John's POV -

I was left there. No explanations. Charlotte just left me, with the cry of 'PINK' echoing through my mind. I made my way down the stairs at the slow pace that I'd become accustomed to. I was knocked by a passing officer who did not seem to care in the slightest that a man who couldn't walk without the aid of a cane was making his way down the stairs. Damn thing, I wanted rid of it. I changed out of the blue overalls and finally got out of the house. I turned my head to my right, searching the street for any sign of Charlotte. There was nothing. Looking to my left, I found… Sally? I moved over to her, continually looking out for my flatmate who had just run off. Seeing my obvious distress, Sally turned her attentions away from the officer she'd previously been addressing.

"She's gone."

"Charlotte Holmes?"

"Yeah, she just took off." She made a vague gesture with her hand, radio still gripped firmly by her fingers. If I did not know better, I would have believed the two to be welded together as she held onto it so tightly. It was like she was attempting to hold onto her sanity. "She does that."

"Is she coming back?"

Sally shook her head. "Didn't look like it." Sally continued to look at me, as the longer she did, the more awkward it made me feel. Eventually I had to look away. I chose to look back at my shoulder, with a faint hope that Charlotte would materialise and explain what was happening.

"Right." I continued looking back. "Right." I could feel my levels of frustration peaking, and I realised as I continued in vain to scan the street for my missing flatmate, that I hadn't the faintest clue where I was. Feeling desperate, I turned back to the irritable woman who called herself a police sergeant. "Yes. Sorry, where am I?" She was once again addressing the same officer as before, who hadn't moved from her side during the entirety of their exchange. Sally turned back to me.

"Brixton." For a moment I could have sworn I saw her face cloud over with concern, or pity. Exactly what I didn't need. What I needed was to get home, and settle myself in Baker Street before I changed my mind over the whole arrangement. But I wouldn't have changed my mind. Charlotte was utterly captivating, and I was determined to find out more about her. But for now, getting home seemed like a priority. There was just one problem.

"Uh, do you know where I could get a cab? It's just… uh… well…" I took in a deep breath, trying not to meet her eyes, "my leg…" I was embarrassed. Why wouldn't I be? I was unknown to these people, Charlotte had dragged me along and for the simple reason that I was here with her, was granted access to the crime scene. But now, with no Charlotte around to pull strings, I was just the unknown cripple with no real use here. I had every right to feel embarrassed. I stretched my finger of my left hand, before curling them back in and allowing my thumb to rum the opposing fingers.

"Uh," it was now Sally's turn to look over her shoulder, in the opposite direction that I had. She walked a few paces before lifting the police tape high enough for me to walk under. Although the action mirrored that of Charlotte's previously, it did not feel the same at all. Whilst Charlotte had been eager, and inviting, Sally seemed to want rid of me at the earliest opportunity. "Try the main road."

"Thanks." As I ducked under the tape, she began to speak again. Clearly, she was not done with me just yet, despite the signals her body language gave off.

"You're not her friend." I turned back to look at her. Now we were separated by a thin, plastic tape, but this minor separation seemed to have given her more courage to speak her mind. I let her continue as the blue lights from the car next to us bounced off of our faces. "She doesn't have friends. So who are you?"

"I'm… I'm nobody, I just met her." It was the truth. We had no ground to go on. Could we be considered friends? Did I even want to be friends with this woman?

Yes. I did. I wanted that so much. Did I want more? This was an insane thought, I had met Charlotte yesterday and I was already trying to decide whether I wanted more than just a friendship with her. Sally seemed to be able to read my mind.

"Okay, a bit of advice: stay away from that girl."

"Why?" My retort was immediate. I had not experienced any hostilities from Charlotte, or any reason to distrust her, unlike a certain police sergeant stood in front of me. Charlotte had shown me nothing but kindness, offering to become my flatmate, inviting me to investigate this crime scene with her. The only behaviour that could be considered rude was the disappearing act. Sally considered me for a moment, as if trying to choose exactly what words to say to me.

