When John came to he was lying in bed. At first he was certain that he had awoken in his cell in Scotland Yard, and that Mycroft had been a dream. As John became accustomed to the darkness he could see that he was certainly not in jail. For starters, rather than a pillow-less cell, John lay on luxuriously soft sheets. Turning his head, John could see somebody sleeping rather uncomfortably in a chair next to his bed. It would be like Mycroft to station someone to keep an eye on John.
John closed his eyes and his mind immediately flashed back to the night before. I saw Sherlock. Or was it just a picture of Sherlock? The memories were unclear, and he was having difficulty focusing. Eventually, he drifted back into a light sleep.
When John awoke again he was in a darkened room. Trying to sit up, he realized that he was restrained on the bed. Looking left and right, John saw Donovan and Anderson tied down in similar fashion. Fear rising in his stomach, John struggled harder to free himself. Suddenly, a figure stepped out of the shadows and took John's hand. John could not see the man's face, but there was something familiar about the touch. "Don't worry John."
Warm relief washed over John as he recognized the voice. "Sherlock? No offense, but I think I have reason to worry."
"Oh please, we've been in far worse situations. This only rates a six on the Bodily Danger scale."
"The what scale?! No, on second thought, I don't even want to know. Please just get us out of here."
Sherlock began to untie John's restraints. Suddenly, a second voice spoke out of the darkness behind Sherlock, "I know what you've done, Dr. Watson, and this time you won't be getting away."
John recognized the voice immediately. Moran.
"Run, Sherlock, run!" Even as John urged Sherlock away, Sherlock's face contorted in surprised pain. John looked down at Sherlock's chest and saw a dark substance spreading on his right side. Then Sherlock dropped to his knees next to John. John, still partially restrained, could only struggle futilely as Moran's laughter echoed around him in the dark.
"No! Sherlock, not again!"
He's going to die next to me, and I can't do anything about it, John thought.
"Sher..."
"John. John, wake up!"
"...lock!" John awoke with a start, covered in sweat. His chest heaved as if he had just sprinted a mile, and it took several breaths to get his panic under control. It was just a dream, John reassured himself. Becoming more aware of his surroundings, John sensed movement next to him. When he went to push himself up in bed he found his right hand tightly clamped in someone's grip, as it had been in his nightmare.
"You know, dreams are just a tool used by your mind to process information and emotion it couldn't while you were awake. I supposed that explains my need for limited sleep..."
John was fully awake now, and registering the voice that was speaking to him. Turning his head, he looked straight into the eyes of Sherlock Holmes.
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