A/N: Sorry. I meant to post this a while back; however, school has become rather tedious. I'm trying to keep all A's and not the torturous all A's but one B. I've been doing well so far, but my updates for this story may be a tad delayed every so often. ^^"

I'll admit I had a bit too much fun writing this. And by a bit I mean a lot. I really liked writing this chapter. So, I'm sorry for theatrics because that's basically what my happy-go-lucky kick created.

So, enjoy the chapter. :)

Also, warning, there are apparently a lot of errors in this chapter! Of course, there would be! I enjoy a chapter and it has a lot wrong with it. Well, according to Grammarly I have 137 errors in this, sadly. I'm just warning those who may cringe at my mistakes. ^^"

Don't own Sherlock.

Paint It Black

Chapter 18 – Lambent

- JOHN POV –

Not again. I swear, how many people are going to wish to keep kidnapping me in some level of sadism just to get to Sherlock? I know this is all to attract his attention. It has to be! And apparently I'm now being dubbed the newest damsel in bloody distress. I'm not some sodding weakling that can just be picked up and thrown around!

This is not what I signed up for when I met Sherlock Holmes.

Opening my eyes, I blearily looked around to what appeared to be a laboratory. Well, no, not what appeared to be a laboratory. There was no doubt that it was. Definitely more like one than the last warehouse I was held captive at. This one had everything from medical supplies (IV machines, ECG, etc.) to chemical tools (Bunsen burners, flasks, and beakers). Definitely an upgrade from before. Congratulations.

From what I could see, on one side of the room was a lengthy piece of glass clearly used for observation. At the end of the same wall was a door, possibly steel, that had a keypad on it. Well, I wasn't going to be getting out of here anytime soon, will I?

Isn't this just peachy.

Oh, the sarcasm hurts.

Glancing up at the ceiling, I noticed an air vent. Well, I suppose if I get desperate that is one way I could escape. Granted I doubt it is nearly as easy or comfortable as the movies portray.

A small tug at my left wrist resulted in tubes brushing my skin ever so lightly. No doubt I was being attached to an IV line to monitor the vital signs.

"Because every scientist needs to monitor their experiments expertly, John." Sherlock's voice echoed in my head. Even my own mental version of him was exasperated with my normal brain.

Well, I'm sorry that I can't deduce people by some minuscule detail, Mr. Smart Alec. I was under the assumption that I would be, oh I don't know, dissected or whatever by this point? Thinking of what a scientist does always is not one of my top priorities. I'm a doctor. I'm not a scientist. There is a difference I can assure you.

Oh, wonderful. I'm arguing with myself. This is certainly a sign that I am mentally adept in my situation.

Pushing the thoughts out of my head, I decided to focus on my annoying and humiliating status of an "Individual in angst and sorrow", which, for the record, I definitely did not categorize myself as. I was quite level-headed on the contrary.

Why did it have to be distress anyways? It seemed almost like a stereotype applied to any kidnapped victim and yet not every victim is distressed. Such is the case in Stockholm's syndrome.

But I'm going on tangents. I need to observe like I set out before.

Blinking slowly, I looked to my right and noticed another machine. It was almost an exact replica of the IV on my left except it was transfusing a substance into my veins instead of merely monitoring. The fluid was ink black and when I followed the tube to where the injection was taking place, I cringed mentally at the obvious discoloration in my skin from the abnormal substance.

Whatever was being injected was already beginning to affect me.

I didn't bother moving my limbs. One reason was the blatantly obvious. I was bonded to the gurney in metallic clamps that were probably pressure controlled by the American scientist. Said clamps were adhering me to the gurney around my neck, ankles, and wrists. I wasn't going to be leaving as long as they were applied, discernibly.

The second was a physical observation that I could have noted without opening my eyes. Besides the pins and needles gathering in every crevice and inch in my limbs, I noticed a very potent amount of weight. It felt as if I was slowly turning to metal, the liquid solidifying my muscles into bars of steel. They were so heavy that running (or climbing if you count the air ducts) was out of the question.

God damn it. I cursed mentally.

Or at least I thought I did. When I heard the echo bounce off the walls, it seemed very clear that I, in fact, did not keep such lovely pleasantries in my head. Oh, woe is me.

And who would come slinking in at my call?

"Hello, Dr. Watson."

