Tell me you like the title? *wiggles eyebrows*

Sorry if this is confusing. I love dream sequences, they're my favorite thing to write. Plus, I like the idea of Moriarty torturing John...

At any rate, I had to put a warning on it for swearing, sorry kids.

Let me know if you absolutely hate it, or just can't get enough.
I love feedback!

Thanks again to all that are following and are favoriting! You guys rock my tiny little Sherlock world!

Stayin' Alive

"So, Molly Hooper," Greg started as he got out of the cab in front of Molly's house. "Any other secrets you're hiding from us?"

"No, Greg, I promise." Molly pulled her jacket closer to herself as she dug for her keys in her pocket. Their footsteps crunched under the new, wet snow.

"Molly, I cannit believe that you've hidden Sherlick away ferm ush." John stumbled out of the cab and the detective inspector caught him.

"I think you need to slow down'er ole boy." Greg said as he helped his friend up the steps into Molly's house. "Wot's wrong with you anyway? You had the same to drink as I have."

"I...um...haven't had anything to eat, I believe," John tapped his head.

"Well, that cood be an issue," Greg helped the doctor onto Molly's couch as Molly went into the basement to look for Sherlock.

Holding tightly onto the railing and her head swimming, she pulled the string to turn on the light to the landing, then rapped softly on the door.

"Sherlock?" She pressed her ear against the door. Not a sound could be heard.

"Huh, mmm... maybe he's out..." She said to no one in particular as she unlocked the door and let herself in. Feeling around for the nearest lamp, she found it and turned it on. What met her eyes shocked and amazed her. The basement looked exactly the way it did before Sherlock moved in. Even the bullet holes were spackled over.

Molly threw her hand to her face and spun around, looking for a sign that Sherlock had even been there. It was all she could do to not call out to John and Greg.

Then, a glint of silver caught her eye.

She stopped spinning, but her head didn't and she held her hand over her mouth and drew in a deep slow breath. Groaning she made her way over to the item in the corner of the basement. It was Sherlock's music stand, with a recorder on it and a note. A noise of surprise escaped her mouth as she picked up the note and immediately recognized Sherlock's graceful handwriting. She was always amazed that such a genius and chaotic person could have such beautiful handwriting:

'Dearest Molly,

I'm not good at long goodbyes. I must ask one last favor of you. Please tell no one of me staying here, as tempting as it may be. John thinks I'm still alive, but you must play devils advocate for me and let him know that it was all in his mind. That he must be experiencing some sort of stress from everything that has happened. You have been a great friend, Molly.

Always remember that you do count.

Always and most sincerely yours,

Sherlock.'

"Oh god," Molly's anxiety kicked in full gear. Her heart started racing, her mind became a rush of thoughts and ideas, none of which made any sense. Her breathing was uneven and her knees were threatening to give out on her. She backed her self against the wall and started sobbing uncontrollably. Molly turned her face against the cool stone of the wall to help herself calm down.

"Molly?"

She didn't hear the voice at first. It blended in with the white noise of her mind.

"My god, Molly are you okay?"

Everything came to a sudden stop as soon as Greg came into focus. She could feel his hand on her face wiping the tears from her cheeks, and she could see his lips moving. Her heart thumping in her chest however, was the only thing she could hear.

Suddenly, she collapsed into Greg's arms.

"God's sake woman," he shifted his weight to hold on to hers. Then, he ran his hand over her hair and made comforting noises into her ear. He wasn't sure he could hold everyone up for very much longer. His own strength and will were taking a harsh beating. So was Sherlock, for that matter, if he was truly alive.

They stayed like that for five minutes, when Molly slowly recovered her senses and stood on her own.

Greg took her face gently into his hands and wiped her tears with his thumbs. "Tell me wot's wrong Molly."

She sniffed and held up the note. "G-Greg, I dunno if I can hold up the illusion by my self much longer. John is already so devastated."

"Wait a minute," Greg said after reading the note. "I was doubting everything, even myself for the longest time today. Are you telling me that Sherlock...that he was alive, and living in your basement?"

Molly only nodded as her bottom lip was shaking.

Greg read the note again.

"I will help you Molly, I will help you keep the illusion." Greg gritted his teeth. It was going to be hard. "I left John on your couch. He's almost three sheets right now, it might be easy to convince him of a different reason of why we came to your house."

Molly nodded again and sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve. Greg took her into his arms again.

"Thank you Greg, and I'm sorry you had to witness my little breakdown."

"It's alright Molly, I expect it'll be my turn shortly. We should get back upstairs."

Molly stepped away from Greg and folded the note and put it back on the music stand. She gave Greg her best smile.

