In the deafening silence of the room Mycroft's umbrella hit the floor with the resounding thud. The elder Holmes started backing away, shaking his head in disbelief. John, on the contrary, surged forward and dropped onto his knees near his friend's bed, reaching tentatively towards the motionless body.

"It's impossible," murmured Mycroft dazedly. "It can't be happening. He died, he simply can't…"

"Mycroft," John said calmly. "Shut the hell up and sit down. Now!"

The doctor's voice was full of authority and booked no argument, and the politician obeyed instantly, too shaken to protest. But John didn't fail to notice that the chair Mycroft chose to sit in was in the corner of the room and therefore he managed to distance himself from his unexpectedly alive sibling.

With Mycroft out of the way and not distracting him, the ex-army doctor finally could turn his full attention to the man on the bed in front of him. Sherlock's chest rose and fell regularly, the colour of his face slowly started returning to normal, but other than that, there were no other visible changes. Luckily, John had a penlight in a breast pocket of his jacket, so he proceeded to check Sherlock's iris contraction reflexes next. Everything was as it should be, and John hummed quietly in satisfaction. Rising from the floor, he turned and looked at the elder Holmes, smiling slightly. Mycroft sat stiffly in the chair, staring straight ahead, seemingly lost in his thoughts.

"Mycroft, we need to get him to the hospital, the sooner the better," John said firmly, and the politician turned his head to look at him, blinking slowly.

"Is Sherlock..," the elder man replied uncertainly.

"Yes, alive and breathing. But to keep doing that, he needs a proper medical attention"

"Of course," Mycroft rose gracefully from the chair. "The paramedics are waiting downstairs, by the way."

"Good. Then I will tell them that the reason of their arrival is changed. Can you keep an eye on Sherlock for the couple of minutes?"

"Yes, I suppose."

From the slightly strained expression on the older man's face John concluded that Mycroft wasn't at all happy with the prospect...


"I'm thirsty, going to get something to drink," John announced, getting up from the quite comfortable chair. They were in the small room of the private clinic, waiting for the news about Sherlock's condition. "Do you want anything, while I'm at it?"

"Coffee," the politician was tapping his fingers on his umbrella's handle. His expression was distant, so clearly he was contemplating something.

"How do you take it?" the doctor enquired.

"What? Oh, black, two sugars, please."

"Anything else?"

"Biscuits would be nice."

"Okay, I'll see what I can find around here," John went to the coffee machine, which he spotted in the corner of the room, and soon returned with the two cups and the pack of biscuits. "Here you are."

"I need you to explain something to me, John," Mycroft took a tentative sip from his cup. "Ah, a good coffee, by the way."

"Explain what, Mycroft?" the doctor also took a sip and nodded. "You're right about the coffee."

"I still can't quite comprehend, how…"

"How it is possible?"

"Precisely. And why they put him in the cold bath when we were at the flat."

"Well, that's not exactly my area of expertise, but I've read some research on that matter. It called the Lazarus Syndrome'. Basically it means spontaneous revival after death. Happens rarely, and nobody knows why. I guess we just got very lucky. Maybe my attempts to bring Sherlock back made a difference, I'm not sure."

"And the bath?"

"Well, we don't know for certain how long he'd been dead. So there could be substantial brain damage. Lowering the body temperature is the way to prevent that. Let's hope that it will work. But still, he never will be the same again, Mycroft."

"I understand that. What's the worst case scenario?"

"Well, he isn't brain-dead, that's for sure. The rest is just the question of time and efforts, which we'll need to get him back to normal."

"I hope you're right, John."

"Whatever it takes, Mycroft, I'll do it."

"I know, John. And I want you to know that you're not alone in this. Whatever it takes."

They both fell silent, sipping their coffee slowly, waiting for the news and desperately wishing for the better…


Darkness. Darkness and emptiness – Sherlock didn't like it at all. He was supposed to be alive now, not stuck in some Limbo.

"You are alive, you're just inside your own mind," somebody said clearly.

"Yeah? Well, no offence, but it's too empty to be my mind, I think. And who are you, by the way?"

"It doesn't matter. We're here to help you harness your gift."

"Harness? Wait a minute, just what kind of gift are we talking about? What are you going to turn me into?"

"We are not going to turn you into anything, just merely enhance your natural abilities. And train you to use them to full extent."

"Oh, okay. And you are going to start training me right now, I suppose?"

"Quite correct. And since you are not satisfied with your surroundings, try to do something about it."

"Like waking up?"

"Nice try. But we were talking about transforming your CURRENT surroundings."

"Well, let me think..," the darkness fled away, replaced by the quite detailed image of Sherlock's own bedroom. "Home, sweet home."

"Impressive."

"Can I change your voice too?"

"Like that?" somebody said clearly in John's voice.

"Yes," Sherlock answered, realising with sudden clarity that he was missing John terribly. "How did you… Am I that predictable?"

"You are honest. And caring."

"Well, just don't go all mushy on me right now, okay? Especially with John's voice."

"You are projecting your own emotions, Curious One. We have none at all."

"We?"

"In your terms, we are something like a collective consciousness. The sum of everything that was, is, and will be."

For Sherlock's rational mind such an explanation just wasn't good enough. But without substantial data to base his theory upon, he chose not to do that at all, filing the current information as irrelevant and insignificant.

Still needing to find a way out of that situation, he simply pretended to play along.

"Impressive. And for how long I'm stuck here with you? No offence, of course."

"None taken. As long as it takes for your body to heal."

"And that will be… Wait, don't answer. Time is relative, am I right?"

"Enough for us to teach you everything that you should know."

"Yes, you're right. Absolutely pointless. Well, let's stop wasting our time and start learning, shall we?"


The door finally opened and Sherlock's weary looking physician stepped into the room. John was up and feeling apprehensive in a second.

"It's not as bad as it seems," the sandy-haired man hastened to reassure. "I'm Doctor Stanley Barlow. And you are…"

"I'm Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock's brother. And this is Doctor John Watson, his closest friend and colleague."

"Doctor? May I ask about your specialty?"

"Field surgeon. Ex-army, invalided from Afghanistan."

"Good, that's good. You're perfectly qualified to look after your friend then. He is comatose now, but the brain activity is spiking periodically. We did a complex of tests, and the results are looking very promising so far."

"Is there any brain damage?"

"That remains to be seen when he wakes up."

"So what's the course of his treatment for now?"

"Anaesthetics and a mild hypothermia for the next few hours, and if the brain activity holds, we'll switch him over to basic life support. He is breathing on his own, so it's just a precaution."

"Can we see him?"

"Yes, but not for long. When we transfer him into Recovery, the visiting hours will be extended. And as for now – follow me, please."

Five minutes later they were standing near Sherlock's bed, gazing at him with hope and worry. The consulting detective looked paler than usual; his body was covered with the hypothermal blanket, multiple tubes and wires sneaking out and connecting Sherlock to the life supporting machines. He was so fragile, so vulnerable, that John's heart skipped a beat.

"Don't worry, Sherlock. We're here, you're safe. We'll do anything to get you back to normal. Everything is going to be okay."

Mycroft glanced at him with approval, and John smiled bravely in return. But deep inside, he felt that everything wouldn't be as easy as it seemed…

A/N: This chapter is a bit explanatory. Don't worry; good stuff's coming soon!