Author's Note: So, here's the 2nd chapter! Thank you to all my lovely reviewers. Also, thank God I got this chapter up because my Document Manager wasn't working yesterday. I hope you enjoy it. Reviews are always appreciated:)

Though the former army doctor was normally well familiarized with gory situations, given his previous occupation, the tantalizing sight of what was potentially the blood of his best friend, unnerved John completely.

He supposed he must have been in shock because he felt as if his body was locked in that position, for the vague idea of shifting his limbs in any direction was disconcerting.

Despite being fully aware that his thoughts and actions were irrational, the sandy haired man found himself visualizing the horrid image of a certain detective jolting directly towards the creamy colored wall, as the man's blood lined fingers cascaded downward in a thoughtful motion, until his broken body finally collapsed and succumbed to the ominous allure of darkness.

This, of course, was a worst case scenario, but, nevertheless, the possibility rested heavily upon the soldier's mind.

Trying to steady his husky breathing and accelerated pulse, John pondered what a particular consulting detective would have done had he been entangled in such a dumbfounding predicament.

Come on, what would Sherlock do? Well, I suppose, for starters, he would scan the room in the way he always does; he certainly wouldn't be standing around like a lame duck mourning over his idiotic flat mate…no, he'd go off on some clever notion and know precisely where to go from there…

Just imaging his best friend's typical behavior served only as another scathing blow to John's already deteriorating physique.

The terror that slowly corroded his heart was not in actuality caused by the obvious; rather, what truly remained shrouded beneath the surface were his own doubts.

But I'm not Sherlock…I never will be…I'm just too ordinary…an idiot…if I hadn't left, none of this would have ever happened.

It appeared that in the midst of this traumatic event, the trembling John Watson had neglected the fact that his ginger haired visitor was still standing right behind him.

In the mere minutes that had elapsed since she had entered the room, Amy Pond had been scanning the scarlet message.

What does it mean? Is it a warning or a threat? I suppose it can't be good whatever it is…one thing's for sure; we can't just stand round here…The inquisitive girl decided, while struggling against the internal fear of uncertainty.

Traveling with the Doctor for so long had given her an unexpected confidence, which now compelled her to take action.

Finally submitting to her impulses, Amy Pond cautiously wandered her way closer to the star-struck John.

Before she tried to get him to move, she ever so carefully observed his facial expressions. In a way, the former army doctor's face was an alarming sight to behold, as it was convulsed with a sickening mixture of rage, fear, sadness and confusion.

Fortunately, the red head had witnessed these symptoms before in a certain man in a bow tie, so she was not clueless as to how to handle the situation from there. In fact, she was extremely sympathetic towards him.

Lightly tapping John's shoulder, Amy began to speak melodically.

"John, come on, everythin's goin' to be just fine. I'll even help ya find your friend if you like…but ya can't just stand here…ya know ya can't…believe me, I know how ya feel, but if ya allow yourself to become too emotional, it will only make matters worse…I could tell ya that just from knowin' the Doctor…but, one thing he would never do is give up…"

The soothing tone of the young ginger caused the broken man to suddenly lurch back into the harsh confines of reality.

It was as if something in his mind had welded together at precisely the right moment, allowing him to extricate himself from his turmoil.

Instinctively, John shifted in her direction, now intent on making progress.

"Right…um…okay, then…we better get a move on…Amy, you can search through the room…look for any sort of thing that might give us a lead…and I'll examine this wall…and try to deduce the possibilities surrounding these words…remember to work as quickly as possible because there's no way of telling how much time we've got left…"

Even as he relayed these words, John felt the familiar thrill of action seep into his bones, willing him to perform a rather gut wrenching action.

Fingering the crimson letters, John wondered whether the fluid smeared across the wall was truly blood at all. Even if it was, there was no decisive way to tell if it was indeed Sherlock's.

What was bizarre was that there didn't appear to be any other splotches strewn across the room, which was either a sign of forgery or a horrible piece of evidence that whoever had written the message must have done so in extreme desperation.

Nevertheless, it was plausible that whoever had spilled their blood in such a gruesome fashion had purposely intended for him to read it.

Could Sherlock have been trying to warn me, or is this a threat?

John was utterly puzzled by the sight and continued to battle the raging doubts that were seeking entrance to his mind.

Besides the constant rustling of crumpled pages, the room was characterized by a deafening silence.

The veteran attempted to continue his thorough examination, but it was becoming very difficult due to the unfruitful results thus far.

Ugh. I'm getting nowhere with this!

His thoughts were suddenly vanquished by a slightly unsteady voice that began to echo through the interior of the flat.

