A/N: Yup, the sequel is FINALLY here! (beams) Hooray?

First off, though… Thank you from the bottom of my heart for all the love and affection you've given the prequel! It was my first 'Sherlock' chapter fic so you can only imagine how my heart sings. (BEAMS, and hugs) Thank you! I truly hope that you'll find this sequel worthy of your expectations.

WARNINGS: A SEQUEL. Violence. Quite dark themes. Language.

DISCLAIMER: Yeah, right…! If I'd own 'Sherlock' we'd be waiting for season 5 right about now, not pining for number 3. (starts sobbing hysterically) C'mon, we all know that there'll be AT LEAST 5 seasons. Hopefully closer to 50. (grins)

Awkay… I guess there's no stalling further, huh? (shudders) I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

The Seven Steps

Fantasy

Nine months had passed by from when Sherlock Holmes was last allowed to be with John Watson. For just one night in the hospital. With both of them knowing that the doctor would be transferred to a unknown location the following day he snuck into the hospital far past visiting hours, dressed up as a doctor. There were a million things they needed to talk about – a thousand scars, inside and out, to be soothed – but John was in no condition to be exhausted in such a manner. So they simply lay there, the doctor in his bed and Sherlock in a painfully uncomfortable arm chair, watching crappy night time movies until an actual member of staff came to chase Sherlock away. Just before being all but bodily dragged away Sherlock swore that Moran would pay. That he'd bring an end to the whole goddamn nightmare, once and for all.

John, the trusting fool that he was, gave a smile Sherlock blamed on heavy pain medication. 'I know. I believe in you, Sherlock.'

(Neither had noticed that somewhere along the way their fingers had entwined, just like they did once when they ran into the night together. But they both shivered from cold when the physical contact broke.)

Nine fucking months.

No one barely noticed Sherlock as the detective marched into the police station. Since John had been taken away to safety the detective had basically lived in the building, driving everyone inside up the wall. In the end Mycroft had seen no other choice but to give his brother a small room, a subtle distance away from everyone else. In a matter of weeks the room's walls became covered by pictures, notepads and clues. Yet all leads, no matter how promising several of them were, slammed to a dead end.

Some days Sherlock could almost hear Sebastian Moran laugh.

Fortunately Sherlock was kept sharp and motivated. Most likely coming to the conclusion that Sherlock needed something that'd link him to sanity Mycroft also provided his brother a computer. What he didn't mention was that if one was clever enough to figure out the necessary passwords it was possible to get footage from a tiny countryside children's hospital in a unknown location. It took Sherlock's fuming and frustrated head a month to realize the opportunity. As expected the detective couldn't resist the temptation.

At first Sherlock didn't recognize the noticeably thin man with slightly spiked dark hair. But then he noticed the slight limp and the stiffness of left arm. When he saw those eyes properly he knew. The makeover might fool anyone else but not him. It was clear that the doctor wasn't eating or sleeping enough but at least he was alive, trying to make the most out of the life he'd been thrown into. Sherlock wanted to tell John that he understood, that he felt the same way. He also wanted to tell that one day this would all be over. That one day they'd be back in Baker Street, where they belonged. Bickering and solving cases together.

It was a sweet dream.

Once again lost into the footage Sherlock didn't even notice that he'd been holding his breath, as though afraid of breaking an illusion, until he unleashed a shuddering sigh.

It was hard – far harder than could be explained with any amount of reason – to just watch John from afar. To see all those changes, to see the same ache that was gnawing his own insides every single day. But at least now they both knew that the other was alive. At least now there was hope. Enough hope to chase him to watch this footage every single day, until he'd finally have John back home once more.

All of a sudden John's eyes rose, almost like sensing the pair of eyes observing him. Sherlock's fingers tingled while a tiny, sad smile appeared to the doctor's face for a moment before the man shook his head. Soon the children claimed John's attention.

Safe in his solitude Sherlock couldn't hold back a frail smile as he watched how John looked after the children with affection and care, a protective gleam in his eyes. With a heavy weight sitting on his chest he observed how the doctor ushered the children inside, safe from the rain that'd fall soon. Something dark and heavy that'd become Sherlock's constant companion since the infamous fall settled in. The weight was so great that breathing became a struggle.

He couldn't tell what it was – all he knew was that 'it' still possessed him into writing a never to be sent letter for John every damn day. He wasn't even ready to give 'it' a name just yet. But he did know, for a fact, that he would've given just about anything if…

There was a knock on the door. Unable to really tell why Sherlock wiped his eyes before managing to switch off the computer, barely bearing to watch how John disappeared. Exactly ten seconds after the knock the door was opened.

Mycroft didn't offer him a smile or words of comfort. No matter how furious Sherlock was with his brother he was grateful for that, at least. There was no telling how he would've reacted to those hollow, pitying words.

Sherlock gave the arrival a wry look. "Yes, dear brother. I'm still alive."

Mycroft didn't appear impressed. The man's arms folded and forehead wrinkled. "I'm not in the mood, Sherlock." The tone was clipped. There was a second's pause. "You invaded a yet another crime scene today. I heard that you punched one of my men. It's already all over the internet."

Sherlock's eyes hardened. His fingers began to drum restlessly. "It's Moran behind this again, Mycroft. He's taunting me. He wants my attention."

Mycroft's eyes darkened. "He wants to watch you suffer. And I'm not giving him that satisfaction."

"Well you also can't hold me captive here while he's still out there!" Sherlock snarled.

