John woke up to the sound of beeping. The same beeps he knew well, being a doctor and all. He blinked his eyes open, groaned at the bright light, and glanced around the room. Harry was there. His mom as well. What happened? John tried to sit up, but restraints held him down. He was the first to speak, since the others didn't even notice him there. "Wha – What's going on?" he managed to get out. He then saw both heads of his mother and sister whip around to stare at him in shock. What was going on? He stared at them both expectantly until Harry spoke. "You're awake." she said softly. John scoffed, he knew very well what he could have said to that, he even knew what Sherlock would've said – wait, where was Sherlock? "Where's Sherlock?" he asked.
"Who?" his mother asked.
"Sherlock Holmes?" John asked. "The man I've been sharing a flat with for the past year and a half?"
"Umm... John, we have no idea what you're talking about." Harry said, "You've been in this hospital for the past year and a half. I don't think there is such a person as a Sherlock Holmes."
John stared at her in shock. No such person? He couldn't believe it. He had spent the entire year with – but then Harry said that he had spent it in the hospital. There was only one way to find out. "How long have I been in here again?" he asked her.
"A year and a half." She repeated again.
"And why am I in here?" he asked.
"Because a year and a half ago, you were found in a flat on Baker Street in a coma."
"I was in a coma." John stated. Unbelieving.
"Yes. The doctors still are unsure of why. You were just found unconscious and you've never woken up til today."
"Why was I at Baker Street?" John asked, maybe if he asked the right questions, Sherlock Holmes still existed.
"You were looking for a flat to share with a friend." Harry said. Sighing she glanced at the telly, nothing interesting, just Connie Prince going on about her colors. John followed her gaze. He gasped, "Isn't she dead?" he asked.
"No. As you can see, she's just fine." His mother pouted, "And just because I like her, doesn't mean that you can make fun of her."
"Sorry mum." he said lowering his head. He felt like a child.
"Why would she be dead, John?" Harry asked.
"Because Sherlock and I proved how she died from – oh nevermind." He had seen their looks halfway through his explanation.
"For the last time, there is no one by the name of Sherlock Holmes. Connie Prince is alive. Anything else you would like me to disprove for you?" Harry asked, getting slightly irritated by her brothers ignorance.
"Umm.. yes. Have you ever heard of Jim Moriarty?" he asked, almost shyly like a schoolkid.
"No." Harry said bluntly.
"He broke in to the Tower of London, and stole the Crown Jewels. He was on trial for months. Sherlock -" he froze. If there was no Sherlock, there was no Moriarty. There was no final problem. There was nothing.
Harry glared at him. "I'm out of here. If you're going to speak nonsense you can do it to someone else. Just not me." she left the room in a huff.
If there was no final problem, no Sherlock, no Moriarty. Then John had created all of the crimes himself. While he was unconscious, when he was in a coma.
He put his head into his hands. He couldn't believe it.