Catch you later

I had never in all of my life, felt so connected to someone. Every fibre of my being was screaming at me to kiss him but I held back, concentrating the passionate emotion I was feeling on holding his hand and smiling at him. That was all I needed right now, just some kind of connection to him, we didn't even need to talk. We just had to hold onto each other. He looked perfectly happy too, he was sat very still, the only movement he made was to stroke my hand with his thumb or smile at me. He looked like he was glowing. I couldn't describe just how happy I felt, words couldn't possibly do it justice. But as we delved deeper and deeper into such a beautiful moment, I could feel tiredness creeping up on me and I knew that I had to rest, though I hated the thought of tearing myself away from him. There had been such a rush of events in the past few days that my body was unable to catch up and function properly.

He saw me trying to keep my eyes open and leaned forward to inspect me closer. I blushed a little, feeling giddy. He beamed at me, it was an adorable sight and innocence emnated from him. I kept closing my eyes for several moments before opening them again, forcing myself to stay awake. He broke the hand contact and stood up, flexing his arms and legs to get the blood-flowing. He then turned to look at me again. "You should go to bed."

I yawned, brushing a hand through my hair. I did it a little too roughly though, as I knocked the swelling underneath the bandage and winced a little. Sherlock was alert and bent down towards me, checking me. "I'm fine, just being a rough sod." I laughed. I got up slowly, making the odd "ooh" as I did so, my muscles still ached a little. I picked up my mug slowly and motioned carefully into the kitchen, putting it carefully into the sink. Thinking of nothing but the comforting arms of my bed. That was all I wanted. As I went to mechanically move myself to my bedroom, I muttered a quick "goodnight" to Sherlock, who had settled down into his arm chair, hands pressed together, leant against his face again. He nodded and gave a small smile.

After what seemed like a considerably long time, I reached my bedroom. I closed the thin wooden door quietly, moving towards my satin-sheeted, double bed. Mrs Hudson had insisted when I first got here that she would make sure I got a good night sleep, so she dressed the bed with the most relaxing decor imaginable. God bless her (But she still insists she's not our housekeeper!) I slipped my shoes off at the foot of the bed, ordering them precisely so that they rested slightly on the army trunk that resided underneath the bed. Even out of the army, I still tried to remain neat and acted with complete precision. I tugged my top off and then my trousers, folding them delicately and placing them on top of a large chest of drawers next to the window of the bedroom, on the left-hand side. My temperature was soaring high, so I had no shame of going to bed in just boxers. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and paused for a few seconds; looking at the scar tissue on my shoulder. I run my hand along it, tracing the line smoothly. It felt cooler than the rest of my body. I grimaced a little at the sight of it. I switched the light off and climbed into bed. The cool sheets were pulling me in with a soft touch and I could feel sleep claiming me, I fell further and further towards unconsciousness and I released, allowing myself to float comfortably down into a dream-state, my very own tranquility.

"Hello John." A male's voice echoed, it sounded definite yet soft, with the slightest touch of irish to it. It was vaguely familiar. Wait no, it was very familiar.

I could feel a slight breath on the back of my neck and I was alert, but unafraid. I could feel my fist clencing and unclenching, as usual. I looked about me but all I could see was darkness. I called out, not knowing which way to look, so I looked in every which way.

"I'm disappointed... I'm disappointed! Now I know you're definitely ordinary, but you couldn't possibly forget meee?" His voice had a trace of madness and I was then certain of who it was.

Moriarty.

"It's funny this, the dead seem to keep uhh- popping up.." I couldn't see him. No matter where I looked, there was nothing. Nothing but darkness. I couldn't even see myself.

"Even after death, I'm still Mr Sex.." his tone was almost unidentifiable. He mostly sounded bored, but Moriarty was a madman and he was never, ever bored. He would play games with people to satisfy his lust for fun. Except his fun meant pain for any who he wished to be hurt.

"Why're you here?" The cooking pot of anger was simmering within me, this was afterall, the man who had sought to destroy Sherlock.

He laughed, it echoed around me and it menaced.

"Catch you later." his pronounced each word definitively, reminding me of the scene by the poolside and then suddenly, darkness around me dissolved.

I woke up in my bed, the cool sheets were mis-shaped and I had a chill of sweat on my brow. Why the hell had I been dreaming about Moriarty? I sighed with relief. Moriarty was dead. He was gone. It was just a dream. My phone buzzed from my bed-side table. I picked it up, my eyes still adjusting to the daylight. It was nine o'clock.

"But was it just a dream?" It read from an Unknown number.

I dropped the phone and froze. My eyes widened. What the?