Prompt at the end, to avoid spoilers

Drifting.

I knew a tether connected me to a large, metallic building floating behind me, just as I knew that the strange building was stationed between me and a much larger, glowing orb hanging on nothing, but darkness filled my vision, broken only by pinpricks of light scattered here and there. Where was I?

I had no idea, but how to get home was a more important question. I tried to walk, but nothing happened. I reached back to pull on the tether, but, again, nothing changed; the line merely slipped through my grasp. My hands felt huge, bulky, and I looked down to find I wore a strange, full-body covering over my normal clothes that severely hampered my ability to move. I would not be able to leave without help.

Could I at least not stare at darkness? The orb was beautiful. I would far rather stare at that than at the nearly unbroken darkness, but every attempt to turn failed. I was stuck, floating in nothing, staring at darkness, unable to leave.

It was amazingly quiet. Absolute silence met anything I did, anything I said. I could not even hear the scratching rustle of rubbing my fingers together inside the strange covering I wore. How had I gotten here?

A faint memory came forward: of being trapped, of waiting for rescue, of trying to stay awake.

Was I dreaming? I could be, I supposed. This would not be the first time I had been aware of dreaming in the midst of the dream, but from where had this strange dream come? And how could I break out of it?

I glanced back towards the building, where a familiar silhouette seemed to wave at me despite the impossibility. The building had no visible windows.

I would find no help there, and I looked around again. Nothing had changed. I was still tethered to that strange building. Pinpricks of light still broke the otherwise pitch darkness. Silence still reigned. It was rather peaceful here. Perhaps I would be alright with staying for a while.

Something abruptly hit me in the chest, sending me spinning in slow circles though I could not figure out what had hit me. The tether snapped taut, pulling me slowly, and I grew ever closer to the building as another weight slammed into my chest.

That one pushed me towards the building rather than in a seemingly random direction, and I wondered what was hitting me and why. It didn't hurt—not really—but it was uncomfortable, a sudden, distinct pressure on my sternum that shoved me around.

The impact came again, driving my back firmly into that metallic building, and the discomfort in my chest changed to warmth. What was going on?

The warmth slowly spread through my chest, down my arms, down my legs, and then into my face.

I gasped.

I gasped, and it was only after I gasped that I realized the warmth had settled into a rhythm, centered in my chest. A heartbeat.

My mouth opened again, and air moved. A heavy sigh of relief filtered through the bulky covering to reach my ears.

"Thank you," a voice breathed. Who was speaking?

Air moved again, rushing through my open mouth and into my chest before some of it seeped back out. Another, lighter pressure on my chest pushed the rest out, and the pressure released to let me inhale again, the gasps also beginning to settle into a rapid but steady rhythm.

"Yes. That is it. Open your eyes, now."

The metal building beside me let out a thump, and a door slid open, inviting me inside as the line tugged a question. The impossible silhouette appeared again, waving at me to hurry up. Behind me held that glorious view. Before me rested a strange unknown. Should I go in?

Something told me I could come back if I chose, but once I chose to stay, the door would not reopen. I clumsily pulled myself toward the door.

"Watson?"

The voice filtered hazily into my awareness, and I stifled a groan when my head pounded in response. Where was I?

"Can you hear me?"

I slowly became aware of a hand gripping mine, and the rest of my body regained sensation as the hand squeezed tighter.

"Come on, Watson. Open your eyes."

No. Better to go back to sleep. Why did my head hurt so much?

"Watson?"

Holmes. What happened?

"Open your eyes, Watson."

I probably should, if he was going to let that much worry leak into the words, but I wanted to go back to sleep. My head hurt, and I couldn't seem to catch my breath. What had I done?

An image came to mind: a wardrobe in an unused bedroom, containing only a few coats and a couple of pairs of shoes. I had been searching the interior, looking for the compartment Holmes insisted was hidden in the back corner, when a board creaked behind me and a hand shoved me in, locking the door before I could turn around.

Another hand joined the first, wrapping around my limp fingers, and I slowly managed to open my eyes.

A familiar face leaned over me, gradually coming into focus enough for me to recognize Holmes. I struggled to focus completely, however, and the worry in his searching gaze changed to stark fear when I looked through him.

"Look at me!"

I blinked, and my eyes finally focused, first on the ceiling behind him, then on his face. Some of the fear faded.

"Holmes." Relief washed his expression, and he seemed to relax minutely as I tried to look at my surroundings. "What happened?" I asked as he helped me sit up, making it easier to breathe. I still fought for air, barely a step below gasping.

"You were not in our rooms when I returned," he answered, studying me as I realized I was on the ground in the otherwise empty bedroom. "I found you locked in the wardrobe."

"Pushed," I told him shortly, my somewhat sluggish thoughts only belatedly supplying that he would have known that. How else would the wardrobe be locked from the outside? "The air was going stale."

He nodded, remembered terror lighting his eyes as his hand renewed its grip on mine. One finger found a pulse point and stayed there. "I am glad you taught me that resuscitation technique," he said simply.

My dream came to mind, recalling the pressure, the impacts, and I knew what he meant. My dream had mirrored Holmes' actions. The impacts had been chest compressions. The lighter pressure had been artificial breathing.

