Disclaimer: Do not own this (I do however own a dog with fleas... Does that count?)

Author's Note: This is all written, the rest will be up once I've finished typing it. Written for a prompt.

Left. Right. Across the road, and down two blocks. Up the fire escape stairs and across two roofs. Jump the gap, ignore the policeman behind crying out at my recklessness. Down the stairs and…

I stop. Which way? Left or right… I can't remember which Sherlock said to go next. I have to remember, his life may depend on it.

I hear puffing behind me, Lestrade has caught up. 'Which way now, John?' he asks but I ignore him. I need to remember. Left or right?


'Left!' I cry, guessing. Then I'm off, running left down the street. Two blocks he said.

A gun shot from behind me has my blood running cold. Without thinking, I turn around dashing through the startled police, Lestrade yelling at my retreating back. Did no one hear that?

I run the two blocks to the right and I freeze when I reach the second street. There lies Sherlock Holmes, gunshot through his brilliant brain. His eyes are wide and unseeing and it's all my fault…

John jolts awake from his nightmare, screaming.