EIGHT

the visit

Sherlock hadn't slept for a week and a half.

What with Alana, the telekinesis video, the murders, Moriarty, and the typing on the keyboard last night, he had had no time for such petty things.

But it was starting to wear him down. He wasn't a machine, after all, and sleep was necessary… once in a while.

Tonight, he thought. I'll sleep tonight.

Maybe.

John walked into the room in his dressing gown and picked up the papers.

"Morning," he said cheerfully. "You look terrible. How long has it –"

"A week," Sherlock replied tersely.

John looked rather stunned. "A week? Sherlock, that isn't healthy – "

Once again Sherlock cut him off. "Speaking of sleep, did you have any strange dreams last night?"

John frowned. "Well, one… but how'd you know? I don't talk in my sleep."

"Tell me about it. Now."

John looked puzzled, but said, "In my dream, we were back at the pool with Moriarty. Except that girl Alana was there too, and she dragged the gun out of your hands and… well. We died. Then I woke up. But how, exactly did you – Sherlock?"

Sherlock's face had turned even paler than usual, which was saying something.

"She knew…" he trailed off. "She told me about your dream."

"What? When? But… that's not possible. You can't see other peoples' dreams! You just can't."

"But she did."

Sherlock sprang up and started pacing the floor, then just as quickly flopped back down again.

"I need to meet her, John, do some experiments, find out why she can do these things. Cambridgeshire… bricks… where? Isolated, maybe, or in public… Moriarty wants to throw me off if I do find out where he is, but where? Where? WHERE?" he roared, and John flinched a bit.

"Sherlock, you can't think while you're tired… go sleep for a couple of hours, okay?"

"Mycroft!" Sherlock stood upright again. "What. Are. You. Doing. In. The. Flat."

Mycroft Holmes had been standing in the door for about a minute now.

"Watching your little tantrum, brother dearest. I'd suggest you take your doctor's advice… you are looking a bit peaked."

Sherlock snarled, flopped back on the couch, and turned towards the wall.

"Umm… John said, a bit awkwardly, "any news on Alana?"

"Well, first I'd like to know how exactly my brother knew where she was before I had told him. We just tracked his trail to Cambridgeshire last night, and I hadn't texted him yet."

John furrowed his eyebrows and said, "Yeah, Sherlock, and I want to know how you knew she knew about my dream."

"Knew about your dream?" Mycroft turned to John with a look of genuine surprise, something that didn't appear on the eldest Holmes's face very often.

Sherlock turned back around.

"I was researching telekinesis at four in the morning when the keys started typing themselves."

"Virus," Mycroft said instantly.

"A virus that knew about John's dream and had a conversation with me while I wasn't talking and in response to my thoughts? Oh yes, I'm sure John forgot to get the update protecting against that one."

He rolled his eyes at Mycroft.

"In…response to your thoughts." Mycroft stated.

"Mmm." Sherlock replied.

"Well, that girl could be very useful… if you weren't hallucinating from lack of sleep. Goodbye, Sherlock, goodbye Doctor Watson. I'll call if I track anything more about Moriarty."

"Text, don't call." Sherlock rolled over again.

Mycroft smiled and swung his umbrella over his shoulder and left Baker Street.

Sherlock's phone buzzed. "Get that for me, John."

"No."

"Dressing gown pocket."

John sighed, walked over and retrieved Sherlock's phone from his dressing gown.

In a red brick building in Cambridgeshire, Moriarty laughed and looked at his phone. Playing games with Sherlock was sooo fun. He couldn't wait to see how'd he'd respond to this one.