Wow there's been a big influx of activity I'm super excited! Thanks you guys for all the input. You make my life, you should've seen how big my eyes got when I saw those numbers rising. I'm glad to see that the older readers are enjoying it along with the new ones.

I barely got this chapter in but I did it woo. Please enjoy.

"Sherlock? What should we do, then?" I clutched the dog a little tighter, resisting the urge to glance back again. You drummed your fingers against the door of the cab, eyes flashing with thought. Reaching into your pocket, you grabbed your mobile phone and put the opposite hand firmly on my leg.

"Sit still. I'll have to make sure it isn't one of Mycroft's people." You began to tap it out as you spoke. "We'll just have to get in as normal. Behave as oblivious as possible."

Your phone bliped with Mycroft's reply within a few seconds, and I glanced over your shoulder to read.

Black Cadillac. 2008. Yours? - SH

I haven't sent anyone. - MH

"So if it isn't Mycroft, who is it?" I turned my head.

"Not sure. Still thinking." You squeezed gently on my leg, though I wasn't sure if it was deliberate or subconscious. The cab turned onto Baker Street.

As we pulled to a stop, I cradled the dog in the loop of my arm and patted his head. You nodded to me and pushed out the door, turning to pay the cabbie while I drifted toward the door. I wanted to wait to make sure you were behind me before unlocking the door. Both of us tried to ignore the Cadillac as it rolled past, but I still felt an uncomfortable prick on the back of my neck, and your shadow seemed protectively bent over me.

We stepped into the flat, and the dog wriggled to get out of my arms. I set him down on the step, and he sniffed it, confused. "It's a staircase. You go up them." I straightened my back and smiled, momentarily forgetting about danger. "Aw, look at him. He can't even climb stairs."

"It doesn't make sense..." You murmured, shedding your coat. "Why would someone follow us?"

"I can't wait until Mrs. Hudson gets to meet him, she'll be so excited, don't you think." I picked Gladdie up and started up the stairs.

"Would you please pay attention, John, I'm trying to talk to you." You frowned, looking back at your phone.

Have you gotten yourself into trouble, again? - MH

"Don't get short with me, Sherlock. Let's get into the house before you start making deductions." I huffed, going up.

"There's no connections, John!" You started making wide hand motions, starting up the stairs behind me. "First there was the dinner party. I'm entertaining the possibility that there could have been a degree of foul play for the sake of suspicion. Secondly there was the burglary. I'm also entertaining that possibility. And now there's a mysterious car. If all these three things were somehow connected, we would have a case. But there's nothing evident that connects them. All of them are vague, and all of them are possibilities."

"So, what?"

"The reality of the case rests on the first pillar. The first point of suspicion." You clenched your fist and held it in front of you. "The panic attack."

"Do we have to call it a panic attack?" I sighed, setting Gladdie down in the sitting room. "It carries too much baggage."

"If there was foul-play involved, it's clear that we have a case. But if there was no foul-play, we do not. I suspected foul-play in the beginning, but upon investigating further I was convinced that there were no influences. If it were true, if there were influences, then I would need to return to that first moment of suspicion, because that suspicion was right. The burglary was right, the shadow-car was right. And if there was no foul-play, there would be nothing to worry about, because my suspicion had been misplaced the entire time."

"You've solved it, then?" I asked, shrinking into my chair.

"No." You continued to pace. "I need to investigate more. That first incident. Mycroft's study. Anne Worchester. The drink. The surroundings."

"Whitefield." I clarified. "Her name is Whitefield."

"Whitefield, Horseshire, it doesn't matter. She gave you champagne, the only circumstance in which you ingested something that I did not, and shortly thereafter you suffered your first panic attack."

"Isn't there anything else you can say besides 'panic attack'?" I asked, miffed.

"There's no other word to describe it. Think of the symptoms. Increased heart rate, tightening of the chest and lungs, intense fear, severe incoordination, and illusioned asphyxia which consequently leads to-"

"Illusioned?"

"Yes. Your brain cannot properly function with its increased mental stress, and projects the threat into a false sense of strangulation or suffocation. In mild cases its symptoms are lightheadedness, dizziness, or loss of coordination. In severe cases, however, it can cause hyperventilation and unconsciousness. Asphyxia."

"Asphyxia. That's quite a word." I rubbed Gladdie's back.

"Yes. From the Greek. 'Stopping of the pulse.' " You pulled out your phone again and glared at it.

Do you need another trampoline? - MH

"What did he say?" I asked.

"Mycroft didn't send a car. Now he seems like he's suspicious, too." You grunted and tossed the mobile onto your desk, stalking into the kitchen. "I need to make a web. John, put your dog away. Don't bother me. Don't make noise."

I sighed and scooped up Gladdie, wandering back into the bedroom. "Nice to know you're finally giving my opinion some thought, after all," I commented, but you had already become totally ignorant of my presence.