"Atta girl." He smiled back as he put an arm around her.

Upstairs they found John staring out of Molly's window.

"Watcha lookin' at John?" Greg asked as he stood beside the other man. He shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned forward and peered out the window. A small noise escaped his lips as he saw large fluffy white flakes falling to the street. The whole of outside was illuminated with the amber color of the city, giving everything a very surreal feel.

Molly chuckled at the two men as she came back into the living room from the kitchen with a bottle of water in one hand and her cat in the other. They turned to face her and John started sneezing as the cat jumped from Molly's hands.

"Oh, poor Toby, he's been in hiding since-" Molly stopped herself.

"Since we got here, right?" Greg finished for her.

"Well, I guess I didn't realize I was allergic to cats." John sniffed as Molly handed him a tissue. "Thank you. I should be going."

"I'm sorry John," Molly said as the doctor started for the door.

"No, it's alright. You and Greg were right, I am delusional. Holding on to a memory, thinking that Sher-... thinking that he's going to be living here, in your basement."

"John, I -"

"No, it's okay Molly. We're all delusional. Believing in this fantastical world where the almighty Sherlock Holmes is alive-" John sneezed again, then blew his nose.

"John maybe we shoul-"

John's eyes grew as big as saucers and he started gesturing like a madman. "You know what? I bet this is all part of Moriarty's web of deception. I bet that was him all dressed up as Sherlock! Or Moran! Or what's his stage name, Andrew Adair. Bloody ridiculous!"

John sneezed once more before he exited Molly's house.

Greg and Molly stood looking at each other, dumbfounded.

"What happened up here?" Molly whispered and Greg shrugged.

Then the door opened again.

"Um, Greg your stuff is at the flat," John hiccuped.

"Oh yeah, we were headed there." Greg started for the door, and turned and realized that Molly wasn't following them. "Aren't you comin', Molly?"

"No, no you two need a night to vent. I need some time alone." She sniffed and took another drink of her water.

"Oh my god Molly," John was suddenly feeling a lot more sober as he walked back into the house. He gently grabbed her upper arms and examined her tear-stained face. "This whole time, I've been wallowing in my own self pity, when here you are, looking like something your cat dragged in. What happened? What did I miss in my stupid drunken stupor?"

Molly chuckled in spite of herself. "Thanks John. I'm okay. I shouldn't drink when I'm completely bonkers. All the stress and everything at work..."

John took her in his arms. "I'm really sorry Molly. You know if you need any one to talk to, we are here, I am always here."

Molly returned his embrace and smiled warmly at Greg over John's shoulder. Greg returned the smile. "Thank you, John, that means a lot. But don't you think that I should be saying that to you?"

John broke the hug first, but still held onto her, as he looked over at the detective inspector. "I think we are all in this together. I think there is something more sinister going on than we think, and if you guys will help me, I intend to find out what the hell is really going on."

Both Molly and Greg raised their eyebrows as they looked at each other, then back to John.

"I agree." Greg said.

"Yes, John." Molly said at the same time.

"Did you just say sinister?" Greg snorted.

"I-..." John looked at Greg and blinked a few times, then smiled. Molly hid her giggles behind her hand. "Yes, Greg, I believe I did just say sinister."

The three burst out laughing.

"Great," John adjusted his jacket. "Now let's enjoy the rest of our evening together. No mention of this or Sherlock the rest of the evening."

"You boys go ahead. I need some time by myself." Molly smiled her mouse smile.

"Molly, you need this as much as we do. C'mon now," John held out his hand and smiled at her. Molly bit her lip. She hadn't seen that smile from John in a long time. Her eyes darted over to Greg as he smiled as well and nodded. She put her hand in John's. "Oh what the hell! I haven't had a night out in ages!"

~xXXx~

John's head felt as if it had been stuffed with cotton balls and his body was stiff from laying on a cold, hard surface. He tried to draw in a deep breath, but it caught in his dry throat and he coughed. That cough reverberated through his head and made him suddenly and thoroughly aware of the rest of his body. He wiggled his toes and fingers and was glad he could still feel them. He thought of the previous evening, and tried to evaluate the amount he had to drink. John remembered taking an aspirin and drinking a couple bottles of water, but things after that were very fuzzy.

Attempting to move his limbs was something that John's body wasn't ready for; they were stiff and his legs felt like he had been running for hours without stretching. He drew in another deep breath and this one reached his lungs and swept through the rest of his body.

Suddenly, a faint voice broke into the white noise that occupied John's brain. He hadn't opened his eyes yet, fearing the piercing white light that would meet them. At first he wasn't really sure he had heard the voice until it was right next to his ear. Out of instinct, John flinched away from the voice and opened his eyes, immediately regretting that decision. The light he had feared met his eyes and he managed a small groan which echoed through his head.