"John, I think I may have found somethin', it's probably nothin', but…" The red head had barely finished her sentence, when suddenly John bolted over in her direction.

Her pale, wavering hands clasped a seriously disheveled book that had obviously been torn apart.

The former army doctor didn't recognize its significance until his hazel eyes hastily locked onto an unusual red streak that was spattered across a single word.

"'Air'? What the heck is that supposed to mean?" John was utterly befuddled and frankly disappointed.

"Yeah, I don't know what to make of it, either. But that's not all…there's more in these other books…" Amy clustered a stack of approximately five books in her lap and carefully fumbled the top one open to another page.

Her finger pointed to another crimson stain, which was situated upon a page number.

"'27'…seems a bit random, right? Well, wait 'til ya see what's in these other books. Look, a smear on the 'T' of this title page, and another on an 'S'. 'Air, 27, T, S,' could it be like a code or somethin'? Or maybe your friend or whoever was tryin' to search for somethin' at the last minute…but, it might not mean anythin' at all…"

The voice of the ginger trailed off, and her gaze shifted to the man who was presently deep in concentration.

It was becoming increasingly apparent to John that Sherlock had likely been responsible for this, and he had done it intentionally.

Unless Moriarty is somehow involved…but I have the strangest feeling that he isn't. If Sherlock was trying to send me a message, his phone must have been confiscated…and he must have had to do so rather quickly and inconspicuously…The blood on the wall was obvious…but this isn't…

John's brain was bombarded with a swarm of chaos and confusion, which, unfortunately, impaired his deduction skills.

As his forehead bunched up into tiny folds, the veteran realized the true reason for the torment that was stirring form within.

His best friend had trusted him, perhaps to a greater extent than he let on, and John Watson couldn't bear for a second to let him down.

"Okay, Amy, I've dealt with this sort of thing before…and I'm typically rubbish at it…but I'll give it a go, anyway…for Sherlock's sake….Let's see, he must have been doing this rather quickly…so maybe the answer's more obvious than we think. 'Air, 27, T, S,'…all you have to do is unscramble it and you get…27 Air St…of course! That's a London street address near Piccadilly…That must be where Sherlock wants us to go…"

As the truth seemed to have dawned upon them both, a small smile began to crinkle across John Watson's face.

"I have a GPS on my phone…we better get going before whoever it was that ransacked this flat returns…"

The duo was about to make their way out, until a suspicious creaking sound suddenly radiated from the door down below.

Amy watched as John's pupils began to dilate, and she felt her body begin to shake.

"Amy, you stay here and hide…if I'm not back in five minutes…I suggest you get out of this place as quickly as you can…"

The man's hoarse whisper preceded his motion towards the front of the flat.

Creeping shakily across the tiny hallway, the trembling red head settled for a darkened spot in the corner.

She buried her face in her knees and tried to dispose of her irrational concerns.

Her mind shifted back to the image of her best friend, reminding her that it was for the Doctor's benefit that she was doing this.

What was she so afraid of anyway?

John had decoded the message, so she should have been relieved.

But, now, glancing at the folded scrap of paper that she had cautiously concealed in her skirt pocket, Amy cringed inwardly.

The sandy haired man may have taken note of most of her discovery, but there was one especially vital aspect that she had chosen not to reveal.

It was totally unbelievable and frightfully alarming.

Even in the midst of this revelation, Amy Pond was incredibly certain of one matter—she desperately needed her imaginary friend right now more than ever.

The heavy eyelids of the peculiar man gradually fluttered open, as he slowly became aware of his foreign surroundings.

As his blue eyes settled, the man in the bow tie realized that he was entrenched in a sea of blackness.

His hearts began pumping blood rapidly to his limbs, and his hands lurched upward, only to be constrained by the sensation of cold metal.

The fact that his head was throbbing madly was a further obstacle that he seemed unable to remove.

Releasing short, husky breaths, the Doctor tried to regain control over his emotions.

Where am I? What happened? I was with Amy and then…Oh, no…Amy…she's in terrible danger…and it's all my fault.

The raggedy man continued to struggle against the shackles that bound him, until he suddenly witnessed a terrifying sight that had been illuminated by a single sliver of light.

No…but it can't be…

Note: Sorry, there wasn't much dialogue in this chapter. I hope you liked it so far. I probably won't be able to add additional chapters for a couple of weeks because I'm really busy. But, in the meantime, you could always check out some of my other stories(posted on my profile page). Remember that reviews would be greatly appreciated.

Have an amazingly brilliant day!