That last chapter received the most reviews I've ever gotten on a single chapter on any story here :) It even dethroned my reunion chapter in WYIBMAB! So thanks for that, I just couldn't resist being so trolly!

And seriously guys...79 followers! That is insane, especially considering I wasn't even planning on continuing this story very far. But I'm gonna make it longer, draw it out and make it even more painful to read :P

Also so sorry for the lag, I've been sick and trying to catch up in school :(

But today was another snow day...again. I'm honestly sick and tired of the freaking snow, it seems like the moment it finally starts to melt it comes right back...

But anyway, hope you enjoy...

The panic started to set in immediately as I shifted my weight to lean against the desk.

This was a bit not good.

Where was Sherlock? What had he gotten himself into this time?

I went to take several deep breaths in an attempt to calm myself down, but almost choked on the smell, momentarily forgetting the stench of mold and rotten meat filling the room.

Shakily breathing out and refusing to sputter, I forced myself to think for a moment. I couldn't let this panic get the best of me. I had to stay calm and clear my mind. I had to make a plan.

I shook my head violently in some desperate attempt to force away the thoughts brewing in my head. All I could imagine was Sherlock dying or already dead, collapsed in some alleyway somewhere.

"Get it together Watson," I murmured to myself. It could be nothing...it could honestly be nothing.

Okay. First thing, get rid of the smell.

I had to force myself to get moving again, my feet stumbling and hands shaking as I crossed the surprisingly empty room to the window, unlocking it and pulling it up. Hopefully some air would help.

I eyed the decaying pile of organs cautiously. How in God's name was I supposed to dispose of this?

I left the room, making my way towards the kitchen. I knelt down, pawing through the cabinet under the sink looking for trash bags and perhaps a can of disinfectant. Thankfully, they were both still there, yet to be thrown away from my time in the flat.

Contemplating things for a moment, I decided to just clean of the table in one sweep, tossing the organs, mold specimens, and contaminated glassware and mugs into the trash bag all at once. Tying the bag off and dropping it gently to the floor, I moved to coat the desk in a spray of the disinfectant, holding my sleeve over my nose.

I sighed to myself. Room one, done.

I moved back into the sitting room, returning the can to the table and opening the windows, ignoring the huge clouds of dust the heavy drapes emitted when they were moved, letting in the pale yellow light from the street lamps. I popped outside to toss the bag in the bins, hoping Mrs. Hudson wouldn't mind. She must be used to the horrible smells by now.

I quietly climbed the stairs, hoping not to wake Mrs. Hudson if she was home.

Okay, the smell has been dealt with.

I shut my eyes and collapsed on the disheveled sofa, head in my hands. I let out several deep breaths, trying to calm down my now raging anxiety. A cold wind blew through the room and I shivered violently. God, it was bloody freezing out. And...and Sherlock might be out there. Alone and cold.

I fisted my hands in my hair, angry at myself for thinking like that.

No. No. Sherlock was fine. This was all going to be fine. He must just be on a case. Someone must know where he is. Maybe...maybe he was even working with Molly. I know they'd worked together a bit when I was still mad with him.

It was probably nothing.

I decided to text Lestrade anyway, just in case. He might be able to help.

The worried reply came a few minutes later, and Lestrade assured he would be there in ten minutes.

I leant back on the sofa, running a hand over my face.

It was going to be fine, I kept repeating to myself. But repeating that little mantra didn't stop my thoughts from racing to every horrid possibility.

I was roused from my thoughts by hurried footsteps. I immediately shot up from the sofa as the door burst open, revealing a wide-eyed Greg, lit cigarette (a newly resurrected nervous habit of his) dangling from his lips.

"Bloody hell, it's freezing in here," he began, shivering, "And...and what's that smell? It smells like something died!."

"My thoughts exactly," I choppily remarked, raking a hand through my hair and shifting my eyes to Sherlock's abandoned bedroom.

"What are you trying to say?"

"God, Greg. I-I thought he was dead. Dead. When I walked in here and...and I smelled that, I thought it was over. I-I thought he was gone and...and that it was my fault. Oh God, I was so sure he was dead," I babbled, pacing nervously.

"Well where is he?" Greg questioned, eyebrows raised.

"I-I don't know. He hasn't been here for...for days, obviously. There was moldy tea and rotting experiments in his room, that's where the smell was coming from. Do...do you have any idea where he could be?"

"I haven't a better idea than you. But it...it still might be nothing. Maybe he's on a case and didn't think to tell you," he replied, already sounding uncertain.

I swallowed hard, "Yeah...maybe. But I'm still...I'm still worried. I think that he might...he might have relapsed again. I-I mean, what if he did? It's all I could imagine, him dead of an overdose in his room. He could be out there right now Greg. Passed out and freezing in some dirty alley or worse. He could...oh God."

Greg crossed the room quickly, placing a hand on my involuntarily shuddering shoulders and stopping me in my tracks.

"Calm down. Whatever's going on, there's nothing we can do about it now, it's too late at night. How about you get home and we regroup in the morning? We'll make some calls, see if anyone knows where he is, maybe get a hold of his brother. If nothing turns up, we report him as missing and get the police looking for him, Mycroft too. I'll even go out with you looking with you if it makes you feel better, I already have a few ideas of where he might be if he's relapsed. If something's wrong, and mind you there might be nothing wrong, we will find him, John. I promise you that," Greg assured me, shaking my shoulder for good measure.

"Fine...fine. I should be getting home anyway. I'll...I'll call you in the morning," I mumbled, shaking my head tiredly.

And so we parted ways, promising to see each other the next morning. I couldn't help but stare out the window as London whizzed by on my way back home.

I hoped Sherlock was okay, preferably someplace warm, even though that was most likely not the case. Part of me seemed to know he'd relapsed, that he was missing and maybe even dying. But please just let him be okay.

One more miracle. Please, just one more.

I'm not entirely happy with that chapter :( sorry

It will get better, but I just needed to get that bit out of the way before I can get to the main part.

And thanks to PuraStones for the idea

Love all y'all for the support, and I hope to be back around soon

Reviews make my day, so let me know what you think!