Sherlock, once he had cried himself out, had allowed John to talk him into bathing. He was stood under the running water, letting it wash away the stink of stale sweat from his body and the humiliating trails of tears from his face.

When the hated Irish brogue rang out in the small space, Sherlock reached out and braced himself against the tiled wall. "I don't need you anymore, Moriarty. Go away."

"Oh, dear, dear, dear," Moriarty tutted. "You're WRONG! You'll always need me. I'm crawling around under your skin, inside of your veins."

Sherlock shot a glare in Moriarty's direction. The shade was staring at him in open appreciation.

"He doesn't see you the way I do, you know, your John. He doesn't want you the way I do either." Moriarty raised his hand, twirling his finger in the air. "Come on, then, give us a look."

Sherlock's scream of outage echoed around the small room, bringing John crashing into the loo mere moments later.

"Jesus! Sherlock, are you alright?" The doctor's heart was racing as he tracked Sherlock's gaze.

"You're nothing!" Sherlock shouted at the spectre. "A construct of my mind, a mere tool!" His hands were flying as he gesticulated wildly.

"Sherlock," John approached carefully. "You're hallucinating."

The detective's head whipped over to look at the doctor. "You're you."

Eyebrows raised, John affirmed," Yeess."

"Oh, bravo," Moriarty clapped slowly. "It's nice to see your little hobby hasn't dulled your mind."

Sherlock staggered, slipping in the tub and dropping down hard on one knee. He looked back up to where Moriarty had stood to find him gone.

John was at the detective's side, helping him to sit on the edge of the tub. "Right. We should have taken you to A&E." He turned his head to call for Mary, but she was already hovering in the doorway. "Would you get my kit? He's still hallucinating. I need to check him over, see what other damage he's managed to do to himself." He grabbed Sherlock by the nape, forcing him to look into his eyes. "This is why you can't keep doing these things! You've been endangering your mind, the thing that makes you who you are." Abruptly, he pulled the detective to him, holding him close and terribly afraid of letting him go.

Mary returned, John's kit in hand and placed it on the floor. She grabbed a towel and passed it to her husband. "Do you need my help?" she asked quietly, suppressing a renewed pang of sadness.

"No," John replied, his voice slightly strained. When he let go of Sherlock, the other man started to slip from his perch. "Actually, yeah." The doctor draped the towel over Sherlock's lap, then steadied him. "Hand me my stethoscope and the blood pressure cuff." He'd been monitoring Mary's blood pressure for several weeks, hence the presence of the cuff.

Sherlock's heart rate was elevated as was his blood pressure, but not dangerously so and thankfully his heart was beating in a steady rhythm.

John sighed, feeling a modicum of relief and passed the tools of his trade to Mary who put them away. "You still need to be checked out properly."

"There's no time for that," Sherlock objected. His patience had been strained to the breaking point by all the fussing. He stood, looking for his clothes, forgetting that John had taken them away to be cleaned. Suddenly there was a breath at his neck and a voice in his ear.

"You've never been good at sharing, Sherlock." The detective gave his head a shake, seeking to dispel Moriarty's vocal presence. "Look at her, the little wife. A mother... an as-sas-sin." The voice moved around to his other ear. "Do you think she wants to share?" An imaginary finger probed the bullet wound in his side. "She didn't before, but women are known for changing their minds."

Sherlock whirled around, locking his eyes on the vision of Moriarty - it was overlaid on John, a clear mistake. The detective began to laugh.

"What?" The spectre scowled. "What!"

"You're nothing compared to John. Remember the at the falls?" Sherlock was holding his arms out to his sides. "He made you fly."

The doctor stepped forward and grasped Sherlock by the arms, shaking him. "Enough!" he shouted.

Moriarty faded away, leaving the detective staring at a very frightened John.