"Wakey, Wakey Doctor Watson."

For some reason, John was visualizing barbed wire wrapped in black velvet; there was something eerily familiar about that voice.

"Glad you could finally join the living, John."

"Sherlock?" John tried to raise his head and focus on the dark shadow in front of his eyes.

"Oh, my good Doctor, you flatter me." John felt a hand on his shoulder. "I have told the good detective how much alike we are and you've just proved my point. I wish I had a pet as clever as you." A low giggle, then the voice continued. "I am glad you are awake, John. I wouldn't want you to miss all the fun!"

Where had he heard that line, that voice...John's head pounded as he tried to remember. Was his hangover giving him some weird de ja vu? Was he dreaming?

John blinked several times to try to focus. The light wasn't quite as blinding now and the figure that was in front of him was starting to take shape. He tried moving his body again, and managed to roll onto his back.

"Oh John," the voice had a familiar condescension to it and John felt a hand softly stroking his head at the same time they were crawling on top of him and straddling him.

"Did we have too much to drink last night? You can't hide forever behind a drunken stupor." That manic giggle again and the person started stroking his face. John groaned. The hand felt good, and yet so wrong.

"You are far too clever to hide your depression behind pills, although I do envy the bevy of pain killers you have access too. I would like to hide my pain..." The voice faded and John's vision became clearer. He saw dark hair, beady black eyes that were looking at a point beyond John's head. The figured suddenly smiled. It was a crazed smile...

"Moriarty!" John's exclamation came out in a hoarse grunt, and Moriarty laughed as John struggled helplessly to get out from under the man.

"You'll never be able to move, Johnny boy, not until I want you to!" Moriarty ran a finger around John's hairline and down his jaw. John turned his face away and Jim grabbed his jaw, hard. "You are far too smart to fight -"

A surge of hate and adrenaline rushed through John's body as he managed to push Jim off of him, but his legs were still too weak to stand. He cursed them and what ever drug Moriarty had given him. He managed to scoot himself against a cabinet, a kitchen cabinet, his kitchen cabinet...his surroundings came into sharp focus and he shook his head. This was too realistic for a dream... If he was in the flat, where were Molly and Greg?

"They are sleeping soundly in the other room." Jim Moriarty shook his head and pouted. "They didn't put up a fight like I knew you would."

John frowned. He tried to figure out what disturbed him more; Jim's freakish ability to suddenly read his mind, or the fact that he toyed with his friends in their sleep. Then another thought came to John's mind.

Moriarty laughed.

"I can see why he kept you around. I can practically see the wheels turning in that funny little brain of yours, John." He knelt in front of John and pressed his finger on the doctors forehead. "Yes, I can hear what you are thinking. Yes I am supposed to be dead, or am I? Maybe Sherlock really isn't dead."

John squeezed his eyes shut. The similarities between Sherlock and Jim were astounding. Both geniuses, both bored, both misunderstood.

Jim started stroking John's hair again and John moved his head away.

"Oh Johnny boy, what's the matter? Isn't that what people do to their pets to encourage good behavior?" Jim moved in closer to John, his voice turning into liquid silk, wrapping itself around Johns brain.

"Isn't that what Sherlock did to you?" Moriarty's hand slipped down the front of John's body and grabbed his belt and tugged. John drew in a sharp breath and struggled to get away again. Moriarty only pulled harder and smirked, then leaned in so close that John could feel his body heat, and his breath on his ear. "Did he stroke your...ego?" Jim tugged on John's pants with every syllable.

Moriarty suddenly rocked back on his heels and put a hand to his mouth in mock surprise.

"Oh I forgot, he's a virgin!" He giggled maniacally and John groaned, the sound bouncing around in his head. He put a hand to his head and realized he was wearing his parka. He looked down at himself, there wasn't a bomb strapped to his chest, but there was a bright red dot over where his heart was.

"John, you were a good man..."

Jim Moriarty threw something at John, and a loud gunshot could be heard.

...

John woke up, the side of his face cold from laying on the kitchen floor. Trying to draw a deep breath proved almost impossible with the Sahara Desert-like conditions in his mouth.

'What the fuck was that?' He thought to himself as he wiggled his toes and fingers. Still had their feeling, that was a good thing too.

From his vantage point on the floor, John could see underneath the table. There was an astounding amount of chewing gum that John had never noticed before.