Mycroft gritted his teeth and Sherlock could've sworn that he saw a vein swell. "Look… We're still dealing with the storm caused by your resurrection. Your reputation hasn't been restored yet you keep intruding crime scenes, attacking members of law enforcement. Right now you're drawing far too much unwanted attention to yourself. And Moran's enjoying every second of it. This, you losing your mind… It's exactly what he wants."

For a second Sherlock stared, then snorted. "I lost my mind a long time ago. Remember?" He cast a threatening look towards his brother. "Fine, fine. Order received. Not get the hell out. We'll never catch Moran if you keep yapping at me."

Mycroft gave a loud huff, running a hand through his hair. In the end his brother seemed to come to the conclusion that there was nothing he could do. The door was nearly slammed shut.

As soon as Mycroft had left Sherlock tapped the space above his top drawer twice, then once to the left side. The drawer gave a soft click and he pulled it open, carefully making sure that no one was about to enter and catch him in the act. Once convinced he looked down, stared at the contents.

What looked like hundrets of pieces of paper looked back at him. Tiny notes. He began to find them from crime scenes they suspected to be Moran's doing almost as soon as John had been taken away. Some of them were words, some pictures. Little threats and taunts.

Gritting his teeth, he took the newest one from his pocket and added it to the collection. A small piece of paper he'd found from a victim's mouth when no one noticed. This one was different from the rest. Apparently Moran was done playing with him – it was time to get serious.

'2356. A bench in the park. Come alone or watch your heart burn.

M'

The message was finalised with a small photo of John in his current hospital.

Sherlock felt like snorting. 2356. The time of Moriarty's death. Such foolish sentimentality.

Exactly eighteen seconds later his chair was empty.

Sherlock's steps were slow as he approached a park's bench, then sat down. It was getting cold. Soon it'd rain.

Wasn't it raining where John was, too?

His instincts were surprisingly sharp, considering how deep in thought he was. He spotted the shadowy figure approaching him long before the man sat down. Every single muscles in his body stiffened.

There was a unreadable look on Sebastian Moran's face. "It's a beautiful night, isn't it?"

Sherlock wasn't interested. His eyes sharpened. "What am I doing here?"

Moran emitted a sound of amusement. "Always straight to the business with you. Well, then…" There was a brief pause while the man lit up a cigarette. "Frankly, it's getting rather boring to observe your mental breakdown, the mighty detective's continuing fall from grace. So I've decided to make this a little more interesting."

Sherlock frowned, his fingers itching to grab his gun. Dread made the hair in the back of his neck rise. "How are you planning on doing that?"

Out of all the items Sebastian might've picked up Sherlock hadn't expected this. A cell phone. The man chose numbers and pressed 'dial', then offered the phone to him with a deviously sweet smile. "Go on ahead, Sherlock. I'm sure you've been anxious to get the chance to talk to him."

In a flash Sherlock knew with chilling certainty. And then John's voice floated to his consciousness. "Hello?" The doctor sounded tense and tired. Suspicious. "Who are you, and how did you get this number?"

It was torture, to hear John's voice under such circumstances. To not be able to utter a single word. Sherlock hung up, venom appearing to his murderous eyes when they were fixed on Sebastian. "You son of a bitch…!"

Sebastian held out a admonishing finger. "Tut tut, Sherlock. Surely you wouldn't want me to pay the good doctor a visit?" The killer leaned closer, obviously enjoying all those things that must've radiated from Sherlock. "That agent assigned to ensure his safety was no good, really. I've been keeping an eye on him for a while now."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. His hand was already tightening around his gun. "I'm not going to let you hurt him."

"I'm not quite sure I could possibly hurt him worse than you have, if I'm to be honest." A head was tilted before the verbal torture continued. "Did you know that he has nightmares – every… single… night? That he always wakes up screaming. They're not of the war anymore, you know? At least not of the one in Afganistan. Sometimes he even cries out for you, although I can tell that he tries to hold himself back. He must miss you terribly. But don't worry. You may be together again sooner than you'd think."

Unable to restrain himself anymore Sherlock put the gun directly to Sebastian's forehead. It took all his willpower not to pull the trigger. "Leave him out of this."

Sebastian arched an eyebrow, showing him the cell phone once more. Unimpressed. "Really, Sherlock? Are you actually going to take the risk when I may have foreseen this option?"

No, he wasn't. Gritting his teeth so hard that it hurt Sherlock glared at the other man, who looked away with a amused expression, smoking calmly. "What the hell do you want?"

"We, detective Holmes, are going to play a little game. And then one of us dies." Those eyes flickered towards him for a moment. "You're familiar with Russian roulette, yes?"

TBC, OR NOT?

A/N: Oh boy… (winces) So okay, we know that this isn't over – otherwise this'd be a pretty dull story and I'm fairly sure that you guys would come hunting me down. (smirks sheepishly) BUT, the question is, under what circumstances will our boys meet again? And just how much damage has been done – and can it be fixed?

Sooooo… (gulps) Was that any good at all in your book? Or should I just gun this down right now? PLEASE, leave a note and let me know! Starting a new story is always nerve wrecking so it'd mean a lot to me. (gives puppy's eyes)

Thank you so much for reading thus far! Maybe I'll see you again later…?

Take care!

Guest: Awww, it makes me super glad to hear that you liked the story so much! (beams) As you've noticed if you're reading this, the sequel is already up. I truly hope that it turns out worthy of your expectations.

Massive thank yous for the review!