I narrowed my eyes at the man in a grey-splotched lab coat, grinning at the catch he made. His eyes twinkled in delight and fascination. Why would he dare be fascinated by this predicament? There was nothing remotely mesmerizing where I was being held captive.

When I finally opened my eyes wider to grasp the larger image, I grimaced and held back a moan. It felt like everything was suddenly moving in circles, alternating from color to Monochrome and back. It was worse than being stuck in a tornado or being sucked in a whirlpool. It was nauseating and I had to close my eyes tightly to keep any resemblance of dignity within me.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that the black substance did this to me.

"I see that you have become aware of the current metamorphisms occurring in your body, doctor. Magnificent, isn't it?" The man grinned cheekily, or so I imagined considering I still was against opening my eyes a smidgeon. Why did it take so long for the effects to hit me? I was able to view the room in perfect Monochromism and yet the second it hit him, I was suddenly thrown into a different area where my equilibrium was knocked off. "I'm sure you have been awake for a while now and are confused about your situation, yes? Well, in theory, I planned to give you one dose in increments to test the serum in your body, but I didn't feel like waiting thus leading to why there is a constant amount being injected. It seems your body has enough now to finally begin the changes."

I choked up a scoff at that. Taking slow breaths, I awaited the nausea to pass before asking, "Who are you?"

He didn't respond immediately. When I squinted my eyes open, I decided to not narrow on one separate subject. Perhaps if I just see everything without seeing it than this sickness will be more bearable.

The scientist was pacing in front of my gurney, hands in pockets and leaning back, "Oh wouldn't you like to know! I mean, I would love to tell you, but I am under strict negotiations from the boss. These lips won't utter a single name referring to myself."

I rolled my eyes and regretted the action. Pain shot through my skull like a knife and I cursed under my breath.

"Then how about color since that has been your subject for so long," I derided at the man. He didn't seem to notice my tone and smiled brightly as if I was actually participating in his eager madman theories of color. That would be met with a strict denial. I was merely preventing the inevitable at this point.

That is unless Sherlock is on his way.

Who I am partially blaming for this entire mess. I say partially because I did follow the high effects of adrenaline with a craving for more. My heart did take that familiar leap that comes with a new mission to take part in. Feet were quick and stealth. Hands ready and, for once, steady. Mind sharper than any.

My "captain" persona had been received with gratitude on its part and I did nothing to stop its eager leap.

But, it was still Sherlock's fault for volunteering for such an endeavor.

I sighed and the scientist paused. Apparently he had been talking and I didn't pay attention. The furrowed brow only served to emphasize his annoyance. It was with that look that I caught onto a glint. It was quick but definitely there.

A glint to suddenly plunge everything he had into his subject just to see how it worked.

I grimaced internally. Despite my aggravations at my current situation, I did not want to forgo any situations of anger with the color madman. Said color was currently spurring off of him like roots for infection and that only aided in making the pain in my skull escalate.

No, I needed him calm and fascinated. In fact, I should probably aim to keep him occupied. That would be best. Away from the coursing beast in him, whatever it may be, and towards the compliant, yet mentally unstable, man in front of me.

"I'm sorry," I apologized, forcing my teeth away from their clenched position to sound normal and sincere. "I didn't catch on to what you said earlier. I only sighed because I couldn't hear you. I'm," I paused, searching for the right word, "Genuinely curious of your findings, doctor."

The added title seemed to fix him right up for he was immediately getting closer to me, his eyes becoming brighter and brighter as he expressed his desires, theories, and biased opinions.

"Oh? Then allow me to repeat myself. I am very prone to rambling to myself more so than company, you see. It is a weakness with me. But to be fair to myself," he grinned a shark-teeth smile, the glint back with hidden intentions I did not have the wish to decipher, "it is my only weakness."

"Really now?" I replied with amused nonchalance, although I felt none of the kind.

I saw the man's lips turn into a small smirk as he sauntered over to the black liquid, mutters of "almost done" and "can't believe he lasted this long" being the following whispers. My eyes narrowed at the man, lips tightening into a thin line of hardened stone.

This was all gone when he turned back.

"Color," he began, "Is lovely. It expresses so much of what we fail to imagine. It's amazing really. How color will broaden our horizons. So crafty color is!" But he sighed. "Alas, it is unreliable. It is the other side of the same coin. This has nothing to do with the perception itself but for the human error that guides it. Fickle mortals." I caught the name at the end and restricted myself from replying.

