#iris's wish

[greglestradedi]

Good Morning, Sunshine

Hunter Lestrade was frowning as she watched her "father" sleep.  If Donovan didn't know better, she'd say that the little girl was angry with Lestrade or that the child had seen something unpleasant in the immediate vicinity.  She had been up to visit Dimmock already and had also already returned from the visit.  Hunter didn't pay her any mind. 

The heart monitor's beeping picked up, startling both the girl and the woman in the room and Lestrade shifted, as if breaking out of his week and a half long sleep.

Jumping to her feet, Donovan ran out of the room, yelling for a doctor, nurse, or any medical professional in the immediate area.  Hunter watched with earnest as Lestrade's previously still form burst into life, grabbing at tubes and wires in a panic. 

He gagged on the tubing used for ventilation and food intake.  The little girl pulled her legs up to her chest and watched quietly until the doctors rushed into the room. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Finally, the doctors deemed the confused detective fit for visitors and Hunter Lestrade was the first to bolt into the room.  In all of the fuss around his awakening, the salt circle had been broken and the little girl hopped onto his bed next to him. 

Confusion was written all across his face when the little girl rushed in and took a seat on the bed terribly close to him.  Greg wondered whose kid she could possibly have been.  He was going to speak when someone else entered the room. 

The visitor would find a pale-faced inspector sitting up, with support from the hospital bed and with the mysterious little girl cuddling up to him.  Lestrade's gaze was fixed on the door as he puzzled through the events before, after, and during his coma.  How could he know this one was real?

[greglestradedi]

A Winter's Dream

"...Are you sure this will work, Mr. Holmes?" 

Lestrade didn't look up as he poured the black ink in an arc that would soon become part of the circle that was already taking shape in the room.  It would ruin his carpet, but that's alright.  It was only his dream carpet. 

"Isn't it a devil's trap that you're drawing?  I don't usually take much stock in this sort of thing, but Sam sent this to you and I read over it in your email.  It must be effective, no?" 

"I suppose...  But we're not in the real world.  This is my brain." 

"Then it should work all the better, if you simply will it to, don't you think?"  Mycroft tapped his umbrella on the floor lightly.  "You always were a stubborn one, Inspector.  I hope that never changes." 

"I hope the real you feels the same way."  Lestrade muttered bitterly as he closed the circle with the ink.  "Choose my own terms, Moriarty?  Don't mind if I do."  He grumbled, grabbing another bottle of black ink and ripping off the seal. 

Moments passed in silence and Lestrade wondered if Dream Mycroft had buggered off somewhere to tut so the detective could do so in peace.  But he immediately missed the company and wished mournfully for Sherlock, John, Charlie, and all the others.  Just what had happened to all of his dream friends?  They warned him and never returned to his dreams again.  As if they were erased, but he still had memory of them. 

"They were erased, Greggy."  Iris's voice reached his ears, making him look up from the symbol he was drawing.  "Mycroft and I will be, too.  Because we love you, Greggy.  We all do.  And you love us.  He's isolating you because he hates you and that's what he does to people he hates.  He's a really bad bird, Greggy.  But you're a good bird, Grumpy Greggy.  Penguins are very hardy, resilient creatures.  There's a reason I chose them for you." 

Lestrade's shoulders slumped and he shook his head.  "I'm sorry, for everything.  But you are right, Iris.  Penguins are hardy creatures.  I'm not going down without a fight."  He continued drawing the symbols for the devil's trap with renewed vigor. 

A soft music began to play.  It was something soothing and sweet.  Lestrade looked up in surprise and horror.  Where was he and why was his devil's trap gone?!  He spun around and Iris was sitting next to him, avoiding his gaze.  She was saying something, but what was she saying? 

"Iris?  Iris, what are you saying?  Speak up!  Iris!" 

He strained to hear her voice; what was the difference here from moments before?  The room was dark and all he could see was her.  It was cold, so cold. 

"....  ould have listened.... my friend.  And I thoug....  you... die..." 

Lestrade scrambled closer.  "Iris, are you here?  Are you the real Iris?  I'm here, Iris! I can hear you, please, wake me up!" 

"Inspector, you're wasting time.  She can't hear you.  One o' clock, two o'clock, time to away." 

"No, I have to listen; this could be important!" 

"He is going to kill you, Inspector!  If you don't finish the trap before he returns!" 

"Just, give me a minute!  Shut up, Mr. Holmes!!"  He shouted in a loud voice; Mycroft fell silent and may have disappeared as a warm enveloped his right hand. 

"You know...  fault.  I got ... mess.  You... have to... fighting for me." 

The beautiful music stopped and he felt horrifyingly devastated when the warmth released his hand.  She was leaving. 