He closed his eyes to shift his brain into first gear. It hurt. His whole body hurt. Groaning, he opened his eyes and he had the same vantage point. John tried to lift himself up, but his arms weren't co-operating. He turned his head and closed his eyes and held his breath for a moment to calm the dizziness, and the nauseating feeling in his stomach. Opening his eyes slowly, a water bottle came into focus, and to John's relief, there was water in it. He slowly reached out for it, his shoulder and arm protesting the whole time. He didn't have his parka on, but he wondered why his shoulder and arm hurt so bad. Taking the rest of the water, he became aware of the rest of his body, and attempted to roll over onto his back. The ceiling was a parquet design that John had never noticed before. He laughed once, then propped himself onto his elbows, and squeezed his eyes shut against the dizziness. After it passed, John sat all the way up, and groaned and wiped his face. The light from the window told him that it was day time and he looked down at his watch, that wasn't there. He took stock of the rest of himself. He was still dressed in the jeans and jumper and shirt he had on yesterday, except the shirt was un-tucked, and his shoes were M.I.A. as well. John glanced behind him and rested his hand on the back of the chair to pull himself up, when something on the floor, not three feet from him caught his eye. He reached for it. A square piece of white material that was trimmed with a silky gray thread. A handkerchief, John concluded and as he turned it over, the air was knocked out of his lungs. An 'M' was embroidered in the same gray silky thread as the trim.

"Holy shit," John whispered to himself. "Oh, what the hell is happening?"

John's brain and body finally aligned and were moving over to the window that overlooked the street. Nothing, just a sleek black car driving away. John then ran to the hall and down the stairs and saw Mrs. Hudson standing there, reading her posts from yesterday.

"Oh John, good to see you-"

"Mrs. Hudson," John managed between breaths. "Please, was there a man here just now?"

"Goodness, John, are you feeling okay? You look pale." She put a hand to Johns forehead and he gently took it and held it.

"Please, Mrs. Hudson, I need to know, was there a man here just now?"

The woman frowned at John. "Yes, and he was very sweet. And a sharp dresser as well. Oh and very polite with a handsome smile. He reminded me of someone i'd seen on the teley-"

"Richard Brook." John said as he squeezed the bridge of his nose.

"Oh, yes, that's it, John," she paused. "I haven't seen him in anything for quite a while."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson." John clenched his jaw as he tried to smile.

"Anytime, dear," Mrs. Hudson started into her own flat as John made his way upstairs. "Would you like me to make you and your friends some tea?"

"No, thanks again," this time, John's smile came out more sincere.

When he walked back into the flat, he found that the door was unlocked, and shivered. Then he looked at the handkerchief again. It seemed pristine and snow white, but John knew better than that. He knew that Moriarty was the twisted, psychotic version of Sherlock.

John shook his head and stuffed the handkerchief in his pocket. He thought about how real his dream felt as he walked into the sitting room and found Greg sleeping on the couch. He looked undisturbed and John watched him for a moment to make sure he was actually sleeping. Cursing himself, he walked over and brought the blanket up to cover Greg's shoulders. John looked around. He couldn't remember if Molly had come back to the flat with them or not. Moriarty had mentioned her in his dream, but that didn't mean squat. He ran a hand through his hair as he searched for his phone which he found on the kitchen table. He dialed a number and walked over to his flat door and realized that it had been open when he ran through it the first time.

" 'Allo?" Came a raspy female voice on the other side.

"Molly, oh good Molly, are you okay?" John's words came out in a rushed jumble.

"Yeah, who is this? John?"

"Yes, sorry Molly," John was running his hand over the edge of the door and looking for signs of forced entry. "Are you okay?"

"Besides the train that's running through my head right now and feeling like I got run over by a bus, yes I'm fine." Molly paused, and John heard her groan. "Are you okay John?"

"Feeling 'bout the same as you," John examined the door latch closer. "You haven't received any visitors this morning have you?"

"John, it's not morning any more, at least not according to my alarm clock. And no, I haven't received any visitors. Are you sure you are okay John?"

"Yeah..." John pulled the handkerchief out of his pocket and a shiver ran up his spine. "No, I had the strangest dream, and I think someone broke into the flat last night."

"What? God John, call the police or something!"

"No, we are fine, they didn't take anything. In fact, they left something."

"They...left something?" John could hear Molly taking a drink of something.

"Yeah, it's a monogrammed handkerchief. There's an 'M' in grey silk thread and it's trimmed with the same thread."

"Oh my God, that's one of Jim's! He let me borrow one, and I never got a chance to give it back to him."

John hummed. "Did you have it with you last night?"

"No, I have no reason to carry it with me." Molly went silent.

"Molly? Molly you still there?" John said after a couple beats.

"John, I have to go. There is someone at my door."

"No, Molly don't..."

The phone went dead.