It was just him and the wind now. It pulled him violently backward into the black infinity and he couldn't fight it. His eyes were trying hard to open and his hands were trying to find something to grab but this wind was stronger than everything. Nothing survived it. It seemed as if it lasted forever, being pulled into the darkness. Away from life, away from John. It just didn't stop until, at once it did. It was very sudden. The wind was gone and he was just floating in the air. Nothing happened.
He was alone. Or was he?

SLAP.

His eyes opened and his cheek was burning. He was there in the cell again. He knew that John was the dream! But he didn't want it to be. John didn't know where he was. No one did. He was lying there. Staring at the blank ceiling. He felt much better now. His head still hurt but he could feel the water going through his veins again. It was such a nice feeling. Like a river, flowing slowly between the trees. Calm and refreshing, like walking barefoot on the cool ground while listening to the sounds of the nature and smelling its unique smells.
Slowly he recovered. After a week he could stand again. The colour returned to his face and the air did no longer scratch his lungs. It was better this way. He was pacing a lot. Thinking about life, ways to escape. About John. Every night he set on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall in front of him, picturing John and just told him everything he could think of. Sometimes it was about the disgusting soup, the wired stupid guard that made sure he was eating, the boredom and sometimes the longing.

Every day was the same as the last. Waking up, eating and drinking while the stupid guard was watching, then being alone, talking to the walls and go back to bed. Until one day this routine was broken.

This day had started just like all his predecessors. He woke up and ate his brunch, or whatever this meal was named. Then it was his time to be alone. To see John. He set down on his bed, stared at the wall and after a while, John appeared in front of him. "How are you doing?" he asked John who didn't respond. "I'm fine. I'm feeling much better now. This guard is so stupid. I see why Moriarty doesn't let him hold the keys while he's in the room, making me eat. I could have ran away long ago. It would have been easier to pickpocket him than Lestrade." he laughed from that and so did John. "I wanted to tell you something." he said. "I'm-" he was interrupted by the raspy voice of the gate that opened brutally and violently hit the wall in a loud, ear busting sound. Two big guards ran towards him and one of them hit him in the neck so hard that he lost consciousness.

He knew it was just a matter of time before something will happen but he still hoped that Moriarty has forgotten him and that this routine will last forever. Well, until he finds a way to escape and find John. But it didn't.

It was dark again. No sound was in the darkness. No smell, nothing. But then there was something. A light. And it grew bigger and bigger ate the darkness and the blackness has slowly crumbled. Sherlock watched at it as it covered him slowly. Soft and cozy, like a cloud it made his whole body disappear. Then he was back. Slowly, he opened his eyes.

The whole room was fuzzy. His eyelids were still heavy and therefore it has been almost five minutes before he has successfully opened his eyes. "Did you sleep well?" rhetorical question. Again. He really hoped for a second that John will be there when he'll wake up. "Amazing." he answered sarcastically. "Well I see you got your humor back." he smiled cynically. "Okay then, the sleeping beauty, We have some work to do." Yes, the deal. He had already forgotten about that. "What do you want?" He just wanted it to be over already.

"Well. Down to business." Sherlock wasn't focused. What could that possibly be? Moriarty looked incredibly happy so it couldn't be good. "You are familiar with my work." Sherlock was now more serious than he had ever been. "Well. From now on, you will be working for me." He was afraid of that. Of course he now has no choice. "What will I be doing?" Moriarty smiled. That meant that he wouldn't be the housekeeper.
"I have a great job for you." Sherlock was anxious to hear the rest. "Remember that I don't get my hands dirty?!" It hit him. But Moriarty still felt an urge to say it out loud. "Nobody said you don't."

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