"No!  Iris, God, no, please, stay here!" 

"I'll always be here, Greggy."  Dream Iris murmured, taking his hand in her cold grasp.  "There is work to do; a bad bird needs to be caught." 

"Yes, Inspector, these symbols won't draw themselves."  Mycroft Holmes added his two pence to the mix. 

Lestrade mournfully allowed the dream apparitions to tug him back into his townhouse where the black ink devil's trap was waiting to be completed. 

[greglestradedi]

The music Iris played as she visited Greg Lestrade in the hospital. 

[greglestradedi]

Dreaming of a Scheme

"Tick-Tock goes the clock." 

Lestrade looked up from the picture frame he was holding in his hands.  "You again.  I don't suppose it would be worth the energy to ask you to leave me to my misery?" 

"You don't have any pictures of your friends in your house.  Just your family.  Why is that, Inspector?"  Mycroft commented, tilting his head at him. 

"You're not Mr. Holmes.  None of this is real and I'm not playing anymore." 

"Pity, this mental prison of yours."  Mycroft gestured to Lestrade's sitting room. "Don't you think you could dream up a palace or something more extravagant?  But you didn't answer my first question, Inspector."  He twirled his umbrella.  "Why don't you keep photographs of your friends?" 

"They aren't memories yet."  Lestrade said before he could catch himself. 

"Yet?  You expect them to become memories, then?" 

"I'm not playing your games, Moriarty."  Lestrade growled. 

"Don't be so rude, Inspector Lestrade.  I'm only trying to help.  You think they're going to die young or leave you behind because you're worthless, don't you?"  A pause.  "You aren't worthless, Gregory.  Why else would my brother have endured your presence for any amount of time?" 

"Either you're Moriarty, or you're some sort of-"

"Construct within your consciousness.  Yes, I suppose that would be an accurate explanation for my existence at present."  Mycroft shifted, looking around.  "Still, I'd much rather continue this discussion at my place.  It's been awhile since Moriarty has been back, hasn't it?" 

Lestrade paused, frowning.  "What?  Has it been awhile, really?  How much time has really passed?  Days? Years?  I can't tell anymore.  Everything blurs together in a confusing mess.  One minute, I'm myself, the next, I'm a teenager or I'm attending Uni or a constable chasing criminals in my squad car." 

"Believe me, Gregory, it has been awhile.  I think he's distracted.  Now may be your only chance.  You've got to think about how you are going to trap him when he does come back.  This is your mind, Inspector.  You didn't get that title for sitting around and giving up.  How are you going to fight back?" 

[greglestradedi]

A Dream Encounter

"Are you going to fight me again, Inspector?" 

Greg looked up from his studies.  He was a teenager again, attending university.  He stared at the man dressed in an expensive suit. 

"Sorry...?" 

"You've been making quite the fuss. I was just trying to make it all up to you.  But I can see you're unhappy.  And I'm more than willing to let you go and wake up for real and go on your merry way."  The rise and fall of the man's voice grated on Lestrade's ears.  "For a price." 

Memories washed over the detective in waves. They pounded through his skull like a thousand angry buffalo stampeding through an empty field. 

"Y-you bastard."  Greg muttered, clutching his head tightly between his hands. 

"I've kept you here for months, years even.  Everyone you care about has given up on you.  I saw, though, that you had Sherlock listed as your next of kin."  Moriarty paused, giving him a sad expression.  "You really shouldn't have.  Sherlock's going to pull the plug on you, because you're worthless to him now.  Who's going to let him into crime scenes without you?  Who's going to kindly look the other way for him when he is less than careful?" 

Moriarty sighed dramatically.  "He hates you now, for being a bother.  Dear Lestrade, always getting into trouble, first the reavers, then the demons, and now this."  He paused.  "And of course, it was dear, beloved Iris that wished for you to never wake up again." 

Lestrade recoiled in horror.  He didn't want to believe it, but something compelled him to believe it.  He tried to resist it, but couldn't. 

"Wh-why?  I.  She was like a daughter to me.  Her brother, too.  Why would she do this?  Why would she..."  He shook his head.  "You're lying; she wouldn't!"  Would she?  "And Sherlock would never... He wouldn't give up on me!  He's hunting you down right now and he's going to send you back to hell where you came from." 

Moriarty tsked.  "I can save you, Greg.  We got off on the wrong foot during life and then during that little... "incident."  Let's start over:  If you sign on the dotted line, I can set you free again.  Sherlock, he's not hunting for me.  No, he hasn't had the time to even look into your mysterious illness.  He doesn't care.  And Iris, she cackles softly over your bed at night when all the nurses are sleeping."  Moriarty's voice dropped to a whisper. 

