A/N: I don't usually start my chapters with an A/N, but I want to inform you that the following passage is a dream if you are unfamiliar with italics signifying dreaming.
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        Rain fell around him, pelting his face with small droplets. It chilled him to the bone, causing him to shiver and his teeth to chatter. His surroundings were completely gray, and for some reason the color filled him with apprehension. Suddenly, the rain ceased to be cold, and became a warm wetness. Sherlock reached out and caught some on his hand. With alarm, he realized that it wasn't water; it was red blood. It trickled through his fingers and pooled on the ground. The metallic tang of it permeated the air and filled his nostrils, causing him to retch in disgust. He collapsed to the ground, landing on his hands and knees. The blood was rising, covering his fingers, then his wrists, and then began creeping up his arm. He attempted to pull his hands out, but they were stuck fast. He panicked as the viscous liquid reached his neck and lapped at his chin. He yanked his head back to distance himself from it and looked straight up at the sky. Red droplets continued to fall and he closed his eyes to prevent them from being coated in the blood. He could feel the substance fill his ears, blocking out all sound. It soaked his hair, then covered his eyes and filled his mouth. He gagged, but could not move away. Finally, it disappeared over the tip of his nose, and he was completely submerged.
        Sherlock woke, his heart pounding. He immediately checked to make sure that he could move and was not stuck in a giant lake of blood, and panicked when he found that he was immobile. He sighed with relief when he realized he was simply tangled in his blankets.
        Once untangled, he stood and walked to his closet. He ran a hand through his hair as he decided what to wear. It was still damp from the rainstorm the previous night. Exhaling, he selected black slacks and a white shirt. He pulled on some socks and looked towards his shoes. They were still soaked; a puddle of water surrounded them on the floor. Nonetheless, he tugged them on, grimacing at their wetness. It soaked through his socks and made the soles of his feet itch uncomfortably. These were his only pair of good shoes besides his dress shoes, but he didn't want to damage his other ones. Next shopping trip he would have to buy another pair.
        There were several things in his mind. First, Anderson's evidence. Second, the tracking device in John's phone. Third, the fact that John was unguarded in the hospital. Sherlock checked the time on his phone. Quarter after six. The hospital's visiting hours had not begun yet.
        Sherlock decided to decide his decision ((haha. Just wanted to put that in there)) in the kitchen. He exited his bedroom, pulling the door closed behind him, and traveled to the kitchen.
        He stopped dead in the doorway. There was a person standing by the window in the kitchen, facing away from him. It only took Sherlock a millisecond to figure out who it was.
        "Moriarty," he whispered. The other man turned around slowly, a teasing smile on his face.
        "Hello, sexy. I hope you don't mind me letting myself in." He twirled a knife between his fingers.
        Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "Are you here to stab me, too?"
        Moriarty widened his eyes in mock surprise. "Of course not! I want to keep you around for a while longer." He meandered his way across the room until he was face to face with Sherlock. Sherlock could tell that Moriarty's pupils were slightly dilated.
        "Then why are you here?" Sherlock resisted the urge to step back. Moriarty's face was less than six inches from his own.
        "Ah ha, the great Sherlock Holmes doesn't know something!" Moriarty's eyes twinkled with mischief. "It's such a mystery, isn't it. Who knows why I'm here? I'm not sure myself." He licked his lips, staring into Sherlock's eyes. "You have really lovely eyes. Too bad they'll be dull soon." A flicker of sorrow passed across Moriarty's face, but was quickly replaced by the smirk again. "Well, it was good seeing you. It was especially good seeing you without your loyal 'blogger' following you around."
        Anger swelled in Sherlock's chest. "Don't you dare hurt him again."
        "Whatever you say, dear!" Moriarty replied in a sing-song voice, slipping around Sherlock and exiting the flat.
        It took Sherlock a moment to pursue him. He ran down the stairs and out the door, but Moriarty was gone. He clenched his fists in frustration and pulled at his hair. He whipped his phone out and texted Lestrade.

