Mycroft found himself in a room. He looked about, and concluded it was a foyer for an upper class hotel. He walked a few steps towards the collection of sofas on a rug, and then realised it was actually an upper class shopping centre. People appeared all around him; many sat in the chairs with their shopping and chatted away to each other, others walked past him from nowhere and going seemingly also nowhere. He swung around, curious as to why none of them could see him. He was standing right in the walkway of a woman who continued to march straight at him; had he not swerved away, she'd have knocked him over - or possibly, gone right through him. Was he a ghost?

"Mycroft."
Mycroft looked about and saw John standing there before him, his arms crossed, wearing a red checkered shirt. He tried to speak to respond, but no voice came out. John held up his hand to silence him.

"You need to get out of here. He'll find you if you stay here."

Panic filled him as he realised John was right. He was always so vigilant in staying hidden in the shadows, but now he'd come out to where everyone else was - he could be hurt. In fact, he was an easy target. He looked about, unable to see any means of escape… the room continued out towards some shops, like the upper level of a shopping centre, but he just knew that there was no way out from there.

"I'll help you, don't worry."
He looked at John thankfully. He tried to ask what to do, where to go, but still he could say nothing. Somehow John seemed to understand him anyway, and nodded towards the elevator.

They both walked and pressed the up button. Mycroft had never felt more vulnerable without his voice. As they stood in the elevator, it lurching upwards with an almighty clang, Mycroft realised that there was no 'out'. There was only this building. 'Out' was, well, death. The elevator ground to a halt at the second floor. They both walked out, only to find it a fancy business setting.

Mycroft wanted to ask where they were, but John just shook his head. He wandered over to the large window, facing out to the nothingness.

"Sherlock's out there," John began with a sigh, "And if it weren't for you, I'd probably be there too. And so would he. It was from here, wasn't it, Mycroft? Where he jumped?"

Mycroft looked down at himself, unable to look at John's mourning any longer. He still didn't feel safe where he was. He heard some footsteps approaching from behind him.

"John, I thought I'd find you here. Although I'm surprised you're here, Mycroft. You don't usually spend time in the past, do you?"

Whirling around, Mycroft came face to face with Gregory. But he was different… he wasn't the kind, soft Gregory that he knew. No, this Gregory was hardened and serious. He stood with a permanent frown, his face aged and weathered from the stresses of life. Mycroft tried to utter his name, but became even more disconcerted that he couldn't say anything.

"I expected to see you in the present, down on Ground. But, it doesn't matter. I guess this is where it all started, isn't it?"
Mycroft shuffled uncomfortably. What was Gregory talking about? His eyes flicked to John, who was now suddenly at his side. The underlying tones of anger ruffled Mycroft, giving him the uncontrollable urge to run.

"Greg."
"John."
"Quite the time we had, here, isn't it? Why don't you head on up to Third, I'm sure you'd find that much nicer."
"I shouldn't leave Mycroft here alone."
"Oh, but he's not alone, is he? I'm here, and Sherlock is here…"

John huffed to himself.
"Yes, he is isn't he? I'd almost forgotten. But then, I guess there's no Sherlock to be seen here, on First or Ground. And so it doesn't matter that he's actually there. I don't want to see him."
"Why don't we get Mycroft to go up to see Molly? What do you think, John?"

Before he knew it, Mycroft had found his legs and sprinted back to the elevator. He pressed 'G', and willed the doors to close before he was followed. The silver doors slid shut, but before he could feel relieved, the elevator jerked sidewards. The metal box thrust upwards, hurling Mycroft to the floor. It suddenly stopped, shook, and then plummeted. Mycroft screamed, but no sound came out. The elevator halted at the Ground floor, remaining intact, and Mycroft half pulled the doors open in a panic.

But he was faced with another door - a wooden one, with a silver bar on it to push to open. He did, but was only again faced with a similar door… this one with a red stripe instead of the yellow of the previous. He pushed it open as well, and found yet another door. He charged at it, slamming it open, only to be faced with the first yellow door.

He clawed at the doors, each one opening only back onto the others. He was trapped and feeling utterly helpless. He was vaguely aware that he was the one that built those doors, as a protection, and he'd somehow allowed himself to be caught on the wrong side. He used his whole body to shove his way through the door before him and was relieved when he was back in the shopping centre foyer.

Gregory was out for revenge, he knew as much now. Revenge on him. And Mycroft knew, tears falling now, that it was all justified.

Mycroft gulped and turned on his heels. He eyed the elevator cautiously, thinking about what Gregory had said. The Eighth floor. That's where he could make it all right again. He knew that Molly Hooper was up there, in the hospital that was the Eighth floor. She could help him - she helped Sherlock, after all.

The people had disappeared from the area, leaving him entirely alone. The elevator opened, and there stood Gregory in his dark trenchcoat… a depraved look in his eye.

Mycroft jumped in bed, sweat running down his face. He was panting, even though his dream hadn't had him running. His heart was pounding. It was unusual for him to have such a violent reaction to a dream.

He sat upright and flicked on the light, and then ran his fingers over his face and through his hair. He recalled the dream, having no trouble remembering the vivid details. That last look Gregory had given him still terrified him, and not much terrified him. It was a little difficult to understand the meaning behind everything, but he resigned himself that not everything had meaning in dreams.

He swallowed nervously thinking about the desire to go to the Eighth floor. But the thing that was most unsettling for him was the doors. So many doors keeping him trapped inside the elevator. Was that his mental barriers? The only people that seemed to actually see him while in the present were John and Greg. They were the only ones to see beyond his barriers. And it was no secret why Gregory would want revenge.

His dream was right though: John and Gregory are buddies, and have partnered up against him. It would seem the only person he has left is Sherlock. He laid back down and hugged himself. The words 'I will always be there for you' resounded through his mind. He couldn't help but feel the cost of his commitment was too high this time.

He never anticipated this.