Update: I noticed a few inconsistencies in my story so I made a few slight changes.

"Why are plane rides so…boring?" Sherlock lazily looked out the plane window next to him, watching the clouds dully drift beneath them. His mind was constantly racing and the plane ride home wasn't giving him much to think about.

Both John and Greg looked at each other and grinned.

A new lead on the Moriarty case had sent the three of them to the United States for a couple days to do some investigating. Several eyewitnesses had placed Moriarty in Las Vegas but, as much as the trio tried, they couldn't find him anywhere. Sherlock deduced that he had already moved on to a new location and, more probable, had returned to England.

"Why didn't you bring a book or something?" John looked up at Sherlock from the book he was reading.

Sherlock responded by abruptly pulling down the window shade. He sat with his arms crossed staring blankly at the seat in front of him before he stood up and made his way toward the aisle.

"Where are you going?" Greg looked up at Sherlock from his bloody mary.

"I need to stretch my legs. Who knows, maybe I'll find some new clients."

"Yeah, well, have fun with that." Greg said with a chuckle as he tilted his head to finish his drink.

Sherlock walked out of first class and towards the back of the plane, eyes scanning every person he passed by. John just smiled and returned to his book.

"I wonder what it's like being Sherlock Holmes." Greg mused.

"I don't even think he knows the answer to that question."

They both laughed.

A voice from the aisle cut through their laughter and made John's hair raise on the back of his neck. "Excuse me. Do you gentlemen want a drink?"

He knew that voice. But it couldn't be, could it?

He slowly forced himself to look up to the source of the voice and stood up abruptly to face the man. A sense of shock overtook him and he struggled to find his voice as it now felt like there was something blocking his throat.

A dark haired man dressed in a pilot's uniform stood in front of them with a manic smile. He had a remote with a red button in his hand.

Greg followed John's lead and looked up; he felt his blood run cold.

"Moriarty…" was all John managed to choke out before about seven men, all wearing normal clothes, stood up, pulled out their bags from beneath their seats, and put what looked like parachutes on their backs.

"I'm sorry to have to cut our little reunion so short, but there's something that I have to do." Moriarty said with insincere sadness.

Before John or Greg could do anything, Moriarty pushed the red button in his hand and two loud explosions occurred.

John looked out the window to his left and saw, with horror, that the wing of the plane was no longer there. He and Greg scrambled back into their seats as the plane was thrown into a steep descent. All they could do was put on their seat belts and the oxygen masks that had fallen in front of them.

Another explosion. John wrenched his head to look behind him and saw that the back half of the plane had been blown off. People that didn't have time to get their seatbelts on were being sucked out of the plane and the people in the back half flew into the air with it.

"Sherlock!" John screamed instinctively into his oxygen mask. Why did Sherlock have to go into the back of the plane? He hoped and prayed that Sherlock had made it to a seat in time. He then noticed Moriarty and his men jump out of the plane through the emergency door with their parachute packs on.

John looked back ahead and then looked at Greg, fear was the main emotion on his face and John was sure that he looked the same. He looked back out of the window and felt a calm settle over him. So this is how I'm going to die...and the last thing he remembered seeing was ground rushing to meet them.

Greg opened his eyes and all he could see was white. He blinked them rapidly a few times until his vision came into focus. The first thing that he became aware of was pain. His eyes flew wide open and panic struck him and the memories of what had just happened came flooding back to him. He sat upright and let out an uncontrollable groan as he felt a sheering pain on his stomach. He looked down at his stomach; his shirt was soaked in blood and he lifted it up to inspect the damage. He sucked in a deep breath as he saw a deep, jagged gash running all the way across his abdomen. He rolled over and sat on his knees with a grunt of pain. He noticed startlingly a lot of various cuts and bruises on the rest of his body. Looking around he noticed that all he could see ahead of him was sand and the endless blue ocean. Panic rose inside of him again as he realized the magnitude of the situation that he was in. Stranded, who knows where, with a madman, Moriarty, presumably lurking around somewhere. The sound of rustling trees pulled him away from his thoughts as he looked behind him and saw an endless amount of trees. He struggled to get to his feet and held his stomach as he shuffled his way towards the sound.

"Hello?" He called out weakly.

He stopped at the edge of the trees and waited for a reply.

"Is anybody out there?" His voice was a little stronger.

"Greg, is that you?" A faint voice called out.

"John?" Greg held his stomach again and struggled through the forest towards John's voice.

Greg made it to a clearing in the forest and saw John emerge from the other side.

"Greg! John!" They both said at the same time with relief in their voices.

Greg took a couple of steps towards John before he collapsed on his knees with groan of pain, clutching his stomach.

John rushed towards Greg, kneeled next to him, and grabbed onto his shoulders.

"Oh, God." He looked down and noticed the red stain growing on Greg's shirt.

"Hang on, Greg, I'll be right back."

John rushed into the trees and shortly returned with a bag in his hand.

"I woke up near the plane when we crashed, I was able to find a first aid kit. Thought it might come in handy." He looked at Greg with a small smile.

Greg tried to reciprocate the smile but could only manage a grimace.

"How in the world did you get thrown so far from the plane? It's a long ways away from here."John muttered to himself as he knelt next to Greg and searched through the first aid kit.

Greg squeezed his eyes closed in pain. Truth was, he had no idea what happened after the crash. He blacked out before the plane hit the ground so it was a mystery to him.

"Greg, you're going to have to lie on your back."

Greg nodded and John helped him lay on his back. John slowly pulled Greg's shirt up over his wound. John let a gasp escape from his lips as he saw the damage done to Greg's stomach. The cut ran straight across his stomach and was about seven inches long. The blood escaping from it was alarming.

"I need to stitch it." John said, his face apologetic.

"Wha-What?" Greg felt panicked. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." John held his breath as he looked into Greg's panicked eyes.

Greg hesitated then quickly nodded his head in reply. "Just...get it over with."

John looked through the kit until he found what he was looking for: a needle and string.

He tied the end of the string and paused as he looked sadly into his friend's eyes.

Greg reached up, gripped John's arm, and gave him a comforting smile.

John took a deep breath before he began. "Here we go."