Black , that was all John saw . He couldn't remember where he was or how long he had been lying on the ground , or why . Judging by the pain in his back and shoulders , it must have been a few hours at least . Slowly , John's vision was returning . He raised his head and saw the figure sitting on the chair . That man , something was so familiar about him… John was still thinking this when he slipped back into unconsciousness . He dreamt of Him and of the case they'd worked together in Baskerville . The scenes kept shifting , never remaining constant for more than a few seconds . He saw Henry being dragged by a massive canine with blood red eyes and foam frothing from its mouth . He saw Lestrade next , wearing a devilish grin and sitting atop a throne of cages each holding a struggling child . He saw Him next , his eyes cold and sinister . John watched as His back hunched and claws grew from his hand . In a second , a beast stood where He had stood , roaring and drooling a thick black liquid. That was the last image he saw before falling into oblivion once again .
John woke to a slight whacking sound and wondered if Sherlock had gotten his hands on that old riding crop he never went out without. John smiled at the thought, but seconds later his forehead crinkled with confusion; something about that image didn't seem right...Riding crop...noise...Sher-Oh! John remembered suddenly, that the noise was not Sherlock, no not Sherlock at all. What was it then, exactly? Even in his foggy state of mind, John knew something was going on. He realized he was in his room, on his bed. The momentary comfort and familiarity helped clear John's senses, but he still couldn't recall how he had gotten there. And then he sat up in his bed, blood rushing to his head. There was an intruder in his house, and John had fallen asleep ! He cursed and shook his head, attempting in vain to clear his vision. He looked about for his cane and saw it nowhere, cursing some more. In his mind, a thunderstorm was going on. No more confusion. John remembered exactly what had happened, and exactly who he'd thought he'd seen just before going unconscious. He cursed his mind for being so cruel, for sneaking in a sting even in the peaceful realm of unconsciousness. He rose quickly and limped to the sitting room, needing to make sure, make absolutely sure, that what he'd seen was a was steps away when he slowed down. He didn't know what he expected, a part of him was convinced he was going insane and seeing things, driven by grief and desperation. But another part of him was ecstatic, unable to contain the hopefulness that gripped his continued limping towards the room, at an incredibly slow rate, wanting to know but not wanting to be disappointed. He finally reached the end of the hall and stepped out, surveying the empty room. His chest and throat tightened, disappointment flooding over him like the foamy waves in the sea. He was about to make his way to the chair and sit down when someone emerged from the kitchen. " Ah, finally awake now, are we? That took a bit longer than expected. Really John, you would think a grown man wouldn't be so weak." His voice sounded exactly as it had, cold and superior, but with a little catch in it that John knew meant he was under stress or nervous. " No," John cried out loud, " You aren't real, I'm dreaming, you're not here!" He sighed dramatically and sat down, " Ah, finally believed the little note I left you? I'm real John, I'm as real as your horrendous choice in girlfriends, although I do have to say I'm a bit more stable than that lot. Now then, Tea? I had to put the water on again, what with you fainting this way and isn't here, she really does make marvelous tea, have I ever tol- ." He was interrupted by a loud clattering and stopped speaking, a frown quickly appearing on his face. John hand punched the mirror, and now blood was pouring steadily from his knuckles." Bloody hell John, what did you go and do that for?" He said almost angrily, starting to approach John. " No , stay away from me," John said loudly, "stay away, whatever you are." He gripped a piece of broken glass tightly, cutting his palm in the process. "You're not real," John said again. " This," he said holding up his bleeding hand, " this is real. Stay away!" The other man sighed loudly, rolling his eyes. " You don't think I'm real? fine. My name is Sherlock Holmes. My brother, the head of the British government, is Mycroft college friend introduced us, and we became flatmates that very week.I fed you a spiked coffee in Baskerville, which made you upset for some strange reason. You stopped using your cane after meeting me but are using it again which makes me think that there's stress in your life. The house is absolutely spotless. Avoiding attachment John? You're working with an Ex-girlfriend. If I didn't know any better I would think you're very desperate to cling to the 's no fresh food in the Fridge. How much time do you spend in the flat ? No more than 5 hours a day, I presume, enough to sleep and get dressed for a I go on?" John said nothing, letting silence take over the air. His thoughts whirled, the possibilities crossing themselves out as soon as they appeared. There were two things that remained. Either John had finally crossed the line into insanity and was dreaming all of this up, or his best friend , the same one that died jumping off of a hospital, was sitting in front of him .