Click click click click click. Scriiiiiit.

Jim inhaled a breath. He pressed his face closer to the pillow he was sleeping on.

"Never mind, John." He watched a door slam closed.

"What in the bloody hell was that all about?"

Groaning, Jim forced his body in to a sitting position. The couch he always slept on groaned with his movement. He still had his eyes closed and he felt groggy as he let his head droop for a minute while he composed himself. Small, familiar foot steps stopped some where to his left. He smiled lightly. "Anna," he said, voice thick with sleep.

When he opened his eyes he was comforted with the sight of his body guard standing in the door way. She had grown significantly in the last six months. She no longer resembled a fourteen year old girl, but that of a young woman in her early twenties. Her blue eyes scanned him like they always did to make sure that he was ok.

"Are you hungry," she asked.

His smile grew a little more. He was always glad when she was satisfied, because when she wasn't he had to endure the annoyance of her barrage of questions and sometimes the torture of her prying in to his mind. He'd admit that he'd done some things in those early months since he'd found himself here that he wasn't particularly proud of and he'd be glad when Anna decided to finally let them go. Her only job was to keep him safe and at first she'd seemed robotic in her mission, but as time moved on he started to see a change in her. She still didn't act like an emotional adept human.

She cared about him on some low emotional level and that in itself is what had made him quit trying to kill himself. She cared, so naturally and with his new found conscious he cared two. He cared for her and for himself. It still felt strange at times, but over all he felt that he'd adjusted nicely.

"Yes, I am. What would you like?"

She continued to look at him and he rolled his eyes. "Chicken? Biscuits? Eggs? Anything?"

She didn't even blink. He smiled in amusement. "Fine, let's go out, then. I'm going to take a shower first. Meet me in the car in ten?" A small tip of her head and she backed out of the room.

[-]

"What can I get for you?" The waitress asked. Her accent was American and she looked bored as she helled her order pad out in front of her.

Jim blinked a couple of times. Ever since he'd gotten back to the earth plane he'd have certain thought's that would take on a life of their own, creating a mental image in his minds eye and this time the word bored was made of wood. The font it was carved in to was an elegant one and the boldness of the letters stood out as it flew around a circular room and slammed in to each available service. The waitress seemed to fade away enough to where he could see the scene in his mind happening inside her body. The word bored swirled around the area that would be her stomach and the room encompassed the entire area starting just underneath her breasts and down to her pelvic bone.

The room stretched out further than her waist. He shook his head lightly and the room seemed to tilt on it's access. At the same time he felt a firm pressure on his right hand the room and the word bored disappeared. The waitress was still staring at him and her expression hadn't changed. "I would like coffee," he said softly.

She wrote the order down and looked at Anna. Anna shook her head and the waitress left their table. Jim felt himself start to shake. It was a small sensation that began in his shoulders and quickly spread down his arms and in to his hands. Anna grabbed the hand of the arm she had squeezed and helled it firmly between her fingers.

Jim relaxed in to the familiar touch, but he couldn't stop himself from shaking. Boredom is what had ruled his actions his entire life. Then, he'd killed himself to end the torture. He didn't think like that any more, but his past life still haunted him. "Maybe coming out wasn't such a good idea today," he said.

Anna let go of his hand. "There is nothing wrong with having a tiny episode in public. You don't have to hide and you don't have to explain yourself."

She'd said that to him so many times already and although he understood it and agreed with it, it still didn't make it any easier. He felt like a freak when he was in public. His eyes were an unnatural shade of blue and that in itself was enough to turn heads. Not to mention the fact that reality was an illusive thing and his mind did what ever it wanted, which had left him paralyzed in public or screaming at phantom pains. He scared people.

He used to scare himself before he'd gotten used to all of the things happening to him.

"Are you still going to order food?" Anna asked and her voice was gentle and soft. This was one of those rare moments where he appreciated her for exactly who she was. Her first instinct wasn't to get annoyed at him. Her expression was neutral. He didn't think he'd be able to handle some one glaring at him right now.

He moved his hands off the table and clasped them in his lap. "I think I'll just drink my coffee for now and then I'll see how I feel afterwards. Ok?"

"Ok."

[-]

He didn't manage to work up enough of an appetite to eat at the diner, so he ordered a chicken biscuit and took it home with him. He eyed the wrapper of his food on the way home. It wasn't easy to get a chicken biscuit in London, but American diner's were becoming a new thing and he wasn't complaining. The drive home took about five minutes. Once they were inside Anna put some wood in the fire place before she lit it up.

Jim grabbed his notebook off the side table and flipped it open. He added the important details from his dream this morning. Nervously, he began to chew on his thumb nail. "Sherlock's getting close," he said.

Anna looked over at him from her seated position by the fire place. "What will you do when he finds you?"

He rocked back and forth a few times as he continued to chew on his thumb nail. After a few minutes of contemplative silence he said, "I'll probably run."

"Why?"

"He's not going to be very happy." He locked eyes with her and opened his mind. Immediately, he felt her slipping in to his memories.

"You threatened his friends. You tried to get him to kill himself. He's going to be angry."

"Correction. He's going to be furious." He tipped his head slightly and shrugged his shoulders. Amusement laced his voice as he added, "And he's going to be shocked beyond belief that I'm still alive. I mean, even with the dreams of my, what he'll assume survival, he's still going to be in shock when he sees me standing in front of him."

"What if he tries to harm you? I will protect you."

"I know, but he's not going to just shoot me. It will seem worse than what it is. A lot of scuffle and yelling, but no real danger. He's a curious one. He'll want to know how it's possible. He'll want me to tell him every thing."

"Which you're going to do."

"Yes, but on my terms. I don't want to be in a stressful environment. We're going to meet rather abruptly. I need to be able to relax."

"Why don't you just avoid him. He's trouble for your development."

"I am developing just fine. I feel like I'm being drawn to him and it's more than just penance." He chewed on his thumb nail again. He felt nervous all of sudden. "Why was he being drawn to Sherlock?

He didn't understand that himself, so how was he supposed to explain it to Anna? She looked back at the fire. The conversation was over. He sighed and returned his notebook to it's place on the side table. It wouldn't be too long now. What was he even going to say to Sherlock when he seen him again?

Guilt slammed in to his gut making him gasp for air. He wished he could say that he missed the days when he could easily shut down his emotions, but he didn't. He'd been a monster then. He would never be that person again. The thought made him sick to his stomach.

No, this was much better. He could feel. He preferred this. Even if it was over whelming at times.

[-]

Sherlock groaned and rolled over on to his side. He'd fallen off the couch and his brain was scrambling from the shock. It was the second time in a week. He remained motionless for what he assumed was a few minutes and allowed himself to just breath. These dreams were beginning to mess with him.

At first they'd been distant and he'd been the observer. Now, he was experiencing them like he'd been the one to go through the pain. There was so much pain. He rolled over on his back and touched his right temple. While he was dreaming there was always a pain that throbbed so bad that it made him want to throw up.

Even awake, he could still remember the feel of it vividly. He swallowed hard. Once again he asked himself 'Why is this happening?' It wasn't like he was losing his mind. He hadn't experienced any kind of trauma that explained why he was experiencing these dreams.

He'd been tortured in his life, threatened by world class criminals and nothing had fazed him. It just didn't make since. There was only one thing he could do and that was to continue recording what he saw and what he experienced. Some where down the rabbit whole something was bound to stick out.

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