I shudder awake, turn on the bedside lamp and rub my eyes, images of a dying Sherlock still burned into my brain. I roll over and see the perfectly unharmed Sherlock lying beside me. Propped up on his elbows, he has the look of concern that I am now very accustomed to etched upon his face.
"What time is it?" I say, as casually as I can.
"Ten past four. In the morning. And you've been tossing and turning for hours." He speaks gloomily; his low voice seems lacklustre and weary.
I shake my head disbelievingly, then turn to see the alarm clock display "04:11" in bright LED letters. Defeated, I face Sherlock once more.
"Get up, John."
"What? It's just gone four in the morning! Where are we going...Are you joking, Sherlock?" I splutter.
He does not look like he is joking.
"I said get up, John. I'll tell you where we're going..." He slides out of bed and shakes on his dressing gown. "...when we get there."
Still groggy and half-asleep but fully dressed and functioning, I walk into the kitchen. Sherlock is drinking coffee, and has a steamy cup ready for me. I take the cup and stir it, suspicious. I sniff the contents- can't smell any chemicals. It looks alright. I take a tiny sip. It actually tastes pretty good.
"Your lack of faith is disheartening, John."
I smirk. "Well, I have good reason to be a little cautious. Last time you fixed me a cup of coffee I ended up in a government laboratory with what I thought was a demonic hound."
He nods, a smile playing on his lips.
"Well, I have no reason to drug you this morning. Other than, of course, pure amusement. But I have easier ways to get that from you."
I hit his shoulder playfully, then sit down, content. I soon remember why we're here, however, and then question him about it.
"We're going to visit somewhere. And someone."
I narrow my eyes suspiciously, but give in. I have learned from past experience that disagreeing with Sherlock only wastes time before he inevitably wins. So I finish my coffee, shrug on my jacket and follow Sherlock out the door.
It is a short walk to the destination; a small, well-kept office building. Sherlock knocks three times, when the door opens; revealing an elderly gentleman in a suit. He invites us inside, and directs us up the stairs before he walks outside. I shift my gaze, embarrassed, as I follow Sherlock upstairs.
"Sherlock, it's too early to be interrupting someone..." I'm unsure what to say, as it's obvious this man wasn't asleep. What /were/ we interrupting?
"Don't be ridiculous, John. Gideon works at night. To ensure only his...welcome company arrive."
I raise my eyebrows. "And you're welcome company?"
"Indeed. Gideon was the man who assisted with my fall. He helped me carry it out, and kept my being alive secret afterwards. He got me back to you, John." I blink for a few moments, and then give Sherlock a quick peck. He grins, and climbs the rest of the stairs.
To my confusion, Gideon is already in the room at the top of the stairs. I awkwardly hand him my jacket as he brings us into the impeccably kept office. He walks over to his chair and sits, remaining silent the entire time. He folds his arms, and opens his mouth.
"What brings you here, Sherlock? Last time I saw you, you told me in no uncertain terms that you hoped never to see me again."
Sherlock remains impassive.
"I meant that in a friendly way, Gideon. For your own good."
Gideon nods.
"Anyway..." Sherlock continues. "John is having...readjustment...issues."
"I told you he would," says the voice from across the desk.
"I know. I was hoping that they'd go away after a while, but they're getting worse. Worse by the day. It's affecting his health, Gideon. I can see it in him."
I frown. This is news to me.
Gideon gently rocks back and forth on his chair, thinking.
"Have you explained to him the details of your disappearance, Sherlock?"
Sherlock hesitates, and looks noticeably startled. He now looks guilty, and he speaks his next sentence quietly.
"Most of them."
"Most of them, Sherlock?" I blurt out. "Not all?"
