[John]

Once Sherlock and I had arrived at Mycroft's rather sizeable home in central London and had been ushered to our rooms, I found myself worrying again for our safety. Not just my own, for I was certain if someone was trying to kill me for some unknown reason that Sherlock would almost certainly get in the way. Though he would never admit it to himself, and I was not brave enough to broach the topic, the detective was very protective when it came to people he trusted. His willingness to fall off the roof of St Bart's when so much could have gone wrong was a heavy reminder of the fact. I would never ask him to do anything that could compromise his safety, however the man was just as stubborn as he was protective, if not more so.

I gazed around the spacious and comfortable room I'd been given, but I didn't feel happy. The enormous bed and ensuite bathroom did nothing to ease my concerns, and I found I did not appreciate the effort some poor housekeeper of Mycroft's had put into making the room luxurious. I would happily have slept in a dingy hotel room, so long as it was close to Sherlock. His room in this particular abode was too far away for my liking, being down numerous twisting hallways that I couldn't remember too well, and it made me nervous. I didn't want to let him out of my sight knowing that at any moment danger could come calling, but, impossibly, at the same time I wanted him as far away from me as possible. He would never be safe while he was around me, and the idiot had a tendency to get himself injured. Everything was just so confusing, and I audibly growled while trying to come to terms with it all.

Though I couldn't say I regretted returning to Baker Street with Sherlock, if only for a minimal amount of time, it had just made things a lot more complicated. Had I continued in my solitude, I would not have recreated the attachment he felt to me, and he would not be in danger. Then again, someone could have attempted to use his health against me, which could have had even more terrifying consequences.

A little voice in the back of my head told me that leaving right now, without Sherlock by my side, was the only way to keep him safe.

I ignored it.

After about ten minutes of (probably unnecessary) pacing, I heard a knock at the door, and one of Mycroft's many household staff poked her head through. She announced that I was expected in the dining room in approximately ten minutes for the evening meal, then left rather abruptly. I decided that it couldn't hurt to go down early, especially since I'd just be watching the clock every two seconds otherwise.

I attempted to look calm and collected as I made my way in what I hoped was the right direction. As I passed Sherlock's room I heard his deep baritone voice arguing with someone. I was never normally a nosy person, but the conversation happening behind the door sounded intriguing and very secretive. Therefore, naturally, I put my ear to the door to listen in to what they had to say.

"Of course it wasn't him! I think I would know by now, Mycroft. He would have told me." I heard Sherlock say, anger creeping into his tone.

"Unfortunately, brother, neither you nor I have any precise evidence as to how far his condition could take him. He may well be lying to us both, or he could not know himself." I realised with horror that they were asking about me, and against my better judgement continued to eavesdrop.

"That's preposterous! You've heard John, he's completely sane now. He would have had no reason to do such a thing."

"Don't let sentiment cloud your good judgement, Sherlock. The man specifically told us that he had been hired by Doctor John Watson, and only under intense pressure. The call that we traced was John's voice too, and his fingerprints covered the phone."

"But it doesn't make any sense!" Sherlock was making no attempt to conceal his anger now. "He didn't need to kill again, not now he has me back!" There was a note of uncertainty in Sherlock's voice, and I realised with a sick feeling in my stomach that I'd heard enough.

I made it all the way back to my room before I started to hyperventilate, my breaths coming short and fast, and my heart was pounding in my chest as though I'd just run a marathon. I didn't know what to believe. I couldn't remember any kind of phone call, or any intentions to murder anyone, however I realised to my horror that there was a very large possibility that it had been my doing. After all, who knew how messed up my mind was? Only weeks ago I'd had a complete breakdown that had resulted in a lot of broken objects and plans for suicide. Who was to say that I hadn't made a phone call in a time of particular madness?

I needed more evidence. It wasn't looking like there would be any of the sort I wanted to find, but I had to try. It could just as well be a set-up, though I couldn't think of anyone that would want to set me up. After all, the worst that could happen was that I went back to prison, only for Mycroft to get me out again. As Sherlock had said, it didn't make sense. That left the option that it had been me, but again it didn't feel right. I hadn't been alone long enough for a phone call anywhere, and I was pretty certain I had been in my right mind ever since Sherlock had convinced me to live with him again. I was definitely missing something, some piece of evidence. Until I found it, I was not going to let Sherlock know I'd heard his conversation, nor do anything about it until I knew for certain that it was or wasn't me.

I splashed cold water on my face from the tap and took a few minutes of calm breathing before making my way out of my room. I stopped for a few seconds outside Sherlock's room, but heard nothing from within so carried on my way. I didn't have a lot of faith in my acting skills, especially considering it was the Holmes boys who would be listening to my performance.

Fortunately, both looked very distracted, and neither was talking to the other when I arrived. It was decidedly easy to pretend my silence was from the awkwardness in the room and the delicious food, and neither called me out on my act.

Later on, when I was in bed, staring up at the ceiling and unable to sleep, I made a promise to myself. I would do everything to keep Sherlock safe. He had given up everything, jumped off a building to ensure my survival, and I would definitely do the same for him in a heartbeat if I felt it was necessary.

Therefore, there were two ways this situation could play out. Firstly, it could turn out I was being framed by someone, in which case I would see to it that Sherlock was not involved in that person's capture. Even if I had to beg Mycroft to kidnap him and keep him sedated until it was all over.

Secondly, it could turn out that I did kill someone unknowingly, which would almost certainly endanger Sherlock and everyone else. There was only one option for such a situation, and it was one I hoped I wouldn't have to face.

I would have to die.

The last chapter got way more reviews than I expected! Thank you to all you reviewers, you should hopefully have got a reply for your effort :) exciting stuff coming up so stay tuned! Remember that my Tumblr is dangerousbliss so don't hesitate to say hi!