SO SOOO sorry I havent updated sooner, hope you enjoy.
XX BellaD

Sherlock's P.O.V

Brown hair, blue eyes... NO, Next.
Green eyes, freckles... Next

Dark hair... definitely not! Next

Blonde hair, pale complexion... Is it? But no, still not him.

I was sitting on the terrace of an old café in Hampstead drinking coffee ( I had given up on tea after day 4 of continuous searching).

I could feel peoples eyes on me, Taking in the Aristocratically handsome face, leather clad body and dark curls that stuck slightly to my temples from the heat.

I could see my reflection in the coffee pot I was using to observe passers by, hoping desperately John may be amongst them.

For years I avoided looking in the mirror, despised the good looks that so often interested the women (and not seldom, men) but which were so so irrelevant once the got to know – and with that knowing, despise- me. With John I had been able to actually look at myself while shaving, lately a smile had even started to briefly appear upon seeing myself in the looking glass; a reflex I had lost over 20 years ago.

With John I knew I had someone who cared for me, who, when looking at me was filled with a desire to know every part of me.
I had long ago come to the conclusion that friendship, care and lust were mutually exclusive; that people,when looking upon an object of physical desire, lost all ability, all will for love and companionship. John had taught me otherwise.

Hours had been spent, each enjoying the other; sometimes with that raw lust but mostly through a wish to show our care for each other. My thoughts quirked up at the corners for a second as I remembered last Christmas eve's er... celebrations being stopped for the sake of a highly amusing discussion on the pros and cons of having discussions with inanimate objects versus people.

It was one of the best evenings of my life.

Now I was reduced to whipping my head round every time the slightly distorted image of my coffee pot displayed someone who looked even remotely like my love. Once again I was avoiding eye contact with myself.

Even so I could not help but see; in the last two weeks I had lost weight, weight even I knew I could not afford to lose. Dark bruises clung to the space between my eyes and cheek bones, their purplish colour creating slightly violet tones to my liquid metal eyes.

I swatted the coffee pot, frustrated with this aimless searching. For days on end I had not slept or eaten, I had combed through every inch of John and Moriarty's lives, at this very moment every homeless person, colleague and enemy I could bribe were out looking for John. This however, left nothing concrete for me to research; and so I took out all my pent up energy(goodness knows where I got it from) and anger out on the unsuspecting coffee pot. The empty pot spun unsteadily, teetering on its bottom rim before succumbing to the force of my rage and falling hopelessly on its side.

My eyes focussed on the underside of the pot, the new angel revealing a dark figure standing near an alleyway; no more than a shadow in the corner of my eye. I would not have noticed if not for the fact that right at that moment a man tumbled past said alley, in the intoxicated state every self respecting drunk finds himself in at ten o'clock in the morning.

The shadow was obviously well trained, staying perfectly still despite the pandemonium caused by the drunk. Most people would have easily looked past the figure, have their attention directed completely towards the commotion. But I am not most people, I am far to harsh, cold and unrelenting for that.

It was because of this that I noticed the shimmer of movement as the shadow sidestepped the drunk; it was because of an entirely different part of me however, that I felt the sudden, illogical certainty that this person was connected to Moriarty.

Without another seconds hesitation I jumped up, pretending to be concerned for the pesky drunk. I knew my mystery shadow would run anyway, but he wouldn't be spooked in to running and hiding; which would have been of great inconvenience to me. I ran up to the drunk, he smelt of fermenting humanity and I wondered how alcohol could ensnare people so.
Following through with my scheme, I looped the greasy, rotting, rag-clad arm over my shoulders; dragging the barely conscious man at a breakneck pace through the alleyways. I followed my shadow for three blocks until he realised that no one would run like that with a semi conscious man, and he really took off.

I quickly pulled a ten pound note out of my pocket and shoved it, and the drunk, onto the pavement.

I set of, in per-suite of who I was convinced was holding my John captive.
I ran through the streets, I would get him back if it was the last thing I did.
Heck, running like a madman as I was, it probably would be.

I am hoping to finish this story in another three chapters or so, thank you so much to all of you especially Sharmini. I am allmost at the 50 review mark, I'd love it if you could help me out there?
Hope you enjoy this chapter, loads of love and kind regards,

BellaD