Chapter 1

"Will I ever see you again, Sherlock?" You could hear a slight tremor in the man's voice when he asked this. Sherlock stared out the window of the familiar flat.

"That depends on you." John bit his lip, and nodded, closing his eyes. He could feel his surroundings fade, like they usually do when he lets go of his dreams. "Goodbye, for now." He whispered, feeling like he let part of himself drift away. John jolted awake from the weary dream. His crusty eyes opening to a white ceiling. John winced, as if the light was penetrating his eyes. His hands instinctively move from his sides to his face, rubbing his tired eyes.

"What?" He muttered, his voice scratchy from his somber. John propped himself on his elbows, and observed his surroundings. He was laying on a bed, with gray blankets over him. The room he was in was white, a bright white that stained his eyes. There were other beds, lined up against the wall, with others sleeping in them. John took a breath in and sat up.

"What. . . Is this?" He asked no one in particular. He could hear bodies shifting in their beds, and the faint breathing of the strangers. He let his hand move to scratch confused head, when there was a knock on a door.

"Anyone awake in there?" A muffled voice traveled through the door. John cringed, the abrupt noise making his head pound. John slid off his bed and tiptoed to the door, hoping not to wake anyone or hurt his now pounding head. The floors were coated with dust, wood, and cold. The sensational feeling made John's bare feet tingle. He made his way to the door and rested his hand on the golden knob. One would turn the knob, and answer. But John was debating on this. Whether or not to trust the voice on the other side of the door. John's grip tightened, and slowly he turned the knob.

"Good morning!" The person exclaimed. John cringed to the loud response. "Good morning?" He muttered, looking down. The human was female. And she wore a long white doctor coat, her hair was braided, brown and long.

"I'm Dr. Loranne. Welcome to Bismilah Rehabilitation Center John." She said with a wide smile, not taking any caution to the others sleeping. John's gaze moved slowly up to meet her face. "Re. . . Rehabilitation Center?" He asked. The Doctor nodded, her smiling unchanging.

John shook his head. "No. No. I don't need any rehabilitation, m'am." He told her, with quite a bit of annoyance smearing over him. The woman looked at the clipboard in her hand and read through.

"Says here you have no memory, and you feel lost. Someone needs a fixing." John shook his head once again, and the pain only increased. "I'm not broken!" He exclaimed, and raised his left hand to comfort his throbbing temple. The doctor giggled a bit and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. John jerked back.

"Doctor, just calm down. We want to help you." She told him, her happy, giggly expression gone. John looked up at her, not sure what to say. His mind overflowing with questions, confusion, want. "Is this a dream? This has got to be a dream."

"You should just go lay back down, and we're bring you some medicine for that migraine." She said softly; turning swiftly down the extensive hall and writing something in her clipboard. John, being the man that he is, ignored her orders and waited for her to be out of sight. He looked back into the room of somber, to see no one else had awoken. John took in a breath and stepped out the door and into the white hall. Doors lined the hall on either side, with different labels. John walked slowly, keeping his observations up. The blue labels read things such as, "New Patients", "Disability", "Low Self Esteem". John was baffled, and couldn't recall what kind of rehabilitation center this was.

"Let go of me you bastard!" I female voice screamed through the hall, and John jumped, craning his neck to see where the scream came from. "I said let go!" The scream was piercing, and John refrained from moaning from the pain in his head. He stood in the hall, debating with himself whether he should just go back or not. "You new here?"

John jerked his head in the direction of the voice. "Seems like you are." Jim Moriarty stood on the other side of the hall, wearing jeans and a polo. John could feel anger swell up in him. "Moriarty." He said through his teeth. Jim looked at him with an expression of confusion.

"I'm sorry? Did I say something?" He asked. His innocence was unbelievable, as if he hadn't known anything was wrong.

"Say something wrong!?" John yelled at the top of his lungs and jolted toward him, grabbing the collar of his shirt. "You are going to pay for what you do to Sherlock!" John yelled, spit coming from his mouth and onto Moriarty's face. Moriarty looked upon him with fear. "I- I don't know what you're talking about. Seriously. I was just trying to welcome you!" Jim cried. "I don't even know who this Sherlock is!" It was hard for John to believe anything he said. To John, every word that came from his mouth was a deceiving lie.

"What is this place!? Why am I here?" John asked him, his grip only tightening. Jim shook his head. "I don't know. I just got here. I seriously have no idea. I'm clueless just like you. If you let go, maybe we could find out together?" Moriarty was shaking in John's clutches now. "FIne." He said, letting go and walking the other way.

"I don't know what's going on." He moaned, falling to his knees on the cold floor. "I don't know what to think anymore.