looks across to me now. "Of course."

"Oh." I say. He could have mentioned that before I was getting all worried about the cost of this. He's still looking at me, but I can't read him at all.

"If I had told you there really wouldn't have been any point to the game," he says, and looks out of the window again.

Angelo comes to take our order, carrying a bottle of wine and two glasses. I am surprised when Sherlock orders starters, as I expected him to make this a short night. He seems in no mood for any polite conversation. I quickly choose something from the starters list. Angelo pours the wine, and Sherlock picks up his glass and turns towards the window again. I can't shake the feeling that I have done something wrong. The silence is making me nervous.

"I'm sorry I was rubbish tonight," I say after a while.

Sherlock takes a moment to register this, but when he does he sits up and turns towards me. He's looking at me as if he has just noticed I'm there.

"You think I am disappointed," he says. "I'm not. I was thinking."

"Oh," I say. I'm taken aback a bit. "I just thought the phone thing was really stupid."

He gives me a brief smile. "You'd be surprised how many criminals make the same mistake, Adriane," he says, "although not very many of them give me their number first."

"Oh," I say again. I'm not doing very well tonight. He's got me off balance again, just when I thought I had some idea of what I was doing. Sherlock has turned back towards the window. I don't mind this time, it gives me a moment to think.

Dinner is a quiet affair. Sherlock seems quite content to say nothing, and I'm really not intending to open my mouth again to come out with another stupid remark. The food is good though, and I just concentrate on enjoying it. The wine is good, too, and I'm getting quite mellow. Sherlock doesn't seem to mind me staring while he is looking out of the window, so I spend some time studying him. I guess he is not classically good-looking, although I would personally not agree with that. It is the expressions that flit across his face as he is observing the passers-by, forming his own deductions on who they are, that make him fascinating to watch. Even when his face is still there is a restless intelligence to his eyes that shows that his mind is never quiet.

"Do you ever switch off?" it's out before I have thought about what I'm saying.

He turns and looks at me for a long time before answering, his face serious.

"I used to. It didn't agree with me."

I have enough sense not to ask any further. He turns back to the window, but not before moving my wine glass halfway across the table, away from me. I take the hint and order an orange juice.

Sherlock passes on dessert but seems quite happy to wait for me to finish mine. He still hasn't spoken more than twenty words or so, and has now taken to staring across the room rather than out of the window. Some of the guests are beginning to look decidedly nervous. When I have nearly emptied my plate, he suddenly seems to come back to the here and now.

"Any good?" he asks.

"Sorry, what?" I'm not sure what he's referring to.

"The food. Was it any good?"

"Yes," I say, non-plussed. "It was lovely. How was yours?"

He gives me a blank look, "I don't remember. Did I eat it?"

How can he not know?I just can't get my head around the way he operates sometimes. He's still waiting for me to answer the question.

"Yes," I say, "I believe you enjoyed it."

"Oh. Good," he says.

I decide to ask him the return question.

"Any insights?"

It's his turn to look confused now. "Pardon?"

"You have been looking out of the window for nearly two hours. I was wondering if you had come to any conclusions," I say.

He is silent for a while before he answers.

"The fact that Phil still isn't speaking to you bothers you, even though you pretend that it doesn't. You like him, he reminds you of your brothers and you are wondering if you could have a relationship with someone like that. You are also still hoping that I will take an interest if you hang around long enough, even though I have made my position perfectly clear to you on a number of occasions. You enjoyed your starters more than your main course, you nearly drank too much, and you are considering hiding in the urban fabric and possibly wear a hoody if we play our game again. Do you want me to continue?"

I am aware I am just blinking at him. I wish I hadn't asked. Everything he has just said is right, and I realise I have turned bright red. I shake my head, I don't want to hear any more.

"I thought you were looking out of the window," I manage after a while.

He gives me a quick look of satisfaction, pleased that he obviously got it all right.

"I could see your reflection perfectly," he says. "And you're very easy to read compared to some of them," he indicates the rest of the restaurant clientele with a nod. "It's not so easy reading a mirror image, especially in a window. That's why I turned around in the end, to confirm my observations on some of the other customers. But it wasn't necessary for you."

I am still speechless.

"You could have talked to me. I would have probably told you most of that," I say after a moment.

"But not all of it," he says. "In any case, I found it interesting."

"But how?" I ask. I can't understand how anyone could work all that out. Even though I am not sure I really want to know, I can't help but ask.

"Facial expression, mainly," he says. "That was easy for the food and drink. Some things I picked up earlier though, at Hyde Park. You weren't all that upset about me watching you at work until I mentioned Phil. Even in the taxi your thoughts kept returning to that, and you weren't happy about it. You've said very clearly before that he isn't your type, but obviously you do take an interest. He is exactly the kind of person who would have been climbing trees when he was younger. It wasn't hard to make the connection between your comment about your brothers and your thoughts about Phil after that."

He looks at me for a reaction. I can't really say anything. After a moment, he moves on to the next thing on his list.

"Now even John can, and does, interpret the way you look at me, as borne out by his frequent reminders that I am using you, so there really was no skill to that particular observation. I believe you wouldn't put up with me for this amount of time if you weren't at least a little bit hopeful that something might still come of it. As for your plans, when looking out of the window you keep paying special attention to people dressed in the more urban fashions tonight. Seeing as how you don't usually take much notice of fashion at all, I could only conclude that it was connected with tonight's game. Am I right?"

I can only sigh. "Yes, all of it."

He nods, satisfied. I can't be looking very happy. He studies me a moment, then says, "Adriane, I can cure you of your crush on me in less than five minutes. But I'm not sure you'd recover."

I look at him, bewildered, and not sure if he's joking. He's looking quite serious. It seems that in a perverse way he is offering to help me. I have no doubt that he could completely destroy me in that amount of time.

"No," I say, "Please, no. I can deal with it."

Sherlock just briefly raises his eyebrows, and says, "Fine. Time to go, I believe."

I'm glad to get into the taxi on my own this time, and get him out of my head. On the way home, I try to sift through the things he's said to see if there is anything positive in it, in an attempt to recover some self-esteem. His observations on Phil are spot on, even though I hadn't really formed the thoughts as clearly as he saw them. It's also nice to know that John is still sticking up for me. And finally, there is the uncomfortable thought that he is holding back on things he has observed that he thinks I couldn't deal with. It's a hard one to turn around, but I guess if he was completely indifferent to me he wouldn't have restrained himself. I decide to settle on the happy delusion that I am still useful to him.

Next week, if it happens, I will play a better game.