Darkness and then light. Darkness and then light. This pattern kept repeating on and on. It wouldn't stop. The light was so bright and the dark felt like a void. What was going on? It had to be a dream but it seemed too real. Was that a shadow in the light? Oh, God. It was. What is it? I stare harder at it each time I go through the light. I am running a breathtaking pace, though. Should I slow down? NO! The word echoes throughout my cranium. One thing is for certain: slowing down meant death. I could not die. At least, not yet.

There it is again. That shadow. I force my eyes to focus on it as best as I can. It's John! He's crouched over. Is he hurt? He seems as if he is in pain. I slow down. I walk closer to him. He is clutching his stomach. Once I reach him, I put my hand on his shoulder. John leaps up and grabs my shoulders in a vise like grip. He is suddenly taller than me and he is very angry. There is a gaping bullet wound in the middle of his stomach.

"You did this to me. This is because of you, Sherlock!"

He yells this at me with so much fury. I start trembling. When did this happen? I know this is a dream. It has to be. John would never yell at me like this. You idiot! John isn't taller than you! That should be your cue this is a dream not his emotional state. I shake my head to remove this voice. This part of me that is rational will not help. Not now. Everything is different. John starts to loosen his grip and lets go of me. Then he starts laughing manically. He won't stop. It's hurting my head. John's eyes widen and he starts transforming.

The angry, but familiar John is now James Moriarty. He is now staring at me. "Oh, Shirley. If only, you would have gotten here sooner. Then little Johnny boy wouldn't be dead." Trembling, I look down at my feet and John is lying there with a glassy look to his eyes and that confounded bullet hole still dripping a scarlet liquid. I nearly vomit. "Tsk. Tsk. If only you had gotten here a minute earlier. You know, you should really listen to John better. This is all your fault, Sherlock." I want to punch that smug look off his face, but I can't even raise my arm. I am frozen.

"I guess you have nothing to say for yourself. It's such a pity that a genius like you can't take such pressure."

Moriarty goes to touch John. I don't know what he's going to do, but I know that I don't want him touching my best friend. My hands fly out towards Moriarty and close around his neck. "Don't you dare touch him!" I yell this over and over again as I lift Moriarty higher into the air. The petty villain's face goes white. His eye's gloss over. Then I am being shaken. My body feels as if it might explode and then light.

Oh, the light is so brilliant. I feel as if I may never be able to see again. My eyes finally adjust and I see John looming over me with a worried expression. "Are you okay, Sherlock? Speak to me!" I ignore him and look around. I am in my bed in my bedroom. Of course. I had fallen asleep here due to John's insistence last night when we had come home late from a pretty gruesome and tiring case. I look at John. "It's alright, my friend. I just had a bad dream. People get them from time to time. Go back to sleep and stay out of my room." With that I roll over on my side so John can not see me. He can never know what I had dreamt. It would ruin him.

I hear him huff and walk out of the room and slamming the door. I then feel a tear roll down my cheek and close my eyes. My worst nightmare had just defeated me. I would never let John die. Not even in my dreams. Next time I would be ready. John would not die then.