Disclaimer: Yeah, I'm saddened by the fact I don't own them. :(

A/N: Okay, here is chapter three. Hope it's good. I had literally no inspiration or planned events for this chapter. The last one I had planned it all out word for word on my way to a double header softball game. But this one...I didn't even think about it. Hopefully it's good. :l Plus, a review kick started me to actually write this. I ended up finding some inspiration from a Doctor Who song. XD A Dazzling End by Murray Gold if you were wondering. And yeah, I'm not perfect. Perfection is just a flaw we thought up, so I'm going to make mistakes. Point them out to me so I can improve. Thanks to one such reviewer, now I can improve something. :)

Hanna smiled up at Sherlock. His confession had only slightly caught her off guard, but she had something to say in return. Standing up on her toes so she could kiss him again, she brushed her lips against his cheek. She hummed as she did so, bringing her lips to rest on his and passionately kissing him. He returned the same passion, pulling her closer to him. Her body seemed to mold right into his, the perfect shape. And just as they pulled apart, her resting her head on his chest, she opened her mouth to speak.

"Sherlock, I_" She was cut off by the sound of her phone going off.

She backed up and looked at Sherlock curiously. Each of her different phones had a different set ringtone. And the one going off was the one she had had before she had 'died.' Not the one she had had when she was buried. That one had a ringtone that played Gauntlet. This ringtone was the sound of the TARDIS. Yeah, she carried some things on her that were related to the other paces. She reached into Sherlock's pocket and pulled out her phone.

"You kept it." She whispered to herself and she stared at the screen.

"Well. Yeah." Sherlock answered her back in a matter-of-fact tone.

Hanna rolled her eyes and read the message, scrunching up her brow when she was finished. "Sherlock?" She said, holding the phone out to Sherlock, screen facing him.

Sherlock took the phone and read over the message. A sigh came from behind them, causing Hanna to whip around. There stood Mycroft and John, whom she hadn't noticed.

"Do tell us brother. What does the message say?" Mycroft asked, leaning on his umbrella. Where had he gotten that? He hadn't had it before right? Never mind.

Sherlock shot a look at his brother before reading the message out loud.

"Riddles are Rhymes

Rhymes are Riddles

When a Riddle doesn't Rhyme

A Rhyme is not a Riddle"

Hanna huffed out a breath and sat down on her gravestone, which she noticed was next to one that had Sherlock's name on it. She looked over at him, raising an eyebrow. He just shrugged in response. Nodding she heard her phone go off again. Sherlock looked down at the phone, reading the message. After a few minutes of silence, Hanna looked at Sherlock questioningly. "Sherlock?" She asked.

He looked up suddenly, something in his eyes that she couldn't point out disappearing as quickly as it had come. Hanna stood up and walked over to him, taking the hand he wasn't using. Using her other hand to grab the phone and read the message out loud.

"A game we'll play,

Miss Holloway.

With Sherlock too,

so guess who."

Hanna looked up and over at Sherlock, having felt his hand clench hers. "Sherlock?" She asked, wanting to know what was bothering him.

He shook his head and gestured for Hanna to continue. So, she did. Reading the message aloud again, the feeling of someone watching them increased ever so, causing a shiver to run down her spine.

"Now here's your puzzle,

So get ready to guzzle.

My color is blue,

And I like to play Peek-a-boo."

And just as she read the last word, a tingle began to spread down and out from her spine. She gasped out as it increased to more of an electric shock. She dropped the phone and crumbled to the ground, Sherlock catching her in his arms.

"Hanna!" She heard someone yell. Not sure who anymore since the voice was muffled.

The phone had fallen into the grave, laying in the plush, wooden coffin. Sherlock gathered Hanna in his arms, a fierce look on his face as he turned to go. The four of them got into Mycroft's car and rode off to 221B. While, as they pulled out of the cemetery, the phone went off in the grave.

"I see you."

. . .

Hanna felt herself being lifted up and something cold trickling down her throat. She coughed, sitting up fully, clutching her stomach. She felt someone's hand on her back, whispering soothing sounds to her. When she finished coughing, she looked over at who was talking to her. Surprisingly, it was Sherlock. And...was this Sherlock's room? She went into another fit of coughing, Sherlock sitting on the bed, pulling her into his arms. When she settled again, she leaned into his chest, listening to his heart beat. She shuddered as she remembered the feeling of electric running up her spine. Sherlock just pulled her close, whispering into her hair. "Everything's going to be okay."

. . .

The following day Sherlock and Hanna were at the laboratory, John at work. Sherlock was looking through a microscope while Hanna sat writing. Sherlock looked up from what he was doing and looked over at her. "What are you writing?" He asked.

Hanna shrugged. "Nothing you need to be concerned about." She said."

Sherlock reached over and snatched the paper from her. She shouted in protest as he read over the words. "Sherlock! Give that back!" She shouted.

Hanna jumped across the counter and tried to grab the paper back from him. Though, Sherlock having long arms, kept her back as he read over the paper. He smirked at her and finally handed her back her paper. Hanna scowled at him.

"Jerk." She grumbled, walking away from him.

Sherlock smiled. "You have very pretty handwriting." He said.

Hanna turned around to look at him. Causing Sherlock to smirk again.