"You know why she's here? She's not paid or anything. She likes it, she gets off on it. The weirder the crime, the more she gets off and you know what? One day just showing up won't be enough. One day we'll be standing 'round a body and Charlotte Holmes will be the one that put it there." She spoke quickly. Clearly this was something that had been on her mind for a while, but she had not had the opportunity, or the audience to give out her little speech regarding Charlotte Holmes. The accusations against her were awful. It was one thing to say she enjoyed solving the crimes, but to predict that she'd put a body in front of them? I wanted to know the reasoning.

"Why would she do that?"

"Because she's a psychopath. Psychopath's get bored." She smiled at me knowingly. I was disliking this woman more and more by the second. Luckily, I did not get the opportunity to retort to this claim. The DI had just emerged from the house, and was calling over to her.

"Donovan." He waved a hand in their direction, signalling Donovan over to him. She began to walk toward the house, but clearly it was not enough to just leave me with her words freshly embedded in my mind. As she walked away, her heels clicking (a dull click as opposed to the quick energetic clicks provided by Charlotte's shoes – dear Lord, I was comparing shoes now? I was in deep), she turned back to look at me.

"Stay away from Charlotte Holmes."

I blinked rapidly and shook my head slightly, trying to wrap my brain around this fresh perspective on the woman who had held my attention, and had brilliantly deduced everything about his life within only a few short seconds of meeting him. With this, I turned my back on the crime scene, having had quite enough excitement for one day, and proceeded to make my way down the street towards the main road. I stopped short when I hear the payphone to my right begin to ring. I glanced at my watch. Who on earth would be calling a payphone at this time of night. Probably just some kids playing a prank. I continued on, my leg aching more with every step I took.

"Taxi! Taxi!" None of theme were stopping. Another phone started to ring in the takeaway to my left. I just stood and watched it ring. Surely it was just a coincidence. I watched as a worker walked over to it, but just as he reached out his hand to pick it up, the ringing stopped abruptly. Was this just a coincidence? No. It must be. I continued onwards.

I had only walked a few more paces, before yet another payphone began to ring, right beside me. Right, this was clearly no coincidence. Someone was trying to get my attention, and they were succeeding. I moved into the phone booth and picked up the continually ringing phone.

"Hello?"

"There is a security camera on the building to your left, do you see it?" The voice was low and sounded almost bored. But this was confusing. In fact, it was scaring me slightly. I couldn't think of anything to say to the voice at the end of the phone. But, eventually, I found my voice.

"Who's this? Who's speaking?"

"Do you see the camera, Doctor Watson?" I looked up to my left. My eyes immediately locked onto the security camera that the voice was referring to.

"Yeah, I see it."

"Watch." I did, and as I did, the camera turned violently to the left, almost 360 degrees. " There is another camera on the building opposite you. Do you see it?"

"Mmhm." I saw it. It was impossible to miss with the very specific instructions given to be by the voice at the end of the phone. I watched as this camera also turned violently to the left.

"And finally, at the top of the building on your right." I looked through the glass on my right. Now this was getting weird, really weird.

"How are you doing this?" I tried not to let my confusion or my fear seep into my voice as I asked the voice at the end of the phone.

"Get into the car, Doctor Watson." A sleek, expensive-looking, black car pulled up in front of the phone booth. I would make some sort of threat, but I'm sure your situation is quite clear to you." The line cut off, and the lazy voice no longer making threats. A broadly built man got out of the drivers seat and opened the door, clearly a signal for John to get in. Even though it had insisted that tis wasn't a threat, it definitely felt like one. Nevertheless, I hung up the phone after a few moments of staring at the man, got into the car, and it pulled smoothly away from the pavement.

On my left was a smartly dressed girl, entirely in black. She was busily tapping away at the blackberry phone in her hands, clearly engrossed in what she was doing.

"Hello." She looked up at me, and gave me a small smile. She was quite pretty, but nowhere near as exquisite as Charlotte. Jesus, Watson. Control your thought. You've known Miss Holmes all of one day. Still, this didn't stop me from admiring what was in front of me.

"Hi."

"What's your name then?"

