John had risen to his feet at Sherlock's words. He didn't even flinch when Sherlock's mobile went flying, it was rather expected at that point. "What's happened?"

"Mycroft let her be taken." The detective started pacing again, his anger and frustration overriding his looming apathy. "He's useless," he spat.

Even as John asked who had been taken, demanding a name, Moriarty's shade made an appearance. "Ohhh, that's nice." He grinned maniacally. "I quite like how you treat big brother. I don't even need to give you pointers."

Sherlock's hand came up in a dismissive gesture. "Molly. He was supposed to be taking her into protective custody, but he let them get to her first."

"Slow Mycroft. If only he had been faster." Moriarty clapped. "Oh, wait. Weren't you the one that was slow?" He drummed his fingers against his lips. "Mmm. You should have asked for his help yesterday. And you didn't even ask him to protect your dear John."

As fast as a heartbeat, Sherlock had snatched a handgun from the coffee table and had pointed it at Moriarty. A muscle twitched along his jawline as he held the gun steady.

John found himself looking down the barrel of a gun. He brought his hands up slowly and spoke, keeping his voice level and low, "Sherlock put down the gun." He took a careful step towards the detective, trying not to startle him.

Sherlock blinked as John stepped through the image of Moriarty, dispelling the spectre. His arm dropped limply to his side as his heart fluttered and he didn't resist as Mary gently took the gun from his listless hand. When Sherlock spoke, his voice sounded far away to his own ears. "Perhaps... I should keep my distance from weapons for a few weeks." He looked around the room, bemused. "I need my clothes, Mary. I can't go after Molly in John's dressing gown."

"No!" John had stepped forward so that he was right in front of Sherlock. He looked him squarely in the eyes. "You almost shot me. Something's going on that you're not telling me. You're not just hearing things, are you?"

The detective put on his haughty demeanour. "Irrelevant. If I don't get to the crime scene and figure out what happened to Molly, where they've taken her, it will be too late. She'll be dead."

While they were talking, Mary moved the guns out of sight. She'd had guns trained on her numerous times, but seeing Sherlock pointing one at John had been almost more than she could take. If he had pulled the trigger, she would have gladly killed him. She might have regretted it later given his obviously deteriorated mental state. No, if he had killed John, then killing Sherlock would have been a mercy killing. The guns safely put away, she sat in her chair and let herself shake.

"It's not bloody irrelevant!" John grabbed him by the arms. "You've gone off your rocker."

The detective jerked away from the doctor's grip. "If I am, it's your fault! You won't let me do anything about it!"

John turned away and walked to Mary's side. "You okay?"

She took his hand and nodded in the affirmative. "You?"

"Oh, yeah. Just wonderful." John rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. Not turning, he addressed Sherlock, "We're not going to keep rehashing this. I know good and well you were hallucinating on the plane. Another hit isn't going to help. The only thing that will help is time." He heaved a sigh. "Time that, you're right, Molly doesn't have. So..." Now he did turn to face Sherlock, though he didn't drop Mary's hand. "You're going to have to trust me and that means telling me what is going on. I have to know so I can help."

The detective's eyes narrowed. He couldn't trust his own perceptions. It made sense to trust John's. "Fine, I'll tell you and then we go find Molly."

Feeling caught between the proverbial rock and a hard place, John agreed, "Fine."

"It's Moriarty. I don't just hear him, I see him."

As if conjured by the words, the criminal mastermind appeared behind John and waved.

"Jesus," John breathed as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

Sherlock shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. "The things he has to say aren't very nice."

"Oh, Sherlock." It was Mary's voice.

The detective turned his head to peer in her direction. "I had hallucinations when Mycroft forced me into rehab. The experience was similar. The hallucinations should peek in a day or so, then reduce in frequency over the next two weeks until they cease altogether. That is, if the pattern holds. Now my clothes, Mary."