Prologiue

6:30 A.M. Southern California, America

Her sight was fading, but Winnie kept looking at the persons standing around her. She was very familiar with them, as they were with her. But all she could remember was this, as her vision was very slowly fading to black. She felt a comforting presence next to her, and the sensation of being lightly shaken was becoming more noticeable. She then saw the face of a man; whose dark curly hair and piercing grey eyes were what she could only remember, day after day and in the sleepless nights. His eyes were wide, expression filled with worry for her, his hot breath showing in the icy wind as vapor. His eyes were refusing to release the unshed tears in the corners of them. She hated to see him cry, she knew he'd been through enough already.

The group around her closed in, as a man with blond hair leaned in. He tried to pull the much taller, dark haired man away, but he refused to go. He instead leaned over Winnie, the shaking stopping; it was too late. As she lifted her hand up to cup his cheek, the scene slowly changed to something entirely different. The taller darker one and she were in what seemed to be a messy apartment. She was sitting on a couch; legs crossed watching something on the television. The taller man was sitting at a table near the window, looking over some papers, and catching glances at her; her vision, still fading.

She looked over to him, their eyes meeting. The room faded away and replaced with a softly lit room, both of them twirling, him in a dark suit while she was in a white, elegant dress, the dance floor cleared for them; there eyes still never leaving each other. He led her across the room in strides, then spinning her around, her ball gown flaring. He gracefully transitioned the dance from a waltz to a slow dance. In step, she leaned on his chest as he rested his chin on her forehead. She closed her eyes, and felt like she was fading away.

The scene changed once again as she opened her eyes, she was in her dorm, but this time she was being chased. A man who was only a mere inch taller than her, with vacant eyes, was slowly approaching her as she backed away. She then was against the wall, as he came up to her he seemed to be telling her something, but all she could hear were muffled words; no emotion evident in his tone; her vision still fading to black.

The vacant eyes were now being filled with a dark crimson, the color of blood. As soon as his evil smirk contorted into a grin of pure insanity, she opened her eyes, and breathed deeply. Her heart filled with yearning for the literal man in her dreams was almost too much as she laid there; trying to keep the feeling of his piercing grey eyes on her. She closed her eyes, and tried to keep the mental picture alive, even just for a few more seconds.

She stayed a while before getting ready for the long, drawled out day of classes and pretending to care about people. She felt suffocated from the layers she was covered in and stripped her blankets off. Minutes later, she finally noticed the alarm going off. She sat up, her slim, warmed legs dangling over the edge of her bed, and turned off the alarm. She blinked and ran a few fingers through her long red hair.

'This days going to be different,' she determinedly thought, 'I'll see him one day, and that day is today.'

With the renewed determinations Winnie used to get through the day, she got up from her creaking mattress, and went to get ready. She actually felt more hopeful each day, knowing deep down somewhere they would both see each other once more. The peculiar thing was, they had never met, but he was not the least a stranger to her. He was her secret holder, and she was his As she dragged herself to the bathroom, Winnie thought of why she was the one to have these dreams. She knew of folklore where people had dreams of wanting a lover, but never really paid attention to it; folklore isn't real, but she knew hers were real. As she looked in the oval mirror just above her sink, she noticed her cheeks wee tear stained. Winnie washed her face and proceeded to get ready for the rest of the day, with her renewed reason to go on.

Chapter 1

2:30 P.M London, England

John Watson sat in the living room of 221B Baker Street, typing up a new entry on his blog while Sherlock was conducting experiments in the kitchen. It was an unusually normal day, and living with Sherlock you develop a new sense of normal. John could tell that Sherlock was becoming bored, as he almost finished all the experiments he planned to do once the case was finished. For the sake of the walls, he hoped another case would come. He seemed more distracted than bored, day after day.

Lately, he has realized that Sherlock has been acting strangely. He's actually going to sleep rather than staying up until an ungodly hour, even when a case was finished. He was not eating, but even though he hasn't much before, it was even less as the days progressed. He seemed more restless, and bothered by something that John knew he had no knowledge of. John knew Sherlock could take care of himself, and could handle almost anything that didn't have to do with emotion, but he was concerned for him, and Sherlock knew that but never said anything. John just didn't want it to be a danger night…the ones Mycroft warned him about…

Sherlock knew he wasn't okay, but he tried to go through his normal routine, if it weren't for his excessive dreaming. He usually never dreamed, but lately for the past eight or so years, Sherlock would have dreams about a young woman, with long fiery red hair and deep, dark brown eyes. He didn't let it bother him, but latel it's been more vivid, and mind altering. He felt a fondness for her, but felt this was childish, and tried to brush it off. But when he tried it grew more intense. All he could do was have dreams over and over again.

The thoughts of her would consume his mind daily, gnawing away at his sanity and perception of reality, and yet he kept it hidden. They were usually the same, but altered occasionally, only the minor details that no one would notice. But one thing that threw him off was how clear they were in the beginning. They had now been more faint, but not until last night. He had rarely dreamed, and never asked why. Some people would tell him it's because he's not human enough to dream. He brushed it off as a mere insult, but it still hurt he just didn't realize it. He was running out of interest in the current experiment he was working on, as his mind wandered to the girl again; her rich, dark brown eyes, with a long, fiery waterfall of hair to frame her delicate face. Every night he tried to take note of everything, but something always blocked him from retaining any information other than this, and that's what frustrated him. He slammed a few beakers down, but not hard enough to crack or break them.

He noticed John looked up from the sudden noise of glass hitting tile. He looked at Sherlock as to see what he would do next. He never once looked at him; instead Sherlock grabbed his coat and went out the door, without even a word uttered. He went to look out the window, and saw him walking brusquely down the street. John sighed heavily; trying to predict a time he would come home. It was only midafternoon; he would just have to wait to see what would unfold that night, or where he might go.

As the afternoon slowly transitioned to the rainy, cloudy evening, John decided to stay home for the evening, and do paper work for the clinics he was applying for. The last one let him go after he slept on the job and took the woman who hired him to a deadly Chinese circus. He told Sarah that it was never going to happen again, and he would do his best at the clinic to prove himself, but she let him go anyway.

While he was filling out the last application, Mrs. Hudson came upstairs, looking rather excited.

"John, there's a woman at the door here for you," she said pointing downstairs, "I told her you would be there in a minute. She said you knew why she was here?"

He knew it must have been Mycroft, and seeing the black car parked in front of the building confirmed his assumptions. He sighed, swearing under his breath, grabbed his jacket from the chair, and went on his way. The woman at the door, was no one other than Anthea, Mycroft's assistant. John actually didn't know who she really was to him, all he kew was she would pick John up when Mycroft wanted her to and take him to God knows where. John followed Anthea out to the car, the driver taking them wherever Mycroft was, the location unknown to him. For what seemed like hours, they finally arrived in another abandoned factory. Anthea led the way as usual, leaving to where Mycroft was. John walked into the large, damp smelling building, the abandoned equipment rusting, with broken windows pouring light in. As he walked through a couple of hallways, he saw Mycroft. Only this time he was not alone; another man was with him. He was standing two feet away from Mycroft, both of them at the center of the room.