Mortals. As if he wasn't one. As if we were lower than he.

My arms became rather heavy at that moment, my gaze transfixed to its change. The tubes interlaced under his skin with doctor-like precision, black liquid transfiguring the skin to look incredibly malnourished and sickly. All of a sudden the sinking feeling that this had caused that change from the name of a mortal to some other race was beginning to settle.

I stared at the blackened spots and flinched when they began to hold the same nauseating shift of the scientist in front of me. When I looked up to meet his gaze, he was smiling a composed, keen grin of a shark playing with the small fish of the sea. He was amused. It was blatantly obvious.

I found myself speaking before I could think it through.

"Why did you come back for me? Why not turn to somebody else who might as well be more acquiescent than myself?" The tone was something I didn't expect to use on this man. That emotion of admitting to one's confusion.

Honesty.

But at that moment, it seemed that the spoken question was all that I wanted to hear from those expectant lips.

Dragging a chair from somewhere I had not taken observation of, the man sat down heavily. It made it appear as if my question had tired him out suddenly.

He took a deep breath and then opened his eyes again. They were staid, acute, and sharp. His entire form expressed a different personality than the flamboyant scientist I had begun to deceive mere moments before.

I watched him through a narrowed gaze, his form flickering left and right in a dizzying pattern, in case it was to change back within a quick distraction in my direction.

His mouth opened. "You are the prime neutral testing subject, Doctor… or should I say, Captain Watson?" My lips tightened, but that only served to loosen his even more so. "I'm sure you recall the Faded Resistance, hm?"

I didn't give him the satisfactory of a response, but it seemed my words weren't necessary for his continuance. Instead, he grabbed a board off the table next to the machine oozing black serum into my skin, flipping a page back as if viewing the medical history of a patient, or in this case, myself.

"As the captain, you directed your squad to whatever the case may be that involved an organization threatening the lives of others. These consisted of the Sepia Order, Faded Resistance, and so on." He flipped a few pages, humming in the absence of voices. "You had a high success rate of saving the people but your team was never able to catch those who organized it all. Not until your last mission. What was it? Project…"

"Stonewashed," I spoke this with an emotionless mask. If glares could burn, the scientist speaking of my military past would be nothing but smoke and ashes.

"Ah, yes. Stonewashed. Thank you." He smiled at me with mirth that I didn't reflect nearly as easily. "That was your last mission, wasn't it? Your team caught wind of a Faded Resistance meeting and began descending onto the unsuspected 'criminals'. It seems the source was right because they were there. But it wasn't that easy. Gasses surrounding the inner chambers, each scientist wearing a gas mask to keep them from the fumes."

He paused after that, snickering at something on the page before continuing. "Your team were unprepared for the gasses therefore none of you seemed to have gas masks. How… uncharacteristically careless, wouldn't you say? Opportunistic attackers reigning in with nothing to whip? One of you would have had to risk your lives."

Even though my face was a mask, my body contradicted it by relaxing against the tilted gurney. It strained my muscles and skin roughly clipped by the clasps, but the tense prickle of rigidity was causing more stress than keeping my pride in place completely. Perhaps the way I was situated was purposely set for that.

The scientist peeked up from his notes at my alteration and offered an apologetic smile, "Oh, I'm sorry. Are those things uncomfortable for you? I thought it would be best for you to wake up here before I moved you, you know. Sadly, I am not able to even perform that much until your history is confirmed. Do you understand my dilemma, Dr. Watson?"

My eyes raked through his form for any sarcasm or lies to trick me, but I saw none.

Rolling his eyes at my obstinacy, he got up and went to the door I previously thought led to an observing dock. Instead, he opened it and turned on the lights. I was able to tell through the windows in the side of the lab that it was another room, strikingly similar to rooms kept for patients of high-pathogens with an even higher contagious rate.

An isolated chamber in other words.

Leaving the door open, he walked back to the chair and sat down, resting the clipboard on his knees as he flipped to the page he was on. After a minute, he looked up to me with expectations.

Part of me wondered if this doctor, this scientist, suffered from multiple personalities for the complete polarity of his emotions from the first encounter to the amenable man in front of me. In this state, he was as most researchers were. He mainly was in it for the experiment, whereas the other counterpart mainly was pleasing Moriarty in this case.

