"John's been gone an awful long time." I observed from the kitchen. "Coffee or tea, Sherlock?"
"Coffee. Black, two sugars." I added the one teaspoon of coffee and two of sugar. I then took out another mug and added a teabag with two sugars. "You seem concerned for John's wellbeing. Have you grown fond of him?" Sherlock inquired from the lounge. As I left the kettle to boil, I walked back into the living room where Sherlock was lying on my bed. Well, the couch. He looked up at me as soon as I entered but I did not make eye contact with him. Instead, I tidied up a little, moving papers to the side and clearing up bowls of rice we had eaten earlier. "Of course I'm fond of him. John is a likable man. He's our flatmate so might as well be nice." I explained evenly. He seemed suspicious.

"Do you have feelings for him?" He spat the word, as though he didn't know a thing about them and despised their very existence. I nearly dropped the glass I had been holding. Feelings? For John? Seriously? Sherlock was wearing three nicotine patches but they can't have done that much to his brain. "No! Of course not! Sherlock, what are you talking about? Why do you even care?" I was peeved that he had interrupted my tidying and my calm behaviour. Damn him. My mind was busy racing through all of the reasons why he was so curious.

"I'm talking about your emotions, obviously. And I don't particularly know why I care; I just know that I do." He said without so much as a variation in tone. I merely shook my head. "What would your reaction be if I invited Molly here for dinner tomorrow?" Ouch. That stung. That wasn't sarcastic, by the way. That was genuine. Why? I don't even know. I gulped, damning the man to hell three times over, and shrugged. "I wouldn't care. Just so long as she stays out of my room and does not touch my mug, I'm fine." I said as impassively as possible, busying myself with folding John's newspaper. He saw through it. The lie, not the newspaper.

"Liar." My eyes snapped up to his, "Don't deny it. You would be jealous." He said victoriously. Oh, so that's what I'm feeling right now? Hmm… Interesting.
"And if I had dinner with Mycroft?" Silence ensued. And then Sherlock's face went unfriendly.
"I would be generally mortified and would forbid you from seeing him." I cocked an eyebrow at his behaviour. Now who's jealous? And, seriously, forbid me? He couldn't stop me from doing anything! I was my own person! I had spent too long in captivity and here he was saying that he would forbid me? No way. "Sherlock, don't even try that. Don't. Even. If you're saying that we're attracted to each other, say it directly, do not imply it. But do not forbid me from doing anything. I worked hard for my freedom. I killed people for my freedom. I'm not giving it away to you." I hissed and then went into the kitchen, since the kettle had boiled.

Pouring the scalding water into the mugs and inhaling the strong smell of the coffee overpowering the tea, I shut out the anger and the emptiness. It wouldn't help me. It would merely trouble my mind and obscure answers. And then I realized what I said. If you're saying that we're attracted to each other, say it directly, do not imply it. Oh God, why? (Haha, imagine the meme) My anger must have really clouded my mind when I said that. Stupid… I sighed and shook my head. No point in fretting now. It had been said. Might as well make it seem like I had meant to say it. I picked up the mugs of tea and coffee and walked back into the living room, Sherlock's eyes upon me at once.

"I am attracted to you." Were the first words out of his mouth. I nearly dropped the mugs out of shock. He was good at this. How long had we known each other? Two days? I checked my watch, taking care not to spill any of the hot beverages in my hands. No, it was officially three now. I nodded and placed Sherlock's coffee upon the table next to him. I then placed my tea beside it. "And I am attracted to you too." I replied bluntly and sat on the arm of the couch, directly by Sherlock's head.

I crossed my arms and waited silently for something to happen. Nothing did, for a while. "Ugh, I need another nicotine patch." Sherlock grumbled from beside me quietly. I looked down and saw that he had his hands together like a prayer below his chin. His pupils were slightly dilated because of the effects of the patches. I sighed softly and lifted Sherlock's head. He didn't move it out of my grasp. I slid myself onto the cushions and then lowered his head back on my lap. I then began to massage his head. His hair. Was. So. Soft.

