John strode through the sickeningly white halls of the asylum, being led by two tall, burly men. They came to a halt at a plain white door labelled 'Holmes, Sherlock', and unlocked it. The pushed open the door and let John walk through, the two men following him inside, closing the door and standing on either side of it.

There he was; the former detective. He was once so brilliant, and now, he sat in the corner of the white room, in an off-white straight jacket. His chest was rising and falling with each breath, and he stared into the nothingness absently. John approached Sherlock cautiously, worried about what might happen. This was his first visit. He was scared to see Sherlock; scared that he'd be too different. He wanted to remember his best friend for what he was; when he was sane. But then, he didn't want him to be alone.

He crouched down in front of Sherlock, and looked into his eyes. After a few moments, the former detective looked up, and met John's gaze. Those brilliant eyes… it was like the knowledge was there, but it was forgotten; unused.

"Sherlock," John spoke quietly. "It's me, John."

Sherlock continued to stare.

"Do you know me?" John asked.

He hoped so badly that he remembered him. If he didn't, it might just break the doctor's heart. Sherlock just kept staring, his expression blank.

"Sherlock, can you hear me? Can you please say something?" John's voice cracked.

He almost wished he never came. He broke his gaze with Sherlock and stared at the white tiled floor. He blinked away a tear and was about to stand up to go when he heard a noise. It was soft laughing. John whipped his head back up to look at Sherlock. He was wearing a hellish grin, his body shaking with the quiet laughter.

"What is it? What's funny?" John was confused.

The laughing got louder, and Sherlock's eyes were manic. John felt a firm grip on his shoulder.

"You best be going now. This isn't going to be pretty." said one of the men who were guarding the door.

He pulled John up to stand, and pulled him away from Sherlock.

"Remember me? I'm your friend. I'm your… friend." John muttered, but the detective didn't seem to hear.

John was pulled out of the room, and the door, and the door was closed quickly. The sign which read 'Holmes, Sherlock' was visible again, but it may have well been the name of stranger, because that's all Sherlock was now: a stranger; and that was what John was to him.