Common sense spoke volumes in this moment. I needed to be as yielding as possible to keep this man in this… state. It was going to be annoying, to say the least, and more than a bit dignity draining, but it was necessary.

Just as the scene he depicted earlier just before my sudden defiance.

"Doctor," he acquiesced, his eyebrows furrowing, "What did you do when you had to sacrifice one of your men to perform your duties?"

You have the notes I wanted to say. Why can't you confirm my past with them?

There was nothing traumatic of my case. It was just a very unpleasant situation that led to a even more disagreeable result. I didn't wish to recall it.

But I wanted to buy time. Buy time for this man to stay the same. Buy time for Sherlock to get his arse over here. I needed to buy time and thus going down memory lane was the best course of action. The only reasonable course to follow.

"I went in myself," I found myself speaking with clipped syllables. "None of my men had gas masks, as you pointed out, but I would rather risk myself to resolve the situation than any of their lives. I was acting as a captain should."

The scientist hummed tonelessly before tapping a few fingers on the board.

"And you were able to settle the hazard before it was able to accumulate?"

I nodded.

That's when he put the board aside and leaned in, interest gleaming dangerously in his eyes.

"But that's not the finality, isn't it?" He all but purred and the hungry look of information in his eyes was becoming harder to meet. "You were vulnerable to the fumes of the area. According to the paper, you were in there for an hour as your men rushed to their duties. Where did those fumes go?"

My eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

That shark-like grin resurfaced like a veil over a horrible piece of art, "Where did they go? They didn't just poof into the air, did they? No osmosis allowed those poisonous gasses to magically evaporate from the pores in your skin! What happened to those gasses?"

This was one of the main controversial topics that lead to myself being sent back home. It was more so out of precaution, but it still tweaked under my skull every so often. A little nudge at wondering what the effects would be. Would I grow a limb? Experience cancer? Lose the touch for soul mates? Anything was possible with the testing the Faded Resistance had created.

"It's still in my body," my voice spoke audibly.

Apparently that was the conclusion the oddly calm madman wished to hear.

Standing, he glided over to my IV with the black substance and flicked it a little bit, "Very much so! It's still floating in all those glorious little cells. Wonderful, isn't it? You have been changing ever since you have returned and you wouldn't even have noticed it with the gradualism of it all."

Fingers prodded at my skin, poking at the blemishes of darkened gray with avid curiosity. The clasps and my own will were what kept me from flinching or avoiding those fingers.

The man continued with perilous haste. "You see, doctor. When I responded and said you were the prime neutral subject, it was due to the fact that you had suffered from the fumes of the Faded Resistance. It was not because of your Monochromism."

"But are you not part of the Sepia Order?" I responded quickly, confused at the direction this was heading.

His shoulders lifted and fell in a shrug. "I have been a part of many organizations over the years. You see, when organizations require the scientific help of one specializing in color, there are very limited people who are willing to perform such acts of… anarchy." He grinned, staring in the distance briefly as if recalling a wonderful past. "Therefore I have been, at one point or another, been involved in the rebellious actions of the Faded Resistance."

After a moment, I decided to ask the obvious question. "Fine. Then why does my past involvement in the FR have anything to do with your… projects."

"Experiments," he corrected politely. "And, once again, it is due to the fumes. Those infected by those have been significantly successful in one way or another. I have myself to be the living proof."

"And those other experiments? The people at your last encampment?"

He grimaced. "Those were the failed attempts of the serum."

I took in the information with a slow uptake. "Then you technically created the Sepia Order all on your own."

He shrugged again and went back to pressing buttons.

"More or less. This time won't be like those other failures, though. You will be better than them, better than me even." He cocked a brow at me when I stiffened. "You seem surprised. Did you truly think I didn't notice your procrastination? I'm not an amateur, doctor. While you were speaking, I increased the intake of the serum in your system to make up for the loss time. Even as I am speaking to you, your body is surely racing with this liquid coursing through your veins and altering your genetic code."

I blinked at him slowly. It was a façade now to hide the fact that I was very much aware of how my body was altering and the fear that chased it even further.

Perhaps a different approach is in order.

"Is this all a part of Moriarty's plan?"

