Welcome back! Or welcome new readers!

This is the long awaited sequel to my Sherlock/Melanie fic The Game That You Learnt, continuing straight on from the final chapter and running alongside Season 2 of the canon. For that reason, I would suggest reading the first part of the story in order to understand this one fully – there will be lots of references to GtYL.

New readers should also be aware that there is a partner fiction to this story, called The Game That We Play. This contains scenes from within the timeline that deserve an 'M' rating, as well as a couple of retrospective chapters on Melanie's past. My reviewers inform me that it adds a lot of depth to Melanie's character and her relationship with Sherlock. The Game That We Play will be continuing through this sequel.

One
Resurfacing

"John."

It was an instruction to listen and not a request like most people would have given.

John Watson didn't bother to look away from the window as the taxi hurtled down the street, knowing that the man beside him would no doubt be staring in a completely different direction anyway. He did, however, give a small sound to signify that he was listening as he had been told.

"It would be preferential if we did not inform Melanie of our little adventure tonight."

John frowned. This would have caught his attention even if he had not complied with the man's command. Slowly, he rotated his head and focused his eyes. Sure enough, the tall, dark figure was busy examining anything unimportant that blurred by the window and most definitely not meeting the gaze of the doctor.

"I'm sorry, what?" John asked, hoping against hope that he had misheard.

"Melanie – don't tell her what happened."

Oh, good, John's ears weren't acting up; it was just his flatmate's mind again. "Yes, I understood all those long words. What I mean is why?"

"Then say that instead. Time is only wasted by people sprouting inane questions that they don't mean."

John sighed, this was getting ridiculous. "Why should we not tell Melanie?"

"She would only fuss needlessly."

John opened his mouth to complain about this, thinking that Melanie perhaps deserved a little more credit than this man was willing to give her. Besides, most people would fuss. This wasn't exactly something that happened every day – every fortnight maybe, when you knew his flatmate – but not every day.

He was pre-emptively cut-off, though, and instead simply eyed the man next to him.

Sherlock Holmes shifted a fraction of an inch in his seat.

"No, John, it would be best if Melanie awoke this morning having no idea that anything remotely out of the ordinary took place last night. You will not pointlessly upset her."

As soon as the sound of the key hurriedly being pried into the lock scratched its way to my ears, I leapt up from my seat on the hard staircase and launched myself at the man whom was calmly strolling through the front door.

"You stinking idiot!" I cried after closing the few feet between us and frantically grabbing hold of the front of his shirt in my palms. "You bloody stupid idiot!"

I watched as his face smoothly covered up the traces of surprise that had lingered there since my attack. Sherlock turned his head and scowled at the man standing on the doorstep behind him.

"What did I tell you, John?" he snapped almost accusingly.

John balked. "I didn't tell her!"

My frown deepened with the new wave of anger that was beckoning forth. I raised my right hand before slamming it back down on his chest in protest. "No, he didn't, Sherlock – your bloody website did!"

Sherlock paused and peered down at my face. I could feel his eyes examining every twitch of my muscles and every pore on my nose as he let his scientific mind fill in the blanks simply from the implications of my expression.

"Oh." Was all he said.

I hit him again. "Were you just going to act as if everything was normal and not even bother to tell me that you almost died last night?"

Sherlock shrugged out of my grasp and started up the stairs. "I almost die most days."

"That's not the point!" I yelled, letting my feet scramble up the steps behind him, struggling to keep up with his strangely composed speed. "What do you think would have happened if your stupid ass plan to get yourself killed had actually worked? Do you think I'd have just taken it on the chin and said 'Oh, well, Sherlock almost dies most days – this is nothing new'?"

The door to the apartment shut quietly after John followed my footsteps into the untidy living room. Sherlock collapsed instantly into his favourite chair, perching his elbows on the armrests and staring into space in his usual casual manner, no doubt attempting to block out my continuing chastisement.

"'Cause you know what, Sherlock? I might actually not be dancing on your grave were something to happen to you. And this time you had to go and drag John into your death wish scheme! I would have thought you'd be at least a tiny bit careful when dealing with your friends' lives, if not your own."

Sherlock pried his gaze away from the empty air around his head and looked at me, the slightest hints of a frown crossing his forehead.

"I did not drag John into this." He said before looking away again. He calmly picked up the book perched on the nearby table and started reading at a random page – or more likely pretended to start reading. "That was Moriarty."

I could have gagged. "What?"

John sighed and placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Really, Melanie, it was nothing."

My crossed arms didn't budge. I gave John a disbelieving stare that told him I wasn't buying it.

He suddenly decided there was something extremely interesting in the kitchen as he swiftly turned and began walking away. "Who wants tea?"

"Please." Sherlock answered, nose still stuck in that goddamn book.

I could not believe this.

Were these two really just going to glide over the whole 'we could have been blown up a couple of hours ago' thing and act like everything was fine and dandy?

Didn't either of them care that they had come so close to death?

Sherlock turned a page in the book. John finished pouring water into the kettle and plugged the device back into the wall. At last, my arms uncrossed and dropped to my sides.

I shook my head in defeat.

"Is Moriarty…" I began, my voice back to its normal self and no longer an angry burst. "I mean, is he at least…"

I was lucky Sherlock knew what I was talking about, as I wasn't quite sure how to finish my question. The detective didn't move and I could see no change in attitude as he answered in one simple solitary word, "No."

Great. So these two had put their lives in danger for nothing. Thanks, Sherlock, that really clamed my nerves.

"Christ." I muttered, using my thumb and forefinger to rub my forehead in an attempt to soothe my frustrated, angry and downright terrified soul. It seemed to work a little.

"You having tea, Melanie?" John asked, his head popping out of the kitchen doorway.

I just sighed and gave up completely.

"Alright." The word was hardly out of my mouth when I frowned and changed my mind. Reason was starting to leak back into my brain and the thing it chose to focus on first – bypassing, of course, the hideous peril of the current situation, which I wasn't really too keen on thinking about – was the expression of the man sitting in the armchair. "Actually, no. Not until Sherlock's told me why he's so happy all of a sudden. If I didn't know any better, I would take a guess that something informative yet puzzling cropped up at this little meeting?"

Sherlock scoffed.

"It would certainly be unusual for you to know better." He quipped matter-of-factly. Oh God, did he ever actually answer a question instead of using some round-about way of insulting the questioner? The answer to that, of course, was always going to be the negative.

"Just tell me what happened." I wanted that to come out as a command, but found it really just sounded like a plea.

"I don't repeat conservations without just cause." Of course he didn't. Those hours spent boasting away about how brilliantly he had solved a case always had a just cause, didn't they? "That would be terribly dull."

I narrowed my stare and found my arms subconsciously crossing over my chest again. "Sherlock, shut up and do as you're told."

The madman glanced at me, an unyielding gleam in his stony eyes.

"No."

And that just summed up our relationship, didn't it?

It's been a long time hasn't it? But now, FINALLY, after a year and a half of waiting, we've been blessed with series 2. Woot! And now I feel I can safely write this story without endangering the sanity of fans with any so-far-out-of-canon-that-it-almost-burns-your-eyes imaginings. Goodness knows, I had to rewrite a considerable part of this chapter to make it fit.

The first chapter of Part 2 of The Game That We Play is already online. It's another retrospective look at something in Melanie's past.

Now then, now then… review and maybe let me know you still remember me after so long a break?