So today I woke up after a realy shitty Sherlock dream. I had the urge to bang my head against the wall. But I didn't. So don't worry.

In this story everyone believes that Sherlock's dead. What they don't know is that he had been kidnapped by Moriarty. Something won't have logic because I dreamed this. I'm sorry. I was really freaked out when I woke up and I needed to get it out of my head. So I decided to write it , here it goes then.
-

John was standing in the beach with his cellphone in his hand. He was watching the waves of the ocean, waiting for nothing to happen. Suddenly he recieves a message:

Want to meet an old friend of yours? -JM

Instantly John thought of Sherlock. But... it was impossible. Sherlock was dead. Two years had passed since then. It didn't matter to him. John had hope. He still refused to think that his friend was dead. Also, if Jim was involved, anything could happen, right?
John shook his head. It didn't matter. A friend of his was involved.

John raised his head searching for the sender. Somehow he knew that Jim was there. Watching him. But all he could see was just a beach full of innocent people. People who seemed to be submerged in their own worlds.

So... where was him? John looked up. He had before him a pair of stairs that leaded to a restaurant. He decided to climb them in order to have a better view of any suspects who could have been on the beach. But he couldn't find a thing.

Defeated, John walked into the restaurant and sat beside a window overlooking the sea. Again, and with a knot on his throat, he turned to watch the waves of the sea. This time from the restorant. John was feeling down. The thought of Sherlock being alive was just... silly. But he had to find Moriarty and this friend that he claimed to have.

John looked down and suddenly, there it was. His eyes widened and his heart skipped a beat. For a while, his body became riggid, and breathing was a difficult task for him.
Moriarty was sitting in a bench with a tall and skinny man. The figure was shirtless and bruised. His messy dark curls hiding his face.

"SHERLOCK!"

Instinctively John grabbed an empty bottle and ran downstairs where the both men were sitting. As he ran, people became a bunch of blurs. The only thing that mattered to John the most was Sherlock and nothing else. And just within seconds, John was standing in front of both men.

"YOU BASTARD!" John shouted squeezing the bottle in his fist.

Moriarty half smiled. It was all Moriarty's fault. Now, John knew why Sherlock had jumped off St Bart's Hospital. Moriarty had forced him to do so. The reason remained a mystery.

"YOU FUCKING BASTARD!" John ran to Moriarty and begun to hit him with the empty crystal bottle. When the bottle was broken, John pushed the bloody Moriarty away and he ran to hug Sherlock. Sherlock was shaking, but he responded to the hug. They kept embracing each other for a long time, as if the world were to end. John closed his eyes and tears started to fall. Finally there they were. Together once again. John couldn't see, but it seemed as if Sherlock was sobbing.

"Sherlock…" John ran a hand over the bare back of the detective and opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was a large amount of awful bruises in the back of Sherlock's right arm. "I'm so sorry…" The hug tightened as John stroked Sherlock's back.

"Ok boys, break it up now. Chop-chop!" Jim applauded.

Carefully, John broke from Sherlock and turned to grab the consulting criminal by the collar. "What the hell have you been doing to him?!"

"I don't know" Sang Moriarty in a high-pitched voice. John raised a fist. "Take it easy Johnny Boy. Now, I'll tell you what." The consulting criminal pulls up a gun and aims it at Sherlock's head. Instinctively, John lets him go and clenches his jaw in frustration of what he just did.

"If you don't want me blowing up the Virgin's head, you will go into the room 3022 A and youwill leave this inside the wardrobe." With his right hand Moriarty handed to John a small and transparent chip-looking device. "When you're done, get out of the place and… just wait for the rest."

"What is this? What's going to happen? How can I trust you?"

"Well… "I haven't shot him yet, have I?" John looked at the weak figure of Sherlock and stood silent.

"It's your choice, Johnny Boy."

"…Alright. I'll take it into the wardrobe. Just… promise you won't hurt him." Said John, sounding a little bit silly to himself. Really!? Don't hurt him!? Look what he has done to him! How can you trust the bastard?!

"Cross my heart." Moriarty responded with a faint devilish smile.

Insecure about what he was doing, John headed to the room. He arrived to the room in the blink of an eye and left the device inside the wooden furniture as fast as he could. It was done. Now all he had to do was to talk with Moriarty and take Sherlock back. John got out of the room and examined the place as he walked to what seemed to be the exit. The walls were covered with reddish wallpaper with various shapes of vintage black flowers. The floor was made of wood, such as the furniture. Some of them were covered with white tablecloth. The place was full of bookshelves filled with dusty books, clean and messy tea tables with small lamps on them and half open shelves. To be honest, the place was quite large, but all the furniture made it look heaped.

"Hello." A long brown haired woman greeted him. She was leaning in a door's frame with her arms crossed over her chest.

"Molly. He- hello. You… you look different."

"That's because I'm not wearing the lab coat and my hair is loose." Her tone was flat. Something happened to her. Molly just wasn't the same. She wasn't the sweet little Molly that he used to know. And the truth is that since Sherlock's death, John never talked to her anymore; so he couldn't tell. In fact, he didn't talk to anyone anymore. He wanted to be alone. He wanted to forget. But what John did forgot was that he and Sherlock were the only few people who used to talk to her; Mostly John, of course. Molly was the shyest and the most sensitive person that he had ever known; of course she had suffered after Sherlock's death. She was in love with him.

John could cope with the issue all by himself (or that's what he thought). And even Lestrade tried to comfort him whenever he could, but John never gave in; but, what about Molly? Who came to lift her up? Who came to tell her that everything would be fine? That Sherlock was ok now? No one. She had no one who could help her with her suffering. She had to find a way out of it all by herself and be strong. Leave the old and delicate Molly behind and… be strong? John didn't know what to think, everything was happening so fast.

"Molly, I need to tell you something." John seriously warned.

"No. I'll tell you something." She exploded. "You're coming with me and you will tell Lestrade that you quit. You quit helping anyone-"

"but-"

"with any of their freaking cases, Watson."

"Molly, Sher-" The pathologist refused to listen to him.

"And don't you ever dare to get into St Barts ever again, you useless cun-!"

"MOLLY!"

"WHAT?!" She snapped.

"I know were Sherlock is. He's-"

"Dead."

"No! Listen to me for once and for all! Would you?!" Molly tensed. "Sherlock's alive. He was kidnapped by Moriarty. I saw them a few moments ago. He threatened to kill Sherlock if I didn't do what he ordered me to do. I need your help. Please. I- I just want him back. There's hope. There really is; and I will not stay here idly and do nothing about it. Will you help me or not?" John felt awfully frustrated. He was wasting precious time. Will Moriarty still be waiting for him?

"I'll help you."

"Sorry?" John looked up.

"I'll help you." Molly was tearing. She covered up her mouth with a shaking hand and her usual body language came back. There was the sweet and sensitive Molly Hooper that he used to know. "I'll help you recovering Sherlock. What do I do?"

*And suddenly the sweet and glorious voice of my shouting father woke me up*