Just saw Moriarty. -SH

What?!? Where? -GL

In my flat. -SH

In your flat?!? Did he say anything? -GL

Nothing of importance. A death threat, but he's made those to me in the past. I think I can confirm that he is the one who stabbed John. -SH

Well, that's nothing new. Do you know where he went? -GL

No. He got away before I could get out the door. -SH

I'm on my way over. We can talk in person. -GL

        Sherlock put his phone away and sat down on the doorstep to wait for the detective inspector. As he waited, he worried about John. He was alone and unprotected in the hospital. Moriarty could easily get in and hurt him again. However, Moriarty had told Sherlock that he wouldn't do that. Sadly, that seemed unreliable, as, in the words of the consulting criminal himself, he was "soooo changeable." Sighing in frustration, Sherlock put his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He desperately wished that he could hop a cab and head over to the hospital, but he couldn't. He hoped that the evidence Anderson had found could provide them some new information.
        Lestrade's car pulled up a few minutes later. He stepped out and moved over to Sherlock.
        "So, what exactly happened?"
        Sherlock launched straight into the story. "I woke up, got dressed, and walked towards the kitchen. I saw him standing by the window. I said his name, and he turned around. There was a knife in his hands. He greeted me, then walked over to me. I asked him if he was there to stab me, too." Sherlock frowned as he recalled the previous events. "He said no, that he wanted to 'keep me around for a while longer'. That indicates that he will kill me eventually, but I'm not sure when. I asked him why he was there, and he said he didn't know. Then he left."
        Lestrade let out a whistle. "That's it?"
        "Pretty much."
        "'Pretty much'? You never settle for that."
        "Nothing important happened, okay?" Sherlock ruffed his hair, irritated.
        Lestrade raised an eyebrow. "You alright, mate?"
        "Yes, 'mate'," Sherlock snapped back. "I'm fine. Just..."
        "Just what? Frustrated? Angry?"
        "Lonely."
        "Ah." Lestrade sat down next to Sherlock. "I'm sorry."
        "For what?" Sherlock cast a sideways glance at Lestrade.
        "For not being John."
        "Nobody's perfect." Realizing what he'd said, he clapped his hand over his mouth.
        "Did you just call John perfect?" The detective inspector's eyes twinkled with amusement. "The ship is sailing."
        "What?"
        "The ship. You know, short for relationship."
        Sherlock's brows furrowed in confusion.
        "Oh, c'mon, Sherlock! You and John! John and you! What else could you be?"
        "Um, flatmates. Friends."
        Lestrade sighed, looking at the ground. "Jeez."
        They sat in silence for a minute, watching the cars go past.
        Sherlock suddenly turned to Lestrade. "Don't tell John what I said."
        Lestrade laughed. "You bet I will. He'll be touched."
        "Really. Don't. He's straight."
        "Says who?"
        "Says him!"
        "Well, as you say, you're friends. He'll be touched either way."
        Sherlock sighed. "Fine." Then, in an attempt to change the subject, asked, "Well, should we head over to the forensics lab and look at whatever Anderson found?"
        "Sure." Both men stood and got into Lestrade's car. Sherlock gazed out the window at all of the buildings and people, all just going about their daily business, not knowing that the most powerful criminal in the world was inside their city. Sherlock pulled out his phone and clicked his tracker app. Still in Cardiff, holding still.
        "Gavin, I have some information that might be helpful."
        "How many times do I have to tell you? It's Greg. And what is it?"
        "I put a tracker device inside John's phone. The attacker took the phone. Presumably, Moriarty does not have it, as it's in Cardiff."
        "So what should we do? Go to Cardiff and investigate?"
        "I would, but I want to stay in London to protect John."
        "How sweet."
        Sherlock cast him a glance. "Please don't."
        "So, you want me to go? I have a job, you know."
        "I know. I just don't trust your officers to do a good job."
        "I think that was a compliment, so thank you. And why not Donovan? I know you don't particularly like her, but she's not bad at her job and always does what I ask."
        "I suppose." Sherlock rubbed his temples, sighing.
        The car pulled into the lab's parking lot, and they exited the vehicle. Lestrade opened the door for Sherlock, and the two of them went inside.
~~~~~~~~~~Author's Note~~~~~~~~~~
I actually really enjoyed writing this chapter. Sorry about the Johnlock if you're not into that, but I couldn't resist having Greg tease Sherlock about it. I also had to pad my word count.
Thanks for reading! I hope you guys liked reading it as much as I liked writing it. I sort of wasn't expecting to make Moriarty the villain, but I had no ideas. Sorry if it's sort of cliché.