The scientist blinked in confusion at the different topic. He had not expected that. It took a good amount of will to hold back my pleased smirk.

At last, the man quirked his lips, "And why would it matter? There is no reason for me to tell you."

"And there is no reason why you shouldn't," I countered, meeting his gaze steadily. "As you have politely hinted, I have no way to leave this place. I am as good as chained."

I let it soak in and rose my brows when the once hesitant scientist pressed a few buttons that released the clasps. The floor met my descent quickly seeing as I had no strength to move any of my limbs. My legs were lead and my arms much like extra weight. Fighting was futile and the scientist knew it.

Said scientist got close to me and placed his arm around my waist as he heaved my body up with a small groan. I felt my legs clomp forward at a slow pace, but I personally had no control over them. It was an odd feeling.

He reached behind him to grab the detached IV line containing the black fluid, pinching off the needle and rubbing the wound where the clear IV was effectively removed.

The door that he kept open awaited me as we gradually, and silently, made our way. It was slow and tedious. I clenched my teeth to keep agitation being released from my lips and I could hear the American's breathing becoming rather labored as he carried most if not all of the weight.

"What's the point in this?" I asked after we proceeded through the cell. The scientist looked behind him and reached out to press a few buttons as well as swiping his index finger across the access code. I took this chance to continue my prodding. "You explained why I was necessary. What you have failed to explain is why the goal is needed."

Our advancing ceased as he thought over my question. I observed the room as he did so, getting used to my surroundings being the top priority.

There was an air vent in the wall that separated the lab from the containment cell. Other than that, the only means of escape would be the door itself and by the looks of the finger swiping system, I highly doubted that it was going to be possible to go that way unless I hacked it, and technology wasn't exactly my specialty.

Off to the far corner was a cot, perhaps a twin size, with pristine white sheets and white blankets on an even whiter mattress and bed frame. It was all white, almost as if everything had been sterilized with bleach.

Beside it was a small end table with a small device with a button, red in contrast. The window I saw earlier appeared to be nothing more than a mirror, much like in those American NCIS programs.

Lastly, a door was perpendicular to the bed. It was easily assumed that this was the bathroom where all the necessities would be dealt with.

No technology. No books or even pen or paper. No sketchbooks and pencils. It was barren, leaving me, myself, and my empty mind for company.

It was at this moment the scientist decided to finally answer my question.

"I… just want to see how something works. In a personal goal, I would like to observe the effects of this serum on someone of your stature. In a long-term assessment, it's safe to assume that this will be used for some diabolical plan of some degree, hm?" He raised his brow in my direction whereas my own furrowed at his vague answer.

But I found no energy to retort his words. Exhaustion had me crippled from the exertion my body was being strained under even if I was not the one controlling it voluntarily.

He noticed this quickly.

"Ah, you're tired! We should not leave you standing." He rushed me over to the bed and placed me down. Heaving my legs up onto the mattress, I stared at my useless limbs with annoyance and dull fear. The scientist was quick to adjust the IV to my side where any tossing or turning would not affect it. Once he pressed a few more buttons, he smiled at me.

It looked scarily similar to his other persona.

"Now, I have some tests to run and you are going to stay here. If you need help, this," he pointed to the mechanism with the red button, "will alert me. Just press it and I will be in if I am in the lab or perhaps somebody else of the vicinity."

"Somebody else?" I questioned although the words were slurred. The American smiled at me with pity and patted my head, much to me various stages of irritation.

With that, he left the room and soon after it went dark, the only lights coming from the air vents attached to the lab.

As unconsciousness came to me, my thoughts reached out to Lucille and Sherlock as I wondered how they were doing.

I had complete trust in Sherlock's abilities. They were intelligent and absolutely brilliant.

But would he be able to find this place? Surely he knows the man responsible. That much can be given by Mrs. Hudson.

I fell asleep soon after, troubles causing ripples in my mind.

SHERLOCK POV

I watched John leave for a split second before turning back to the Translucent girl in front of me. She also seemed to carefully observe the doctor's leaving. When she met my gaze, she was of a less comfortable position. It was as if tension and caution had restricted her.

It was safe to assume why this was the case. She had trusted John since he had not only saved her but her brother as well. I, on the other hand, had little to do with it. She had never met me on a personal level and only had the good doctor's word to go off of to assume I wasn't someone to cause harm.

