AN: WAIT! Have you read 'A Study In Silver' and 'The Gifted League' yet? No? Well, this is a threequel to those two (in that order), set in the Silver!Verse, so don't read it first or you'll be royally befuddled.

TO MY REGULARS (now I sound like a pub or something): welcome back! It's the first day of the year, and I'll start how I mean to go on. Sorry this is so short, I've got exams to revise for and ALL THE FEELINGS to feel over the new series of Sherlock. Something had to give.

Anyway, enjoy, and R&R if you like! - B.

The Adventure of the Idle Hands

March 28th, 2010.

Laughter and poison and the smell of vomit

Consciousness wasn't something gained with a start, or panting, or sitting bolt upright: sweating, he'd allow for, but not an extreme amount. It was hardly relevant, anyway. He slept alone now; he slept alone always. Something terrifying. Terrifying, dangerous, and all-too enticing. Almost unavoidable, and uncertain in conclusion. Uncertainty was terrifying. There were many people who would have sworn blind that he was afraid of absolutely nothing, but when he saw gleaming black eyes question him from the darkness of his room, he felt like a child sure there were monsters in the dark.

Trains and stars and the clink of a belt buckle

This was because, as an adult, he had discovered that there were, in fact, monsters in the dark. They may not have been the looming creatures of his young imagination, but they were just as supernatural and infinitely more evil – and they had picked their target. He'd seen it. He had days, if that, to prevent all of this and more.

Shouting and plans and the taste of chlorine in the air

He had barely any time, and infuriatingly, his gift was one of the only things he couldn't control in life. The other being the monsters that hungered after those he sought to protect. He must act now, he decided. He picked up his phone, and called his assistant.

Fade

"Yes, Sir?" Her voice sounded bright and attentive, despite the fact that it was 2 a.m. He almost smiled at her loyalty and professionalism. She truly was near-indispensible.

To

"Alice," He paused, the remnants of the dream fading away, dissolving as if his conscious thoughts were a strong acid. The message behind them, however, was all too prominent. "You will find that Andrew West has been murdered. Compile a folder ready for my brother after he arrives back from Minsk,"
"Yes, sir,"
The conversation is over. Mycroft goes back to sleep. He doesn't dream again.

Black.