Author's Note: Sorry for the wait! Things are getting busy. I know it's a short

chapter… There will be more to come! Stay tuned and leave a review!

Sherlock had known the whole time standing on that shore with John that the odds were stacked against them at least until Lestrade arrived. Though the villain may not be very smart, he was significantly taller and heavier than both Sherlock and John. So he sent John away under the orders to find help.

As soon as John was out of sight, Alan attacked. Sherlock held his own for a couple minutes, dodging blows and planting punches where he could. But, eventually, Alan punched Sherlock repeatedly in the head and Sherlock lost consciousness.

Unawareness, silence, and darkness weighed on his brain. It was like he had a black hood over his head. He felt detached from his body. He lost of control over his limbs and muscles. There was no pain, though. Despite the loss of control and the anxiety of feeling lost, he was perfectly calm. He felt stuck in between two places, unaware of what either of those places were or what they meant, but it did not worry him.

He wanted home. He wanted familiarity and comfort. But the prospect of rest, of painless, blissful sleep was enticing. Perhaps he could stay here? Just for a little while… Something told him he was going to have to choose between the two places. Except, the problem was, he didn't know how to find his way to either place. It was so dark and Sherlock suddenly realized he was alone. He was caught up in nothingness. This wasn't his mind palace. This was something else. Could it even be hell?

None of this makes sense. Where am I? Why can't I feel anything or see? Where's John?

Questions were racing through his head now. He had to figure out how to find John, how to find home, Molly, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, damn it, even Mycroft.

WHERE AM I?

Cold. He was feeling cold now. He could feel his body and, though it was still dark and silent, he definitely could feel his legs and arms and he was definitely cold.

He felt cold, frozen actually, for a long time. He was tired, now, too. His thoughts slowed and he tried to sleep. At least sleep wasn't oblivion and confusion and whatever the hell kind of a place he'd been stuck in. He slept for what felt like an eternity. Deep, peaceful, restf-

"Sherlock? Can you hear me? SHERLOCK!"

It was John. That voice undeniably belonged to John Watson. He had to open his eyes now. He tried, He tried yelling and reaching but nothing was working right.

John had managed to drag Sherlock's body to shore by himself, despite his bum shoulder and the icy temperature of the Thames. The EMT's were taking their time, but Sherlock didn't have time. As soon as John got him onto solid ground he started performing CPR, his medical training kicking in overdrive.

Fear gripped him. How could I have been SO STUPID?! I knew I shouldn't have left him there. Why did I do that?

He did his first rep of 30 and sealed his lips around Sherlock's and blew gentle, hopefully life-giving breath into Sherlock's lungs. He waited for a moment…. Nothing.

Damn.

He started again. Where are those paramedics? If it weren't so wet, an AED might actually be useful right about now.

He sealed his lips around Sherlock's again. He realized Greg had kneeled beside Sherlock and was saying something to John about how the paramedics were going to take over in a minute once they get the stretcher down when suddenly, John heard a low groan from Sherlock.

He pulled Sherlock onto his side and a combination of water and vomit poured out from his mouth as he coughed and coughed.

Pain. Pain was registering in every muscle and tendon of his body. A pulsing throb traveled through his bones with every heart beat, and it hurt like hell. It felt like someone was recently punching him repeatedly in his chest and he wanted him or her to stop. He tried groaning as loud as he could, finally feeling some sort of connection with his body. The pounding stopped momentarily and he felt two cold, wet fingers press against his neck. Then, someone ripped open his left eyelid and flashed a light near it.

He groaned again and forced his eyes shut once more.

"Jesus Christ." It was John again. "He's back. Bloody hell… Sherlock, you can't do that to me, you bastard." He sounded out of breath and a little panick-y.

Sherlock coughed again. He felt his whole body shake now. He heard John yelling and Lestrade yelling and several new people were suddenly touching him and talking and shouting and he didn't want to be a part of it so he retreated into his mind palace until it was blissfully quiet.