For the next ten minutes, I massaged his head. Every now and then, he'd mumble something unintelligible but he didn't tell me to stop. It was when I found a spot at the back of head, near the base of the skull where the spinal cord connected, that he groaned. I froze and stared down at him. "Don't stop." Sherlock murmured, his eyes still closed. I continued and I noticed his breaths getting laboured and his head tipping back in delight. I then realized that I had found one of Sherlock's turn on spots. I felt incredibly naughty and I smirked as I worked my fingers in even deeper. He let out a growl, animalistic and frightening, and his eyes flew open.

Immediately we held eye contact and I stared down at him. We didn't blink for a while; I think we forgot how to. His top two buttons were undone, the collar spread out and showing milky white skin just begging to be kissed. Be quiet, insolent mind. I am a sociopath. I am serious. Why so serious? Oh God, I'm mad too. I bit my lip near the left corner with my second incisor. He noticed and Sherlock stared at my mouth for what felt like days. It was only forty seconds. He straightened up and leaned his left elbow on the arm of the couch. Sherlock watched me intensely. "Ya know, I'll be needing this as my bed soon." I murmured and his gaze automatically settled on my lips again. Feeling conscious of them, I tried not to move them unnecessarily. Unfortunately, my lips felt rather dry at that moment. I licked them without thinking and Sherlock looked about ready to assault me then and there. But John saved me. Question is; did I want to be saved?

"We'll resume this another time, I'm sure." Sherlock purred in my ear and I nodded, feeling a little breathless. I then pushed Sherlock away gently and got out of the seat, grabbing my tea as I did so. I sat on the arm of the chair again while Sherlock lowered his head back to where it was. Absent-mindedly, I began playing with his hair again. Particularly the little curls at the front. They just kept pinging back into place. (:3) Sherlock raised his arm and clenched his fists, circulating the effects. He then exhaled loudly, making me smirk a little. "What are you doing?" John said as he walked in. He appeared a little annoyed but I didn't really care. Not when I had a detective that needed kissing in the next twenty four hours.

"Nicotine patch." Sherlock explained, his deep voice shaking me to my core. He raised his sleeve a little more to show the three on his forearm. "Helps me think. Impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days. Bad news for the brain work-k." He put emphasis on the 'k' and I just sipped more of my tea.
"It's good news for breathing." John countered seriously. John didn't crack many jokes, I noticed.
"Ugh, breathing. Breathing's boring." John limped over to us. He seemed to just notice the quantity of nicotine patches Sherlock had on his arm. Perhaps I would try nicotine patches. Maybe they'd help. Hmm. "Is that… three patches?" John asked incredously. It sounded like three was unhealthy. All the more reason to try it then.

"It's a three-patch problem." Sherlock retorted, bringing his hands back into the steeple below his chin. He then closed his eyes. My eyelids were beginning to droop but I refused to sleep. John noticed, of course, him being a doctor and all. "You should sleep, Natalia." Sherlock's eyes opened.

I shook my head. "I'm fine. I don't like to sleep during a case." I reasoned. No use of course. Not when I've got John and Sherlock on my back. Yes, Sherlock turned on me too. The audacity of the man. Hmph. "Take my bed." Sherlock murmured and I looked at him with a slight frown on my face.
"No, I'm a couch sleeper. So that means that you've got to move or I won't sleep." He seemed to be having an internal dilemma.

In the end, I actually forced him to stay on the couch. John had watched on in amusement, disapproval and drowsiness. It would seem that he was growing tiresome as well. "Well…?" He asked Sherlock. Said man remained still, not even twitching. Seemed like he had crept into the depths of his mind. I had once heard him talking to himself, referring to it as a 'Mind Palace'. It amused me. Mine was just a database.

"You asked me to come, I'm assuming it's important." John was rather impatient now. Another second and then Sherlock jerked back into reality with a small gasp. He must have been pretty deep in his mind. "Oh, yeah, of course. Can I borrow your phone?" John looked like he was controlling himself.
"My phone?"
"Don't want to use mine; always a chance that my number will be recognised. It's on the website." Sherlock informed him. John didn't seem to care.
"What about Natalia's?" I smiled.
"Out of battery. I broke the charger trying to turn it into a multi-purpose charger." I lied easily. The truth was that I didn't like anyone using my phone. I only used it when necessary. Sherlock didn't even ask to use my phone anyway.
"Mrs Hudson's got a phone." He said, looking at the staircase that would no doubt lead to the lovely landlady. Oh, alliteration. I do love me a bit of alliteration. "She's downstairs. I shouted, but she didn't hear."

