John stirred in his bed. He could see Sherlock's blood on his hands. He tried to wipe the blood off of himself. He woke up to find it was a dream, but found mysterious figures in his room grabbing him. John tried to reach for his gun from under his pillow. One of the figures jammed a cloth against John's face. John tried not to breathe but gave in after his lungs burned for oxygen. He lost consciousness and fell into a deep sleep.
-oOo-
John woke up with a start. Two boys no older than seventeen stood over him. His muscles ached as he sat up. He was resting on an old mattress laying in the corner of a run down room.
"Get up, the sir wants to see you." said the shorter of the two. John was pulled to his feet and lead up a flight of stairs. His legs went numb and they buckled. The boys helped him up the stairs and down the end of the hallway. John was lead inside and they shut the door behind him.
The room was bare except for two chairs and a single bulb hanging from the ceiling. John noticed a dark figure lurking in the shadows and he shook his head in disbelief when the figure stepped into the light. There standing before him like a ghost was Sherlock. He felt as if he touched him then he would vanish.
"Hello, John."
"It can't be, I saw you die." protested John.
"Well I can prove it to you that I'm real even though it's not important. I can tell that you haven't slept much. You've lost five pounds but never exercised. You've been skipping meals. Kind of funny considering you always lectured me on skipping meals."
John gave a laugh then lunged at Sherlock, pushing him against the wall.
"Three weeks, three weeks you've been alive and you didn't say anything. You couldn't at least text me that you were alive." John felt tears run down his cheeks. He hid his face in Sherlock's scarf so the detective wouldn't see.
"John, I don't have time to explain why or what I've been doing since. There has been chatter going around and your name has come up in those conversations."
"So we're going to ignore this whole missing for three weeks?" asked John.
"I was on vacation." said Sherlock. He signaled and a man came in.
John felt a rush of anger. Sherlock was so dense for a genius, "Since when do you go on vacation by faking your death and making the country believe you were a liar and a fake?"
Sherlock didn't seem to hear John's question and was exchanging something with the man that he couldn't see. He then turned back to John, "You're right, I should have handled that better. We can talk about how angry you are later. I need step out for a bit, you already heard about the man in Brixton. Lestrade informed you the other day. My homeless network tells me what's going on in the world."
John gave a sigh, "You want me to come?"
"No, I need you to stay here. If they are targeting you then you need to stay hidden."
"If you think you're going to go without me-" John didn't finish his sentence. Sherlock turned around and punched John out cold. He used the restraints that he had gotten earlier while John was talking and bound John's hands behind his back.
"Sorry, John, but where I go, you can't come with me."