Drowning. Indigo water slips through my pale fingers. They shake, as if in the thralls of cocaine.

I haven't touched, I promise, I promise. Find me. Help me.

The last thing I remember is the cold touch of the tiled floor and the tough rubber soles of your boots. I did not feel the snapping of bones or the pooling blood.

I'm hurting, I'm sorry, I love you, I love you…

I killed her. I know. I'm a murderer. I killed your wife.

She was a murderer too, you know? A hitman. You loved her anyway.

Why can't you love me?

I'm drowning. It's blinding, the contrast between bloated, white flesh and dark water. It hurts my eyes. Why can't I close them?

I'm trying to scream, but no sound comes from my throat. A shadow appears.

I'm scared, I'm scared... Help me, John, help me!

She comes closer. Water ripples.

I can't think, John! Why can't I think?! ...Faith Smith. It's Faith Smith. I shudder- I don't know if it's in relief or fear.

"Why are you here?" I ask, but no sound escapes my throat. It's as if the world itself is collapsing, faster and faster with every step Faith takes. Alarms blare in my head.

Wrong, wrong, wrong!

"It's not Faith Smith!" I gasp. Mycroft's eyes glitter coldly in my head.

Wrong, little brother.

"No, no, NO! The hight, hair, handedness- It's not Faith Smith, MYCROFT!" Realization dawns. "The woman who came to my flat- it's her!"

Oh yes, well done, Mycroft sneers in my head. Irrelevant, brother dear. There is a much more pressing fact to take note of- your clearly drowning, little brother. And she's clearly walking .

I can't move. Not-Faith bends down, staring unflinchingly with eyes colder then Mycroft's. She smells of smoke and ash and burning buildings and my mother. She touches, but I do not feel it. She plunges a knife into my chest and the smallest trickle of blood comes out. Her smile is pure joy.

"Dead, dead, Sherlock is dead!" she crows.

I remember I remember oh god no no no NO STOP IT STOP-

"Oh, foolish brother, what did you do?!" She smiles a toothy grin. " You killed your best friend's wife! You are a fool, brother!" Her face turns pouty. "And we never got to play. No matter, I'll play for you, brother mine."

My soul seek the shade of my willow's bloom

Inside, brother mine -

Let Death make a room.

Before he was gone - right back over my hill.

Who now will find him?

Why, nobody will.

Doom shall I bring to him, I that am queen.

Lost forever, nine by nineteen.