John sighed as he tipped the empty water cooler. London had reached record temperatures that summer and there was an ongoing drought. Mrs. Hudson had some more water gallons in the basement but she was out shopping, so Sherlock and John had been lying on the rug, spread eagle on the warm floor, shades drawn.

Much to his annoyance, Sherlock had had to don a pair of gym shorts and a London! Touristy T-shirt that had once been Mycroft's. Earlier that morning he had been trying to compose but the heat made it hard for anyone to think, so after an hour Sherlock gave up, laid down on the floor and just stared up at the stationery ceiling fan instead.

Even though it wasn't a great day, Sherlock was secretly happy. He'd succeeded in making up with John after Mary's death, and he'd also caught and detained a serial killer, Culverton Smith, while he was at it. Just another normal day as the world's only consulting detective.

Sherlock had been toying with an idea all afternoon but wasn't sure if John would agree to it. While the plumbing and power was still shut off there was still some water in the toilet, and if Sherlock could just find his water purifier maybe he could clean it a bit to drink or at least cool them off. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

"Bathroom." Sherlock mumbled, getting up to his feet. It was the first time he'd moved in several hours.

He got up and slowly made his way to the bathroom. It was several degrees cooler, something he was grateful for, and the cold floor made it all a bit more tolerable. Seeing the empty sink seemed to make Sherlock's mouth even drier.

Sherlock felt sweat beading in his face but the more he tried to wipe it away the wetter it seemed to become. He tried again and this time when he looked down his hand was red with blood.

He was momentarily confused. Nothing seemed to be wrong with his face and yet when he looked in the mirror there was a small trickle of scarlet coming from his nose.

"Nosebleed." Sherlock muttered to himself. After all, it was very dry and arid out. He began rummaging through the cupboard, searching for what he needed in the mess of all his science stuff. The nosebleed continued on but he just kept wiping it away. Something isn't quite right, he thought, but he was too distracted and dehydrated to think straight.

Suddenly a hissing voice spoke from behind him. Sherlock's head snapped up, but the voice was already gone and he couldn't tell what it had said. He hadn't imagined it...had he?

Yellowbeard

There it was again. Sherlock turned around but no one was there. The voice sounded familiar to him, like a friend from the past, but he couldn't quite place it. What, or who, was yellowbeard?

"John?" Sherlock called. "Is that you?"

Back in the living room, John had fallen asleep with a newspaper across his face. There was no one who could hear him.

"John?" Sherlock called again, a little more urgently. He started to leave the bathroom but stopped short when he saw a red, fluffy dog sitting on the sink, panting.

This isn't real. Sherlock shook his head. It can't be. But the dog continued to sit there as the voice chanted the mysterious word again and again. The blood seemed to be coming faster, pooling on the floor.

"John!" Sherlock yelled, this time sprinting for the door, his feet slipping and splashing through the river of red. It rose up higher and higher and soon it was up to Sherlock's chin. He struggled to stay afloat. The dog was still there.

Come find me! A young girl giggled from somewhere. Redbeard is going to drown, brother mine!

Then his foot slipped and the next thing he knew he was falling...falling...

ooOoo

"Sherlock, are you in there?" John rattled the door but it was locked. "Sherlock?"

Something was wrong. John vaguely remembered Sherlock calling his name as he was waking up from his nap, so why was Sherlock silent now?

John reared back and kicked open the door. "Oh, Jesus..."