"I was the other side of London." John told him angrily.
"There was no hurry." There was a moment of silence between us all. Eventually, John pulled his phone out of his pocket, albeit a little crossly, and held it out. "Here." He said shortly. Sherlock's right hand moved away from the steeple and outstretched, his eyes still closed. John begrudgingly slapped it into his hand and he went to stand by the fireplace.

"So, what's this about – the case?" John inquired.
"Her case…" Sherlock muttered. I guess we still had a lot to talk about between the three of us concerning that case. John raised an eyebrow. "Her case?"
"Her suitcase, yes, obviously." By now, it was getting very difficult to keep my eyes open. It was then that I remembered I hadn't actually slept in two weeks. Damn it, sleeping at Scotland Yard was never easy. I hadn't even realised that I hadn't really been sleeping. Just meditating. My childhood had left me weak when it came to simple obstacles. Things such as sleep or colds would knock me down and out for a few days. "The murderer took her suitcase, first big mistake."
"Okay, he took her case. So?"

"It's no use, there's no other way. What do you think, Natalia?" I forced my eyelids to stay open with willpower alone. I cleared my throat and nodded.
"We'll have to risk it." Sherlock didn't seem to notice, thank God. I don't think John did either.
"On my desk there's a number. I want you to send a text." Sherlock spoke louder to John. John seemed to find the idea laughable. Sherlock offered the phone out again, keeping his eyes glued on the ceiling. "You brought me here… to send a text."
"Text, yes. The number on my desk." Sherlock ignored John's rising anger levels.

John smiled humourlessly to himself and got up and grabbed the phone. He then looked around suspiciously, peering anxiously out of the window. I narrowed my eyes. "What's wrong?" I asked curiously, a slight tinge of foreboding in my voice. John sort of shrugged.
"Just met a friend of yours. Both of yours, I mean." I frowned.
"A Friend?" Sherlock said with surprise and faint horror.
"An enemy." He immediately calmed down.
"Oh. Which one?" He asked evenly. I chuckled softly. Damn it, I was tired. And it was hot in here. I stood up, taking care not to show how unsteady I was on my feet to my flatmates. "I'll be back in a while. Going outside." I said simply. John nodded.

"Don't go outside." Sherlock warned me. Both John and I looked at him. "Trust me." I swallowed. As much as I knew that something would happen, my gut told me two things: 1) If I didn't get outside soon, I would pass out from over-exhaustion. 2) If anything bad happened to me, it wasn't going to be huge. A simple interrogation, worst case scenario. "Sherlock, if I don't get outside in the next three minutes, I'm going to pass out." I explained and then left before he could reply.

The night was cold and I welcomed the air on my bare arms with a sigh. It was simply too hot inside. I exhaled and my breath fogged ever so slightly. Damn detective in there, he was steaming up the room with his mere presence. Okay, since when did I turn fan girl over Sherlock Holmes? Since he nearly kissed me and I realized my immediate attraction to him, that's when. To be precise, it was three days ago. Stupid Holmes. I could feel my intelligence diminishing with the less sleep I had. But sleep was a waste of time. Why sleep when I could be thinking or chasing or mocking?

My phone began to ring and I considered leaving it. Tempting. But I pulled it out anyway and looked at the ID. Private caller. I cocked an eyebrow. Shrugging since I had nothing to lose, I pressed the button and placed the phone to my ear. "Hello?" I asked with a slight foreboding.
"Miss Heather, do you see camera to your right at the top of the building corner?" I sighed and glanced up. There it was, staring right at me.
"Indeed I do, Mycroft. You've played this game with me before." I explained with annoyance. He always used the same trick. It was tiresome. He needed new illusions and secrets. He sighed on the other side of the line.
"Natalia, you know that it irks me so when you see through my plans." He reprimanded me gently, "Get into the car and we can speak civilly." I rolled my eyes. Always the same. A black car pulled up.
"Mycroft, I don't particularly care at the moment. I'm exhausted and right now, you're the person I least want to talk to." I nearly snapped but I managed to restrain myself. He chuckled darkly at my impoliteness. But I didn't particularly care, as I said before. "Natalia, get in." He urged, his tone sounding rather final.
"Mycroft. The answer is no." A hand on my shoulder alerted me and I spun around, my phone suddenly disappearing from my own hand.

