"AHHHHHH!" Sherlock's eyes snapped open and he clutched at the bed sheets as he scrambled into a sitting position. For a moment he was completely disoriented, where was he? He surveyed the room, it was small and cramped and the only furniture in the room was a small desk tucked in the corner and the bed he was currently sitting on. The whole room had a slightly grubby feel to it, the wallpaper was yellowed and peeling, the carpet was faded and looked as if it could use a good vacuuming, and all the décor seemed dated and cheap. Then it all came rushing back, he was at a hotel and the white light had been the motion sensor lights turning on from him thrashing in bed.

Sherlock was suddenly aware that his whole body was trembling, even though he wasn't cold. He put his head in his hands and was shocked to discover that his face was damp. His whole body was covered in a cold sweat and his normally clean pajamas were crumpled from tossing and turning and soaked in perspiration. Sherlock let out a soft sigh and tried to take deep breaths, John was in no real danger it was only a nightmare.

These nightmares had become a common thing; he had one almost every night now. Sometimes they were about Mrs. Hudson, sometimes Lestrade, but mostly they were about John. This one had been particularly nasty, it had been so realistic. Sherlock had managed to get his breathing under control but there was still a knot of worry in his gut. He dropped his hands from his face and looked over at the phone on the small disheveled looking desk and reached for it. He picked it up and started to dial.

"Mycroft it's me." Sherlock said into the speaker, unable to keep a small tremor from entering his voice. Mycroft had always known that Sherlock had survived, it would have been impossible to hide from him so Sherlock had gone and told him himself, making him promise not to tell anyone else that he was alive. When Mycroft had protested, Sherlock explained that it was for John's, Mrs. Hudson's, and Lestrade's own safety and Mycroft had reluctantly given him his word. He should be able to help with this.

"Sherlock what do you want? It's three in the morning." Mycroft yawned irritably.

"I am perfectly aware of the time Mycroft; I am calling because I need a favor."

"A favor?" Mycroft asked with surprise, "What favor could you possibly need from me at this ungodly hour?"

"A small one, I need you to check on John." Sherlock said through his teeth. He needed to keep his snide remarks to a minimum if he was going to get any help from his infuriating brother.

"And how, do tell, am I to accomplish that?"

"Oh don't give me that Mycroft; I know you have had the whole flat bugged ever sense my… absence."

Sherlock heard him sigh and shift the phone to a more comfortable position, "Nothing gets past you does it?"

"Not a thing." Sherlock agreed, "Now check on John."

The tapping of fingers on a keyboard could be heard as Mycroft started to access the live feed coming from 221B.

"May I inquire-" Mycroft began after a moment.

"No," Sherlock said cutting him off.

"-why you are suddenly checking on John at this hour?" Mycroft continued as if he had not heard Sherlock's interruption. "Three in the morning seems like a strange time to suddenly be so concerned about someone."

"That's none of your business," Sherlock growled at his brother. "Did you pull up the feed yet?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"I'm not telling until you explain yourself Sherlock."

Sherlock clenched the phone, nearly crushing it. He could almost see his brother leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. Why did he always have to be so infuriating?

When Sherlock remained silent Mycroft said with impatience," I mean it Sherlock. What got you so concerned?"

"Why do you want to know so badly?" The younger snapped back, "It is absolutely none of your business."

"It could be."

"No it really couldn't," Sherlock countered angrily. "Well if you're not going to help-"

"Did you have another nightmare?" Mycroft interjected calmly.

Sherlock stopped in mid-sentence, "How do you know about that?" Sherlock asked his voice dangerously soft.

"There isn't much I don't know Sherlock" He replied smugly. He waited for a snide remark from his little brother, but it didn't come. "I'll take your stunned silence as a yes then."

"Alright yes, that is why I called," Sherlock huffed. "Now tell me what you see on the feed!"

"Fine, let's see… Nothing interesting seems to have happened."

Sherlock let out a small sigh of relief and relaxed some.

"In fact," Mycroft continued, "the only thing he did last night other than get groceries, was to sit in his chair and look exceedingly gloomy." He continued to watch the tape for a moment longer. "Oh and he just went into his room and took a couple of white pills, probably antidepressants, he has been extremely dismal since your absence."

Mycroft paused for a second waiting for the witty remark that was sure to come. When it did not, Mycroft asked, "Sherlock, Sherlock are you still there?"

But Sherlock was already out the door and running down the filthy hotel hallway, he pulled on his coat as he flew past door after door; terrified that he would return home to see John Watson's cold body on the floor. And it would be entirely his fault.