A/N: YARA I HOPE YOUR HAPPY! and sorry its a shorter chapter. i kind have an idea for a twist coming up. but i had to get this scene out of the way first.

Hours were going by slowly for Mycroft and his unnamed crew. they opened file after file and made calls to mysterious men trying to figure out the person of interest. The person who sent the strange warnings. The warnings occupied every space of his mind, save for one where his brother always filled. Some would say he was obsessive in his work, he would prefer to use the word thorough. But no matter what, his work was important and so was his brother.

It was true, maybe Sherlock didn't care about people and sometimes Mycroft didn't care about his brother…but one couldn't live without the other as fish cannot live without water. Their rivalry goes beyond what the eye can see. They grew up together, and the older corrupted the younger. A great pain to bear…and it was his alone.

Morning came sooner for the two men in the flat of 221B as they lay twisted in blankets. Neither of them knew the other was there and neither had awoken since they were placed onto the bed. The curtains of the room were drawn closed and the door was also shut. Sherlock, normally the early bird had started to awaken late in the morning. The sun was weak as it peered through the curtains only illuminating a small spot upon the bed where Johns legs were.

Still in his morning daze Sherlock laid on his back and looked up at the ceiling. He had yet to notices he shuffling of the sheets next to him as John started to wake. They had both been given the same sedative around the same time.

Born as one…

Sherlock rolled over facing his back towards John…his mind flashed back to the dark alley. He could almost feel the cold across his body and he pulled up the blankets tighter over him. closing his eyes, Sherlock could see the visions easier. There was a man. Tall and gallant, walkin towards Sherlock who had paused in the alley to get away momentarily from the prison that used to be his home.

He exists as three…

The cold air kept hitting him over and over. Looking up from the ground he could see a man wearing a mask. His clothes were nice, perfect and clean. Sherlock normally would have been on guard, but recently he couldn't do it. The man spoke. The words were whispered and strong, dark and poisonous.

The number doubled, and tripled is he…

He shuddered and tried to call out to the man. His voice hitched in his throat and the last thing he could see were feet walking away. All his limbs became numb and there was something, something cold in his hands. Trying to focus he hit the ground and now here he was. Lying in bed in his flat.

Beware…

That wasn't the end.

It wasn't a dream.

Fairy tales don't exist, Sherlock.

The clock struck the hour, nothing happened.

…do you hear me?

…

Sherlock?

Silence engulfed the room. The room, no details could be seen. Nothing stood out. Sherlock wasn't even self-aware. Maybe he was dead? Could it be hell? No, he didn't believe in god or anything past life, which to him could be just an illusion.

Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.

He shifted.

Awake? Alive?

In the room that had no walls, no doors or a window was a shadow that loomed off in the distance (?). Sherlock was in the room, not aware of what position he was in. the shadow had eyes…many eyes and a rumbling growl.

My friends have come to greet you…Sherlock.

"Sherlock…" somebody called. "Dammit, what dose did you give him?"

"Same as John, and he's fine"

"Define Fine?" John called from the living room.

"Ignore that James, what the hell went wrong"

"He's not dead sir…"

"I know that you fool. Keep an eye on him" Mycroft walked into the living room and sat down across from John. "your friend seems to be unable to wake up right now. We've been working all night to figure out the poison."

"any luck?"

"some. Anyways, how are you feeling? The tea working for you?" he asked nicely.

"y-you changed subjects. What about the poison?"

"feisty…we don't know much, but until we do, we're not letting anything get out."

"you don't trust me?"

"Trust isn't the issue Watson. I trust you with my brother's life"

"But not the truth?"

"Truth? In a case like this, there is no truth. Just the result of whatever happens."

"How bad is it?" John asked worried. He sighed a little and tried to relax.

"Bad isn't the word Watson, just keep an eye out for him. I'm sure he will be a little short tempered when he awakes…the usual"

"Usual?" Mycroft stood up and ushered James out of the room and waved to john. Only when john heard the door close did he stand up and stomp into the kitchen to dispose of his now empty cup. Mrs. Hudson had gone out for a while and wouldn't be back til evening. Walking by Sherlock's room, John touched the door and worked his way up to his own room.