I had been dead. No wonder he was still staring at me as if I was going to disappear.

"I'm fine, Holmes," I said after a moment, squeezing the hand gripping mine before using the contact to pull myself shakily to my feet. "You brought me back."

The room dipped as I gained my feet, and Holmes' other hand landed on my arm, steadying me.

"Are you sure?" Worried grey eyes noted how unsteadily I walked, how heavily I still breathed, and I tried to inject a bit of humor.

"That you brought me back?" I checked my own pulse, and he affected a scowl even as amusement and relief lit his gaze.

"That you are alright," he chided, turning me down the hall towards our rooms.

I nodded firmly, ignoring the way the room dipped again with the movement. The vertigo would pass once I caught my breath, and a meal and a rest would set me to rights.

He opened the door to our rooms, depositing me in a chair next to the fireplace before quickly building up the fire, and only then did I realize how cold I was. I shivered, tugging a blanket free from the back of the chair, and he looked away from the dancing flames to stare at me. His keen gaze saw everything from the shiver I could not hide to how I awkwardly draped the blanket over my shoulders.

"What do you need?"

"A warm drink would probably be a good idea," I admitted, trying to conceal how short of breath the longer sentence had rendered me. It was taking an annoyingly long time to catch my breath, and I wondered how long I had been trapped. I could not have stopped breathing for long, or he would not have been able to revive me, but I felt sure I had fought to break free for at least thirty minutes before the failing air had forced me to still.

Scribbling a note on a scrap of paper and pocketing the pencil, he stepped to the door as footsteps sounded in the hall, and I faintly heard him ask the passing landlord for hot tea "or whatever warm drink he could find."

"Of course, sir," was the man's reply. "Give me just a moment. A man informed me that he heard someone calling for help from the empty room."

"Who told you that?" Holmes' voice had hardened. We had found very few leads so far in our hunt for the man harassing a pair of sisters, and only the culprit could have known I was trapped.

The man dithered, saying something about needing to go help, and I heard Holmes take a step closer.

"The call for help they reported came from my friend," he said, his voice dangerously low, "and I barely found him in time. Only the one who trapped him could have known he was there. Who told you that?"

I could not make out the reply, but he must have stammered a name, as Holmes took a step back.

"A hot drink and a meal for two," he ordered over the sound of crackling paper, "and send this to Inspector Wright."

The landlord's footsteps faded back toward the lobby, and Holmes stepped back through the door, quickly kneeling in front of me when he saw how deeply I inhaled.

"I'm fine, Holmes," I said again, forcing a smile to ease the worry in his gaze. "Seriously."

"You are still short of breath," he replied, frowning.

"I apparently need to make up for the few minutes I went without," I replied pawkily, inhaling every few words. I had never liked feeling so short of breath. "Stop worrying, Holmes," I continued, "I don't know how long I was trapped in there, but I know it was a while." I paused again. My breathing was slowing gradually, but too many words in a row still winded me. "I found a small crack in the wood I could just barely breathe through, so the air grew very stale before I fell asleep."

His frown eased only minutely. He knew just as well as I did that prolonging consciousness in that manner had kept me alive long enough for him to reach me, but it also meant I would feel its effects longer. My breathing was growing closer to normal, however, and he merely studied me instead of replying, seating himself in the opposite chair. By the time a knock sounded on our door, I was feeling much better.

Holmes set the tray on the table between us, passing me a plate of food and a cup so I would not have to get up, and, though he stared at me more than he ate, only the sounds of the cutlery broke the silence for several minutes.

"Do you remember anything?"

The question was quiet, an almost hesitant curiosity that refused to stifle, and I glanced up from the last few bites on my plate.

"From when I was—?" I let the question trail off, but he still did not quite smother a flinch.

"Yes."

"I had the strangest dream." I set my fork down, more interested in his reaction than the last few bites on my plate. "I was tethered to the strangest building I've ever seen, one that floated in the middle of dark nothing. A glorious blue orb floated behind the building, also hanging on nothing, but I faced away from them both, staring for the longest time out into a darkness broken only by pinpricks of light. It was absolutely silent. Any noise I tried to make disappeared before I could hear it. I could not turn around, nor could I pull myself toward the building. I was stuck, floating in silence."

I readjusted in my chair, unsure how many details he wanted, and he frowned in thought. "Did anything ever happen?"

I nodded, slowly explaining how the dream had unfolded, how the last thing I remembered was pulling myself into the building. The description lasted several minutes, and I took a drink of my tea when I finally finished, glad the many words had not left me breathless as I watched to see what reaction he would show.

He said nothing for a long minute, his frown deepening as he considered my words. "Did you see the drawing Conrad gave me yesterday?"

Conrad was our contact at the observatory, but I had not known about a drawing. I said as much, and he pulled himself to his feet, retrieving a paper tucked into a corner and handing it to me.

"Does this look familiar?"

My breath caught in my throat. I had never seen this drawing or any like it before, but pinpricks of light stared at me from a blanket of darkness.

Down to the related locations of each spot of light, it matched exactly the view in my dream.

From sirensbane: Watson in space

Can anyone guess what the "building" might be?

I hope you enjoyed. Don't forget to review! :)