Sherlock stood with his coat and scarf on and he looked down at me emotionlessly. He then pressed the End Call button and returned my phone. "John is staying home tonight. I've had a breakthrough. How do you feel about dinner?" I cocked an eyebrow. This most certainly was not a date. At least, it wasn't intended to be a date. I shrugged and nodded anyway. I then turned to the black car. But it was gone.

"So, where are we going?" I asked as we walked down the street. Sherlock did not look at me as we turned a corner.
"Northumberland Street's a five-minute walk from here." He replied. A cold wind blew and I shivered a little, cursing myself on not going back inside to grab a jacket quickly. I just prayed that I wouldn't fall asleep during dinner or chasing our target. "You've arranged to meet the murderer, haven't you? Or you've at least tempted the murderer to arrive. He's either stupid or he's brilliant." I assumed that he had text the phone of Jennifer Wilson since when we had searched the suitcase before, we found no phone. Sherlock nodded approvingly. "Precisely. I love the brilliant ones. They're all so desperate to get caught."
"Mm, appreciation. Applause. The glory, that is what the brilliant criminals crave." Sherlock looked down at me interest and I pretended not to notice.

"This is his hunting ground." I muttered, turning around to look behind us, "Right here in the heart of the city. Who's to say he isn't watching us now?" A chill ran down my spine and it wasn't because of the sudden gust of wind.
"Now that we know his victims were abducted, that changes everything." Sherlock spoke darkly, "Because all of his victims disappeared from busy streets, crowded places, but nobody saw them go." He suddenly grabbed at his head, as though forcing thoughts into it. "Think! Who do we trust, even though we don't know them?"
"Who passes unnoticed wherever they go?"
"Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?" My brain was beginning to go dead, thanks to my lack of rest.
"I can't think right now. Do you know?" Sherlock hesitated for a moment.
"Haven't the faintest. Hungry?" He asked and I nodded. We crossed the street and we ended up in front of a nice looking restaurant. 28 Northumberland Street.

Sherlock opened the door for me and gestured for me to enter first. I did so and looked around. It was rather cosy and had a romantic atmosphere, especially with the dimly lit candles and the darkness outside. "Thank you, Billy." Sherlock said to a waiter who gestured to the table by the large window. Sherlock removed his coat and scarf and sat in the seat that was parallel to the window so that he could look out without it seeming suspicious. I, unfortunately, would have to crane my neck. Something that would not only hurt but draw attention to us.

"22 Northumberland Street. Keep your eyes on it." Sherlock said as he peered out.
"I can't keep my eyes on it; I'm making us seem inconspicuous by not doing as I'm told." I informed him and he grinned for a moment. "It would be amusing if he came over and knocked, however. But then, he'd have to be mad in order to do that."
"He has killed four people." Sherlock said deeply and then looked at me intensely. I shrugged a little and cricked my neck again. "Is your neck causing you pain still?" He queried. I nodded.
"It always has. Never slept on a bed in my life, remember? I don't plan on doing so in the near future."
"Not even in hospital?"
"Never been to a hospital."

"Sherlock…" A rather chubby man approached us with a large beard, hair tied back and a patterned tie. His tie wasn't too bad actually, compared to Mike's Gryffindor tie. "Anything on the menu, whatever you want, free." He shook Sherlock's hand and then passed us menus. "On the house, for you and for your date." I said nothing. Neither did Sherlock surprisingly.
"Do you want to eat?" Sherlock asked me and I looked at him.
"This man got me off a murder charge." The larger man spoke before I could answer Sherlock. Sherlock pointed at him.
"This is Angelo. Three years ago, I successfully proved to Lestrade, at the time of a particularly vicious triple murder, that Angelo was in a different part of town, house-breaking." I chuckled softly.
"He cleared my name." Angelo said proudly.
"I cleared it a bit." Sherlock correct him.