"Writing says a lot about a person. Those who predominantly use their left hands are traditionally more intelligent than right handed people and are uniquely creative. Right handed people use the left sides of their brains creatively. Elaborate upper letters such as l's, d's, and h's indicate an abstract thinker with great intellect. Elaborate upper letters such as l's, d's, and h's indicate an abstract thinker with great intellect. Those with expressive or large loops that go below the writing line, such as the letter y and the lower case g indicate a sensual person who is driven and physical. Lower loops that are backwards may indicate someone who has unusual sexual desires. The more plump the loop in the lower letter indicates a person who's needs are not being met. Some people write letters in a printing style without loops in letters such as l and instead use frill free straight lines. These writers are serious, practical people who tend to be stoic. Letter "openness" can reveal a person's communication style. Open o's and circular letters indicate a person who is open and communicative. Closed circular letters indicate that a person may be slightly "closed" and not as communicative. Writing that slants to the right indicates a social individual. An extreme right slant indicates a person who is emotional and has a hard time containing their emotions whether good or bad. Handwriting that slants to the left indicates a loner who works better by his or herself. An extreme left slant suggests a person who is rebellious, secretive, and may be cold hearted. Those who have no slant to their writing tend to be very stable and self regulated. The baseline is how the writer writes words on a given line. Writing up-hill reveals the the writer is optimistic, ambitious and cheerful. Writing down- hill may be caused by a pessimistic attitude, depression, or fatigue. A straight baseline signifies the writer controls his moods. How a writer utilizes space in any handwriting sample is an indication of how they function in the work place. Pressure is a changing quality in many people's handwriting. Those who are in a hurry, angry, or stressed tend to temporarily write with heavy pressure. Those who stylistically write with lots of pressure may be more aggressive than those with a lighter touch. The speed of a person's writing reveals additional personality traits. Speed is found in the flow of the writing and indicates speed of thought, action and perception. Those who write swiftly tend to be alert, flexible, rapid thinkers. Those who write slowly are those who take the time to consider details, deliberate, cautious people. Writing that begins with a curve indicates a person who may be stuck in the past. Curves at the end of a letter or word indicates a person's level of generosity.

"A person's potential to meet goals can be interpreted by how a person crosses their T's. The letter T represents a person's ambitions. The taller the T, the more ambitions the crossing of the T on the horizontal represents the emphasis the writer places on the goal. Crossing a T low on the letter indicates a person sets goals lower than what they can actually accomplish. A person who crosses their T's high on the bar set very high goals. Crossing T's at the top of the bar or higher indicates someone who sets goals that are lofty and unachievable. A "t" bar that is above the stem indicates setting goals higher than can be accomplished. Most people who print as their standard handwriting style do so out of consideration to others because they don't write neatly. Those who write with a style that mixes printing with cursive tend to be efficient and intelligent types. Writers who's letters are connected throughout their handwriting are most likely to be scientific. Those who have less connectivity between their letters are more likely to be artistic. A person who writes with a bizarre style of cursive and block letter printing may be antisocial." He smiled, gesturing to her hands holding the paper. "You're ambidextrous. You writing size is just between small and large, featuring tall upper loops with slightly, closed o's. Your writing has no slant, with a straight baseline. You evenly space out your words, using a balanced sentence. The pressure of you're hand writing is light, though, you write swiftly, yet take your time as well, using no curves at the beginning or end of the sentence. You cross your t's right in the middle, using both print and cursive throughout the sentence." He said, finishing his thought.

Hanna looked at him as he spoke, she loved how he could go on in that knowing tone he took when he spoke of facts. She shook her head and leaned against the counter, smiling. "Okay, Sherlock. What does that tell you about me?" She asked, knowing already, but wanting to hear him say it. Man did she love his voice.

He smiled. "You're intelligent and creative, a social person, but not too social. You have great intellect, though you're not very communicative at times. You're logical, able to control your moods, and a good judge of space. You're not aggressive, yet you're alert, flexible, and a rapid thinker, as well as taking time to consider details, deliberate, cautious. You're not typically generous of stuck in the past, and you set realistic goals that you can achieve. And you're efficient and intelligent." He finished and smiled at her.

Hanna nodded. "Okay." She simply said.

Sherlock's smile fell. "Okay?" He asked, uncertain.

Hanna nodded. "Yep." She said, popping the 'p'.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her. Hanna watched as he set down the pencil he had been using to take notes. Hanna shook her head, "Oh. No." She said, backing up.

Sherlock nodded, lunging toward her, trying to catch her. She ducked and ran around the counter, dodging stools and running through the doors. Sherlock followed after her. She squealed running down the hall, Sherlock chasing after her, a smile on his face. She rounded a corner and ran smack into Sherlock. He wrapped his arms around her. "Gotcha!" He shouted.

Hanna giggled as he began to tickle her. "Sherlock! Stop! Please!" She burst out between giggles.

They were supposed to be working on the case, but instead they were playing around. And neither of them noticed the cart with a hidden camera on it. Some where far away sat a man looking at the screen of a computer, watching as the two played in the hallway.

"I won't let you get away this time. I WILL burn you."

A/N: Okay, so here is that third chapter I promised. Sorry for not putting it up when I promised. I had had a double header that weekend and that week I had been really busy. Even now I have four essays I have to write for English, Science and History. But, here it is. Not my best work, but I guess it's okay. Here it is, hope you all like it. Review/follow or favorite for me!