He was somewhere in a hospital. He could hear the hum of various machines going about their business. Intensive care ward. There were different sounds coming from one of the rooms. He opened the door. There's a man with sandy blonde hair lying in the bed, asleep, or possibly unconscious John. Sherlock yells his flatmate's name. No sound comes out. He checks the vitals on the equipment by his friend's bed.
He's dying. says a little voice in Sherlock's head. No, he thinks, impossible. Not like this.
"John," he says. "wake up. Please wake up. I don't know how I can go on without you." Sherlock kneels before his friend, his best friend, his only friend. "Please," he murmurs, taking his friend's hand in his own. He's disturbed at how cold they are, how lifeless. "My god, John, please wake up. I can't..." he swallows, the words unfamiliar to his lips, even in a dream. "I can't lose you, John, I need you. You're the one who keeps me stable. You're the only person who ever liked me for who I am. Please, John, I... I love you." he blinks rapidly, the tears flowing freely. "I love you, John Watson, I bloody love the hell out of you. Please wake up!"
"It's your fault you know." says a voice from behind the detective. Sherlock turns. It's the man Sherlock never hoped to see again. Moriarty grins and waves childishly. Sherlock turns back to the man on the bed. John's pulse is weak, and slowing.
"No!" he shouts. "No, don't leave me!" Sherlock's hair is in his eyes. When he tries to brush it away it comes back in force. Behind him Moriarty is laughing.
"That's what you get for loving someone, Sherlock! Did you really think that he would ever love you back? Silly detective, tricks are for kids!"
Over Moriarty's maniacal laughter Sherlock hears the machine at John's side start slowing down the beats that tell the detective and anyone else John's heart rate. Eventually the beats stop and Sherlock feels sick to his stomach.
"That's impossible." he murmurs in shock.
"Quite possible." says Moriarty. "You didn't get there in time, you idiot!"
"No!" Sherlock yells. He turns around, intent on bodily harm. Moriarty sidesteps the detective easily, still cackling like a madman.
"You're just like me, Sherlock! Selfish! Isn't it wonderful?" Sherlock takes another lunge at his arch-enemy More laughter.
"You'll never catch me, Sherlock! Not in a million years!" Moriarty vanishes in a cloud of smoke, but the laughter remains, taunting the detective with it's sheer perversity. Sherlock runs out of the room, struggling against invisible hands that grip and try to hold him down. He fights back with every bit of strength that he has, until a sharp prick brings on a lethargy that even the great Sherlock Holmes can't fight. Dark patches appear in his vision, blocking out the sight of Moriarty lording over him as though he'd won.
"Never." he whispers. "Not as long as I have breath..."
"Whew!" says the nurse in charge. "Never though we'd catch up to this one." she hands the empty syringe to one of the staff, who disposes it as quickly as possible.
"John." murmurs the patient. His dark brown hair falls onto his face. The nurse orders her assistant to help her get the patient back to his room.
"Who's John?" he asks on the way there.
"Well, I'm not exactly supposed to talk about it..." she looks around clandestinely. "But John was his flatmate who died on one of their cases, got caught in an explosion, see. That's what set him off killing." the assistant's eyes widened.
"Really? Wait a minute... is this Sherlock Holmes? The detective?" the nurse nodded.
"The very same." she said. "Apparently, his older brother's pretty high up in the government. Got off on the insanity defence and put 'im in here."
"Wow. So what happens now?" the nurse shrugged.
"Lives out his days here. Doctors say he's too far gone."
"How sad."
"Yeah. Hey, do you want to catch a bite after work?"
"Sure!"
"You like Chinese?"
"Sounds good."
Sherlock wakes up in a bed that is not his own. He tries to sit up, but finds himself constrained. He flops back down. He's gone through the same scenerio five times in the last couple of days. Always, Moriarty manages to escape, and always he finds himself exactly where he started.
Next time, he thinks. Next time, I'll catch him.