Before John Watson closed his eyes his last image was that of the empty seat in front of him, and then his head tilted gently to the side so that it was leaning against the window of the train, and he fell asleep.

John never woke up gently though, his nightmares forbid him from that. Instead he woke up with a start, breathing heavily, trying to separate himself from his dreams.

And the first image that greeted John this time was that of a man. A very curious looking one indeed.

The man's posture was relaxed, but straight. His hands were in front of him, his fingertips touching gently. His eyes were closed.

John had a feeling he wasn't asleep though.

The man hadn't changed into his robes yet. He was in a large black coat, a blue scarf lay discarded to his side. His dark curly hair was ruffled, and fell over his forehead.

John realized how rude it was of him to be staring only when the man's eyes shot open, suddenly.

"Um." Said John.

But the man's eyes were quite vacant, almost dreamy. And he didn't even seem to acknowledge John Watson's presence. John wondered briefly if the man opposite him was on narcotics.

And then something snapped in the man's eyes and he was in his feet so suddenly that John flinched.

"Care to introduce yourself?" John said, frowning slightly.

Sherlock looked down at him. His eyes were green.

"John Watson, I assume." He said, his lips curving upward slightly. "I suggest you give your brother that phone call you promised, we've almost reached our destination."

Sherlock Holmes opened the compartment door and disappeared, his coat flapping behind him.

John took his cell phone out of his pocket. Five messages from Harry. Shit, he had promised to call her as they were reaching. John glanced at the closed compartment door and wondered if the new Defense Against The Dark Arts teacher could read minds.