"Uh… Anthea." I was doubtful. Anyone who had gone to any length to kidnap me, was not about to reveal their name that easily.

"Is that your real name?" she looked up at me a smiled in a way that said 'oh honey, you're so clueless.'

"No." She returned to her phone. I looked through the front of the screen, and then behind me, trying to figure out where we were going. The silence between us was awkward, and I attempted to break the ice by starting up a conversation.

"I'm John."

"Yes, I know." Of course she did, of course. I looked back over to my companion, stony silence resumed.

"Any point in asking where I'm going?"

"None at all. John." I nodded my head.

"Okay."

We continued the rest of the journey in complete silence. I had attempted to start a conversation and that was clearly never going to happen.

The car took us into, what looked like an abandoned warehouse. There was a man stood right in the car's path, and he was illuminated by the light of the car's headlights. He was leaning arrogantly on an umbrella, his legs crossed and his head cocked to the side, watching the car intently. I got out of the car and walked towards this man. The tapping of my cane against the floor echoed around the warehouse. There was a chair in front of this man, and as I walked towards him, he picked up his umbrella and used it to gesture towards the chair.

"Have a seat, John."

I kept the same pace. Listening to this man confirmed that he had been the mysterious voice at the end of the phone, and had gone through so much effort to get him here.

"You know, I've got a phone. I mean, it's very clever and all that, but, uh… you could just phone me. On my phone." By the time I had finished, I was face to face with the man. He was several inches taller than me, forcing me to look up into his face. He was extremely well dressed, in what could have only been a tailored suit, designed and made to fit only one person. There was something familiar about his face and demeanour that I couldn't place. There wasn't a chance that I could have met him before, his was a face one would not forget in a hurry.

"When one is avoiding the attention of Charlotte Holmes, one learns to be discreet, hence this place." So, he knew Charlotte. It seemed that everyone did . "Your leg must be hurting you. Sit down." I gripped my cane tighter. His smile was patronising, and it made my skin crawl.

"I don't want to sit down." The man took a moment to consider me.

"You don't seem very afraid."

"You don't seem very frightening."

He laughed. "Yes. The bravery of the soldier. Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity, don't you think?" My jaw tightened. My left hand curled into a fist at my side. "What is your connection to Charlotte Holmes?"

How many people were planning to ask him this tonight? What was the obsession with Charlotte and her relationship with him? "I don't have one. I barely know her. I met her… yesterday."

"Mmm, and since yesterday you've moved in with her and now you're solving crimes together. Might we expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?" All of my muscles tensed. This little dig at me was pushing my buttons. Who was this man?

"Who are you?"

"An interested party."

"Interested in Charlotte? Why? I'm guessing you're not friends." It could not have been any clearer unless there was a flashing light bulb about him and he was shouting 'I DON'T LIKE CHARLOTTE HOLMES!'

"You've met her. How many friends do you imagine she has?" It was a sneer, as if the very mention of Charlotte Holmes turned his stomach, although maybe not quite as extreme. His eyes turned toward the floor and he began to inspect his shoes, twirling his umbrella in his hand. "I am the closest thing to a friend that Charlotte Holmes is capable of having."

"And what's that?" He turned back towards me.

"An enemy."

"An enemy?" The idea was laughable. People in real life didn't have enemies.

"In her mind, certainly. If you were to ask her, she's probably say her arch-enemy." His eyes focused on nothing in particular just above my shoulder. "She does love to be dramatic."

I had to turn away. This was ridiculous. If Charlotte was dramatic, what did that make this man? "Well thank God you're above all that." He eyed me carefully, clearly aware that he was toeing a line. My phone went off in my pocket, the sound of the short trill of high-pitched notes bounced off of the surrounding walls. I removed my phone from my pocket and quickly glanced at the message.

Baker Street. Come at once if convenient. – CH

CH? That could only be one person – Charlotte. I should have been worried about how she got my number, but if I'm honest, there were more important matters on my mind, in the form of a tall, formidable man stood right in front of him.

"I hope I'm not distracting you."

