[Joan had nightmares about Sherlock even before he "died" in front of her. Afterwards there were nights that she didn't sleep for fear of what awaited her in her dreams. Not wanting to watch him fall again, and again.
Now, though, she's walking into that warehouse, the clicks of her heels echoing off the walls. There's a chair there, in the sole pool of light in the darkness, and Sherlock is slumped in it. She runs to him in the slow, painfully slow, motion of dreams, and kneels in front of him, looking up at his face.
But he's not beaten and bloody. No. He's smashed. Blood on his face. Eyes open and sightless. He's in the coat, the coat he jumped in, in the purple shirt and blue scarf and he's dead he's really dead he's a corpse tied to a chair because she's been chasing a shadow chasing a dead man and they know they know they've found her they're here...
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Now, though, she's walking into that warehouse, the clicks of her heels echoing off the walls. There's a chair there, in the sole pool of light in the darkness, and Sherlock is slumped in it. She runs to him in the slow, painfully slow, motion of dreams, and kneels in front of him, looking up at his face.
But he's not beaten and bloody. No. He's smashed. Blood on his face. Eyes open and sightless. He's in the coat, the coat he jumped in, in the purple shirt and blue scarf and he's dead he's really dead he's a corpse tied to a chair because she's been chasing a shadow chasing a dead man and they know they know they've found her they're here...
She jolts awake with a gasping cry.]