But at the same time this change was absolutely infuriating. When one is as tense as she is, they are careful with what they say and keep their information close to their chest. They don't give out more than they have to and if they do it's like you are pulling out their teeth.

A sigh escaped my lips that did nothing to calm her.

I could smile, but that would not benefit either of us. I'm not sure how efficient my smiles are. John never told me.

Small talk was another option, but it would again prove to be futile. I was not one to make pleasant small talk. It was a time waster. It was absolutely atrocious and only put things off.

So, instead, I will have to use my usual approach for her. The direct approach. At least until John comes back to place some sense into her.

However, it was her voice that spoke first.

"He isn't coming back."

"John?" She nodded mutely at my response.

"I'm going to assume you know where he went," I speak as I resume my spot on the chair. This time, my hands were clasped together in thought. Partially over John's sudden leaving and Lucille's own information regarding such.

She shook her head, the white hair bouncing as she did. "No," she asserts softly. "I mean, I am not positive of who this individual is. Words and little else appeared to me in their wake."

Individual? Ah, he must have gone with someone, however, he would have told me. An abduction is more likely. Haste would be much appreciated perhaps, but I need facts and information to be so. Running around with no data is less productive and more obstructive.

And this little girl was going to be the start of that collection it seems.

"Do you have any features of the individual?" I questioned.

Lucille shook her head. "I can only catch bits and pieces. Nothing big and important."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "Any information is much appreciated Miss Lucille."

Her eyes seemed to narrow at my tone of voice, but I made no notion to apologize. "An American. Preferably an American scientist took him."

That struck a chord immediately. I probed Lucille on, mentally scrolling through my mind palace.

"I only faintly gathered his name. He never gave it, you see. Although you are probably aware of our Translucent ways, Mr. Holmes."

"Sherlock," I corrected. "And yes. Gathering information that they never state. Much like the common methods of deduction."

She nodded. "A tad different but yes. Anyhow, the name I gathered may or may not be his. A John Dalton."

The name sounded strikingly familiar. After a moment, I realized with bitter irony how he had the same name of the man who described his own color blindness in his research. Funny how one can soon become an extremist of something so easily discernable.

Agitation welcomed me with open arms at this deduction. The thought of what and who John was being held by promoted small actions of anxiety. I could feel my fingers tapping against the chair with a quickened pace.

I abhorred these emotions.

Why am I getting so caught up by this? I'm supposed to be on a case. Not worrying over a doctor.

However, I still found myself striding towards the door to peer down the stairs. The front door was wide open and swung softly with the light breeze that filtered in. No destruction proved a struggle but sedatives might have come into play.

Another door opens and closes and Mrs. Hudson is there to shut the door, locking it as well.

"Mrs. Hudson," I called out to the elderly woman and she looked up. "Have you seen Dr. Watson anywhere?"

She shakes her head. "John? Oh no, dear. I saw him come down to answer the door. Perhaps he went out?"

Unlikely.

I looked back at Lucille and saw she was paler than she previously was, a feat when it comes to her genes.

"John…" she whispered, then she looks right at me, almost as if she could see me. "The scientist wanted John. He wasn't looking to go after us at all before. He… he wanted to follow you home."

Cursing loudly, I threw on my coat and wrapped a scarf around my neck. As I was unlocking the door, I glance at Mrs. Hudson and told her to watch Lucille.

As a last thought, a fleeting one at that, I run up and grab John's gun before racing out the door. You can never be too cautious I suppose.

For some odd reason, everything decided to happen once John arrived. No sooner had these cases appeared. No later than his introduction to myself. No, they decided to happen immediately once he got here. It was like he was prone to danger. Perhaps he was but that would be illogical and irrational thinking.

I didn't bother hailing a cab. It would be better to turn down an alley to the closest area of information. The Yard would be useless here.

As my feet made contact with the dirty alleys, I tried to think about how to pursue the attacker but found myself wondering about John. If he was okay. If he was injured. He just got out of the bloody hospital a few weeks ago. His injuries were not all fully healed.

I resisted the sudden action to halt.

Why was I concerned? Furthermore, why was I worried?

Why did I care?

I'm a machine and machines don't care.

But what I feel now can only be described as caring.

Sighing angrily, I pushed the thoughts aside. One bridge at a time and John was the first one to make.