"Not distracting me at all." I replaced my phone in my pocket, and looked back up at the man, who's identity still remained a mystery. Huh, a mystery? I bet Charlotte would love this. As if this man had just read my mind, he quickly turned our 'conversation' back to business.

"Do you plan to continue your association with Charlotte Holmes?"

"I could be wrong…" I said, looking to the left of the man, "but I think that's none of your business." I stared him straight in the eye. He could try and be as aloof and impressive as he wanted, but this man was not intimidating me.

"It could be."

"It really couldn't." I shook my head in tiny movement to my left an right. It really wasn't any of his business, and I wanted to know why this man had such a fascination with my flatmate.

"If you do move into, um… " He rummaged in the pockets of his suit jacket and pulled out a small notebook. He flicked through the pages until the found the one he had been looking for, "two-hundred and twenty-one B Baker Street," that sounded so wrong, so, so wrong, "I'd be happy to pay you a meaningful sum of money on a regular basis to," he snapped the book shut, "ease your way." I shifted where I stood, this was making me uncomfortable.

"Why?"

"Because you're not a wealthy man."

"In exchange for what?"

There was a short pause. "Information. Nothing indiscreet. Nothing you'd feel… uncomfortable with. Just tell me what she's up to."

"Why?" I was feeling very protective of Charlotte, and I would not sell her out for any amount of money.

"I worry about her. Constantly." The look on his face was completely impassive and he certainly didn't look concerned for Charlotte's welfare.

"That's nice of you."

He broke our eye contact and looked back down towards the floor, except he was really examining the tip of his umbrella. "But I would prefer for various reasons that my concern go unmentioned. We have what you might call a… difficult relationship." He looked back at me just as my phone chimed in m pocket yet again. I reached for it and bought it back out of my pocket.

If inconvenient, come anyway – CH

Charlotte obviously needed my attention, and I was keen to get out of my situation as soon as possible.

"No." I rejected the man's offer to spy on Charlotte without even looking up from Charlotte's message. I was not interested. I was not going to betray Charlotte.

"But I haven't mentioned a figure."

"Don't bother."

He laughed again. "You're very loyal, very quickly."

" No, I'm not, I'm just not interested." I stared him down. I still wasn't intimidated.

"Or maybe, it's something else. Some other feelings that you may have for Charlotte, sentiment." A small smirk appeared across his face and my blood ran cold. How had he guessed when I had only just figured it out for myself?

"Not your concern. And if it were, you have no proof."

"'Trust issues', it says here." He pulled out the small notebook ahead. The voice of Ella, my therapist flashed through my mind. My eyes couldn't move away from the book. I tried to swallow as my throat and chest constricted in panic.

"What's that?"

"Could it be that you've decided to trust Charlotte Holmes, of all people?"

"Who says I trust her?"

"You don't seem the kind to make friends easily."

"Are we done?" His eyes met mine, and we stared at each other for a few moments. I had never felt more uncomfortable in my entire life.

"You tell me." I stared at him for a few moments longer, before deciding that, yes, we were done. I turned and began to walk away from him. But he clearly did not think that we were done. "I imagine people have already warned you to stay away from her, but I can see from your left hand that's not going to happen." I sighed. What could this man possibly tell about me from my left hand? But then, I had wondered the same thing when Charlotte said she knew me through my haircut and phone. I shook my head in disbelief and turned back to face him.

"My what?" I challenged.

"Show me."

I straightened up, and reluctantly, lifted my left hand to show the man, being careful to keep my distance from him. He sauntered forwards, hanging his umbrella on his arm as he reached out for my hand. "Don't." I flinched away. I did not want this man touching me. He pouted, raising his eyebrows, and looked incredibly childish, but also incredibly patronising. Eventually, I let him examine my hand.

"Remarkable."

"What is?" I dropped my hand from his grasp.

He turned around and started to walk away from me. I fixed my gaze on his back. If looks could kill, this man would have a dagger in his back. "Most people blunder round this city and all they see are streets and shops and cars. When you walk with Charlotte Holmes, you see the battlefield." He turned back to me, holding my gaze. "You've seen it already, haven't you?" He smirked on me, and all I wanted to do was to wipe the smirk off of his face, preferably with my fist.