It was eleven o'clock before you finally exhausted the possibilities of your web, closed down your computer, and wandered back into the bedroom. I was sprawled out on the covers of our bed with Gladdie in front of me, pawing at my face with his tongue lapping out every time he yawned. His brown eyes sparkled when he saw you, and curled up in the crook of my arm.

"He's perfect, Sherlock." I said, looking up at you. "I don't know why we never thought earlier to buy a dog."

"We both have trust issues and a lack of long-term stability," You quirked back.

I pursed my lips.

"I mean, I don't know, John, isn't it funny." You made a sorry attempt at a smile.

"Arse." I turned over.

You smirked and pulled off your shirt, tossing it into the laundry hamper while you fished for your sleepers. I grabbed Gladstone and carried him into the bathroom, where I had constructed a make-shift dog bed composed of a cardboard box and a few spare sheets from my upstairs bedroom. As I stooped down to situate him, I heard you come in behind me.

"I made this little bed for him, he can sleep here until we get him a bed. There's a store a few blocks away, maybe tomorrow I could walk down and get him one. Oh, and a leash and collar."

"Not alone. I don't want you going anywhere by yourself until I've figured out this problem." You bent over the sink.

"I'm not even going to bother arguing," I grunted.

"Good. You're finally learning."

I glared at your back. "Does that mean you haven't decided about the case?"

"Yes, it does." You ran your wet hands through your hair and across your face. "I'll need to talk with Mycroft and Lestrade again. I'm not letting that Anne character out of my sight, either. This all seems too strange for coincidence." You reached for a towel and patted yourself dry. "Have you taken your medication?"

"Yeah, I took it." I stretched my leg out, watching you.

"Good." You turned, the towel hanging off your forearm, and met my eyes. The corners of your mouth turned up slightly, and I felt your gaze roam. "Hello."

"Hey." I ran my tongue along the inside of my teeth. A small grin grew across your face, and you stepped forward to put your hand on the back of my neck and press your lips against mine. I gently brushed against your bare stomach, my fingers tinging with your skin. Then, just as quickly as you came, you stepped back and went into the bedroom.

"I want you to schedule another appointment with your doctor - you need more blood tests, ones that I can use to compare to the former ones. Your medication is almost finished, too, you'll need to get that refilled."

"Not refilled. I don't need it." I sat down on the bed and pulled my legs up. "I'll see if I can get a slot next weekend."

"No, I want it as soon as possible."

"Sherlock, do you realize what the date is."

You glanced at me, confused. "What?"

"It's the twenty-third. Of December? Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. Most people will be on holiday. I don't even know if my doctor will be in." I stretched out. "But I'll call in."

You looked over me. "You're not going to sleep, are you?"

"Of course I am. Look at the time."

"Still seems early to me." You left the towel on the dresser and sat down beside my feet.

I shifted. "We're not shagging, Sherlock."

"I bought you a dog."

"That doesn't matter!"

We heard a little yowl come up from the bathroom.

"Seems like Gladdie disagrees," You chuckled, leaning forward and placing a hand close to my waist. Gently you smoothed my hair back and brushed your lips against mine, a small wave of pleasure making its way down my spine as your fingers caressed my cheek. As our bodies inched closer, however, a pang of fear settled in the pit of my stomach, and I put a hand on your chest to keep you back.

"Wait, Sherlock." I swallowed. "I'm not sure. What if it happens again."

"Just tell me to stop. I won't push you," You purred, trailing your lips to my jawline. I relaxed a little, allowing your hands to slide to my hips, your thumbs slipping beneath the waist my my trousers. My breath caught. Lust thundered in my ears, but the uneasiness was still there, just like it had been before. I wasn't going to risk it again. I pressed both hands against your chest and pushed, and you sat up straight.

"I'm sorry, I just... I can't." I wrapped my hands in the blankets. "I can't."

You drummed your fingers across the bedsheets, disappointment spelled across your face. But with a defeated sigh you stood, flipped the lights off, and walked around to your side of the bed. "It's alright. Your health first."

"I'm sorry, Sherlock."

"Don't apologize." You crawled into bed, pulling up the blanket.

I sighed, feeling both embarassed and dejected. It was one thing to be tired during the day, but I felt a sort of responsibility to you sexually, as if it was my obligation to satisfy you, and that being unable to do that, I felt horribly worthless. But as I laid down, you reached out to pull me closer to you, pulling the blankets up around my shoulders and nestling my head on your chest.

"Goodnight, John." You whispered, kissing my head.

"Goodnight, Sherlock." I whispered back.

The dog yowled from inside the bathroom, and you yelled back at it to shut up.

"So much for a relaxing end to the night," I muttered, as Gladdie continued to whimper.

"I have a feeling that I'll regret buying this dog very quickly."

I chuckled and wrapped my arms around you, pressing my nose against the hollow of your neck.

It's going down, I'm yelling reviews

Next update Thursday