Whew! How's that for a hiatus? :D

I know, I know, I've been a total slacker. Sorry. Life.

Since I've been gone for virtual eons, I'm not sure if any of my previous readers will be returning to read this, but if you do, I just want to thank you first off for your incredible patience and forbearance. I'm not exactly the most regular writer, so I appreciate you putting up with my schedule.

I won't keep you waiting for any longer, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

"Watson, hold on. Check for the stitches."

The sudden voice snaps John out of his daze. "Lestrade... Are you alright?" he mumbles. John feels slightly embarrassed for neglecting to check on the inspector, who a moment earlier had been a bargaining chip for a murderer.

Lestrade brushes the question off with a slight nod. His hands are trembling slightly, betraying his composed attitude, but his eyes are trained on Sherlock just like John's.

He motions toward Sherlock. "Check for the stitches. Just make sure."

Oh.

John had forgotten about the fakes. What if this wasn't really...

His heart drops as he hurries to check the man's face. He breathes in deeply before he turns the man's head to the side, hoping intensely that he sees nothing there.

He is silent for a moment, and then he looks up at Lestrade, who doesn't return the stare, but instead remains fixated on the man's face.

"Nothing. It…." The words almost don't come out.

"It's you. Holmes, it's really you. You…. Where…"

As John mumbles incoherently, Lestrade keeps his gaze fixed on Holmes's face.

It's him. That's for sure.

There are no stitches present on either side of his face. In fact, as Lestrade scans Holmes, he sees no injuries other than a scabbing gash on his left temple. The discovery strikes him as strange.

Holmes was gone for days… What were his captors, whoever they were, doing?

"Mfphhhhhhh!"

The sudden noise brings John and Lestrade back into reality. He hasn't yet removed Sherlock's gag or untied him.

"Sorry, sorry…" Watson mutters as he pulls the gag out of his friend's mouth.

"Couldn't we have done that first, Watson? I've been sitting in here for a good hour or so, and that's just counting the time I've been conscious."

Watson flashes him a teasingly contemptuous look as he works on the bindings around Holmes's wrists.

He is surprised by the look on Sherlock's face as he glances upwards. Holmes looks anything but relieved. His undecipherable countenance stands in sharp contrast to his joking tone. Watson decides not to press the issue yet, but instead begins untying the last knots in the rope.

"I…"

Sherlock begins a sentence but evidently changes his mind. The worry in his look is evident and only increasing. The last ropes fall to the floor.

"Are you hurt? I'm sorry, I'm a little overwhelmed right now. I should have asked you earlier."

Sherlock shakes his head. "I am fine. Let's get out of here, then."

Watson extends his hand to help his friend out of the cab, but Holmes hesitates momentarily. Inhaling deeply, he grabs Watson's hand and pulls himself up outside the cab. He shivers slightly, smiling through some cryptic emotion.

"Dr. Watson, you look ghastly."

Watson smirks.

"Not too marvelous yourself, Holmes."

"I heard Mr. Wilson paid you a visit." The sudden remark breaks the silence of the hospital room.

John sighs. "Indeed. This isn't the first time I've been in this hospital this week, I'm afraid."

John thinks he sees an expression of pain flash over Holmes's features for a split-second. If John is reading him right, Holmes seems less affected by his experience during his absence and more by John's recollection of his own.

The expression is quickly replaced by the still-unidentified emotion that Holmes has been unsuccessfully trying to hide since his reappearance.

"Yeah, you're going to have to cut that out."

"Sorry?" questions Sherlock.

"Stop the pretending. You've told me nothing of what happened, which I would be fine with if you didn't seem so ensnared by whatever feeling it is that you've been attempting to hide from me. Come on, Holmes. You may be the detective, but I'm not an idiot. Something's buzzing around in that head of yours, and whatever it is, you shouldn't be trying to keep it hidden from me."

Holmes' reluctance remains, though the guise fails. "I'm not going to lie to you. I don't know what to do."

"Do?" Watson questions. "What on earth makes you think you've got to do something? You just escaped a murderer."

Holmes opens his mouth as if he's about to speak, but then he shakes his head and stops. A few moments later he speaks.

"Watson, that's exactly it. I didn't."

John's questioning look prompts Holmes to speak again.

"What would you do if you had to choose who lived? Could you do it? Could you pull the trigger knowing that someone would die, when not pulling that trigger would be just as fatal?"

"Holmes, just stop. Stop the cryptic, open-ended statements. I want to know what's going on."

Holmes is clearly agitated. He rises to his feet and paces around the room silently.

Bewildered and angry, John Watson closes his eyes and breathes in sharply. What is Sherlock talking about?

For the first time since Holmes' rescue, John begins to consider the situation. He recalls how skeptical he was before, when the writing on the wall was just discovered. How could such a careful team of professional criminals fail to notice that?

Only one answer occurs to John: they didn't.

But then, why is Sherlock alive? The whole situation at the crossroads seemed… too easy. John had learned often enough from Holmes that "easy" police investigations often turn out to be something much deeper. But what can it possibly be? Why is Sherlock Holmes sitting in this hospital room, alive and almost unharmed?

Watson's thoughts are suddenly interrupted by an agonized whisper.

"I didn't escape the murderer, Watson. I can't do it; I don't know how. I don't know what to do, John Watson, and for once you can't help me out of it."

Furrowing his brow, John stares into Sherlock's tragic, piercing eyes. "You're free now, Holmes. I don't understand what you're talking about."

Sherlock shakes his head slowly. His tone turns from miserable to half-crazed.

"I'm not free. Oh… Watson, I'm anything but free. You wouldn't…couldn't… understand.

Let me explain this to you. I'm not talking about Wilson, or that cab driver, or anyone else. I don't care about them.

You see, I can't possibly escape the murderer because I am the murderer."

Ahhhh, it's nice to finally have some Holmes in my story. If this chapter seems to be a little lacking in action compared to the others, that's just me having fun with their dynamic since I finally have both Watson and Holmes alive in the same room. Took a while!

Anyways, I would like to give my thanks (admittedly belated, but very much sincere) to Dragons-Twilight1992, Esbee, PostAnotherTaco, James Birdsong, Interested, Proud, and Yue521 for your reviews! All of you are what brings me back to my screen at 2 am to finally update!

As always, I would really appreciate any reviews, comments, and especially suggestions!