"What's wrong with my hand?" He looked back towards my hand, a smile still playing around his lips.

"You have an intermittent tremor in your left hand." How did he know this? "Your therapist thinks it's post-traumatic stress disorder." No, he couldn't know this. "She thinks you're haunted by your memories of your military service."

"Who the hell are you?" I needed to calm down, I was beginning to crack. I couldn't hold this man's gaze. I was both terrified and infuriated. I was told that the exchanges between myself and my therapist were completely confidential. Clearly, in this so called 'free word', nothing was confidential anymore. "How do you know that?" My voice was shaking ever so slightly.

"Fire her." The man's gaze was so intense that I was surprised that it did not burn a hole through my skull. "She's got it the wrong way round. You're under stress right now and your hand is perfectly steady. You're not haunted by the war, Doctor Watson. You miss it." He leaned closer to me, until he was only a few inches from my face. It was only at this point, that I was able to look him straight in the eye again. "Welcome back." The words were barely more than a whisper, and yet they sent a chill down my spine unlike any that I had ever experienced before. Swining his umbrella, the man walked away into some other part of the warehouse. Possibly I wasn't the only person he needed to threaten today.]My phone chimed again. "Time to choose a side, Doctor Watson." The voice floated around the warehouse. I didn't – couldn't move. I felt paralysed. I could hear the tap of heeled shoes behind me and as I turned, I saw the pretty woman from before stood there. She was still glued to her phone as she addressed me, not bothering to look up.

"I'm to take you home." He voice was a stark contrast to that of – what I assumed to be – her boss. I pulled my phone out of my pocket for the third time and read the message.

Could be dangerous. – CH

My heart was racing. Charlotte was in a possibly dangerous situations and obviously wanted or needed my help. I put my phone in my pocket, and as I withdrew my hand, took a moment to consider the words of my kidnapper. He was right, it was perfectly steady, and I definitely felt under pressure, especially after the most recent text from Charlotte.

"Address?" My attentions were returned to the woman married to her phone.

""Baker Street," I replied without hesitation and moved towards the sleek, black car, which was waiting with the door open. "221B Baker Street." Then remembering the text, I added, "but I need to stop off somewhere first. "

We returned to my old flat. I did not have many possessions here, and soon I would be moving them into my new flat that I shared with Charlotte. The intimacy of the situation made my heart race and my stomach swoop, but now was not the time. I walked straight over to my empty desk, opened the draw and pulled out my gun. It was an old habit that I picked up in the army – always keep a gun close, you never know what enemies could be around the corner. Obviously, there was a considerably smaller number of 'enemies' in London than in Afghanistan, but it still put me at ease, knowing that I had something to defend myself with. Myself and Charlotte, now.

The journey to my old flat to my new flat was in silence, but I had expected nothing more. The car rolled up to the comforting sight of the black door with the brass lettering that I was already associating with home, security, and Charlotte. Just before I got out of the car, I turned to Anthea.

"Listen, your boss. Any chance you could not tell him this is where I went?" She looked up at the flat, and then to me, nodding her head and smiling slightly.

"Sure."

"You've told him already, haven't you?" She shot me an apologetic glance.

"Yeah." At any other time, I would have tried to flirt with her, possibly ask her when she was free – she was after all, quite pretty. But I knew that Charlotte was waiting for me in the flat, so I unceremoniously got out of the car, leaving Anthea without another word. The car door slammed beside me, and I climbed up the steps and knocked on the door. I still did not have a key yet. Mrs Hudson, my new landlady, beamed as she opened the door.

"She's upstairs dear," she said, gesturing to the ceiling above us an moving aside to let me pass. She clearly had high hopes for Charlotte and I, and I wanted to admit that, so did I. But Charlotte had asked me to come, and now was not the time to chit-chat. I made my way up the stairs to 221B, and prepared myself for what Charlotte had bought me here for.