"Anything happening opposite?" He asked Angelo without looking at him.
"Nothing." He replied and then looked at me, "But of this man, I'd have gone to prison."
"You did go to prison." Sherlock again amended him. Angelo took no notice.
"I'll get a candle for the table. It's more romantic." He said huskily and I chuckled once more. Angelo moved off and I stared at the menu without seeing it, a smile playing on my mouth.

Sherlock glanced at me. "What?" He asked and then looked outside again. I shook my head, my smile intensifying.
"It doesn't matter." I waved it off but he pressed on anyway.
"No, tell me." I just shrugged sheepishly, my lips tugging a bit more until it was small grin.
"I never really guessed that you, Sherlock Holmes, would help so many people. Mrs Hudson, Angelo, who else?" He looked at me sharply.
"If you're implying that I'm a hero, you can stop right there." My grin turned back to a soft sympathetic smile.
"I know how it feels, Sherlock." I whispered and patted his hand before leaning back to allow Angelo to place the candle on the table.

"You may as well eat. We might have a long wait." Sherlock said, placing his menu on the other side of the small table. I raised an eyebrow. "Our rice can't have been very filling." He continued.
"No, it wasn't. I know for a fact that you're hungry. If you won't eat, I won't. Simple as." I replied stubbornly. He raised an eyebrow at me. I noticed he was tapping the table in frustration and impatience. I put my hand over it to quell his fidgets. It seemed to work. "Calm down, Sherlock. He'll be here soon." I reassured him and I was surprised when he nodded and relaxed in his seat, even turning to face the right way. I thought he would order food but he didn't. Instead, he placed his chin in his right hand, not moving his left since my hand was still resting upon it, and stared at me. Quite obviously I might add.

Staring contests have always been fun. This one was particularly thrilling. It involved making movements with our free hand (we had yet to part our hands) to try and make the other blink. I had almost forgotten our mission and I knew that Sherlock ached to look at the road. But his stubborn nature prevented him from doing so. He had to win, apparently. It started off with innocent clicks in front of eyes, waving hands in front of each other and pinching. It then turned to more serious stuff. Like poking each other's neck, studying each other's faces with our hands and touching each other's hair. I felt particularly evil when I placed my hand over his turn on spot and massaged it. He nearly closed his eyes, nearly, but still his stare remained fixed on me.

I don't really know if I have a turn on spot. I had never engaged in willing sex with someone so I had no way of knowing. I had a feeling, however, that Sherlock would find it. Or them, if there was more than one. So, when Sherlock dragged his index finger lightly up my neck, I almost gasped. His finger slid from my left collar bone, up my neck, along my jawline and ended at the pressure point just beside my earlobe. He'd found two turn on spots in one go; the collar bone and the pressure point. Typical. He's good at everything. He's probably the best there ever was at sex too. Damn…

"That was just unfair." I groaned as I broke eye contact. He grinned feverishly and I couldn't help but return it. "You're a bully." I complained childishly and crossed my arms, avoiding eye contact.
"It's only fair." He retorted. I cocked an eyebrow.
"How was that fair, pray tell?" His grin turned into a smirk. Oh God, he's smirking now… Unfair. Completely unfair.
"You found my spot. I've found yours." Damn it.
"You found two. I ought to know where another one is. You know, to even it out a little." He shook his head with amusement. "And your stupid smirk isn't helping me at all. Can't you go back to being strong and silent? You being strong, silent, sexy and sarcastic is too much." His smirk intensified and he winked at me. I groaned and put my head in my arms. "This is going to be a long night." I muttered to myself and Sherlock chuckled.

Dun, dun, dunn… Yeah, how was that? I've no idea why I'm asking you because I'm completing this story anyway and then posting it all online, just like Chocolate Eyes. Which I've yet to make oneshots for. I'll finish Immortality and this fic first, and then I'll focus on those. And Let The Monster Rise will be like spare time thing since Asreil is in America and I'm in Britain. Not to mention she works and I learn xD. Anyway, hope you enjoyed it. Cheers folks. Adios.

Luna