Chapter One:
Blackness hit me, that is all that I can remember. One moment I was standing there watching him standing revolver in hand and the next the blackness hitting me like a bullet. Then all of a sudden I found myself here in this barren wasteland standing staring at bright blue sky bleached by sunlight.
The blue sky was blank and empty, a blank canvas upon which I would stare for the next few moments trying the connect thoughts together about what had just happened. The fact was that I had no paints to paint this blank blue canvas with ideas of my sudden existence in this mysterious land.
I had no ideas whatsoever about what had just happened, just questions, questions and more questions that pounded in my head screaming for answers.
What had just happened? Had I been shot in the head so that death was instantaneous and was I to be stuck here forever? Have I just been brutally attacked and now hallucinating? Am I just simply dreaming?
And of Sherlock, what has happened to him. Was he here too or was he back in London? Or stuck in his own nightmare?
I began to walk, with no destination apart from the forever lasting horizon in front of me. Below my feet the dried ground was cracked and dead. I could see nothing around me at all. The land was unbelievably empty, as if a wind had come and sucked away everything into a vacuum, like a certain vacuum sitting in Baker Street ready for one of Sherlock's absurd investigations into the many uses of vacuums in murders.
I write this from sitting on the hard, roasting ground in my pocket book with the old biro that I, by some miracle, have in my pocket that I had there by luck when I… vanished.