Lestrade shook his head and buried his face in his hands.  "Sod off!  Bastard!  I- I can't, I won't believe..." 

"But you do, don't you, Greggy?  Grumpy Greggy."  Moriarty turned away.  "I'm inside your mind right now, Greg.  Nothing you say, think, or do in here is said, thought, or done without my knowledge of it.  I know every breath you take and I know that you know I'm telling the truth.  Sherlock's abandoned you, John's no good to anyone, thanks to you and I, and Iris has been a snake hiding in the grass- a wolf in sheep's clothing all along." 

Moriarty paused before continuing.  "And you know the worst part?  Greggy, you knew.  You knew she wasn't innocent from the very beginning.  You didn't trust her.  And then you did. And now look what's happened." 

Lestrade didn't reply.  He wasn't capable of coming up with a retort or a denial.  He knew what he was feeling, anyway. 

"Think about my offer, Inspector.  Is this the ending you pictured for yourself?  Trapped in limbo until Sherly pulls the plug on your worthless, breathing corpse?  Or make a deal, earn some time, and set things right again.  Die on your terms.  I'll be waiting." 

[greglestradedi]

Imbecile Dreaming

The door bell rang.  Where was Catherine?  Lestrade couldn't find the strength to move. 

The bell rang again, twice in quick succession.  Whoever it was was impatient or it was really urgent.  Slowly, Greg pulled himself into a sitting position. 

"Come in!"  The shout came out as a whisper. 

A loud banging on the door.  "Lestrade!  I need it!" 

"Sherlock...?"  He muttered.  "No, you've been clean...  For years now." 

"LESTRADE!" 

Greg stumbled to his feet, walking to the door slowly.  He could barely move and it felt like he was trudging through thick molasses. 

"No, that was a dream...  I'm coming, Sherlock.  I know... it's hard to quit."  Lestrade released a choked gurgle that was the closest he could currently come to a laugh.  "Let's have a cigarette together, eh...?  You and I...  I don't know what's real and what's not...  You'll think I'm crazy the moment I open the door."  He mumbled as he reached for the doorknob. 

The door came open and Sherlock lunged into the room, pacing about in a frenzy.  Greg nearly fell as Sherlock brushed by him.

"Lestrade, I need it!  I need SOMETHING!  God, if you call me to a scene with that bastard Anderson again, I'll go insane!" 

"Slow down, Sherlock... I can't keep up with you.  You don't need it.  We'll solve a puzzle or something together." 

"No!  Damn it, Man! I need something more intellectually stimulating than that!  You think you're something?  You're a bleeding waste of space!  With your empty, blank mind and your inability to see the truth right in front of your snout!" 

Lestrade recoiled.  "Sher-"

"I hate you.  Why didn't you just arrest me for drug abuse and possession?!" 

"Because you neede-"

"I don't want to hear it.  My brother's your boss, isn't he?  I don't need you to be my handler!"  Sherlock was in a frenzy.  "Sod off, Lestrade!" 

"Sherlock, please, you can get through this." 

"Idiot!  Can't you see you're dreaming?!  That he's holding you here.  A prisoner in your own, pathetic little mind!" 

"What?" 

"Moriarty!  He's dug his way into your head.  An idea- no.  Something worse.  He's got you, wrapped up in falsehoods and fear.  Break free, or are you good for nothing whatsoever?"

Greg leaned against the wall and slid down to the floor.  "I'm so sorry... I'm going insane...  It was a dream.  A beautiful, horrible dream.  I miss them all so much...  But they weren't real."  

Sherlock hissed at him in anger.  "Get up, Lestrade!  GET UP AND GET OUT!"  When Lestrade made no move to get up, Sherlock shook his head in disdain.  "And here I thought you were something less than ordinary.  You're not worth my time.  Goodbye, Greg." 

Greg paused, looking up at Sherlock.  "What?" 

"What, what!"  Sherlock snapped. 

"You called me Greg.  You don't even know that my name is Greg..."  Greg could have cried.  "Sherlock, you...  You're telling the truth.  I know you are.  But I can't outrun him.  I can't outwit him, I can't control any of this.  He's running my mind like a carousel."  

"Think!  Think, Lestrade!"  Sherlock made vehement gestures at his own head.  "You can outwit him!" 

"I couldn't do that when he was alive, Sherlock!" 

"You can!  This is your mind; your world!  Fight back!" 

Lestrade's bedroom walls cracked and strained.  Greg could see the hellscape through the cracks.  He closed his eyes and willed that the scene change.  There was a straining, groaning sound like metal beams twisting under too much weight. 

His eyes opened.  Before him, John and Sherlock were bickering about something.  Was this the flat?  He did it!  He was in the flat!  But he had to get out.  How could he get to the hellscape with the door without Moriarty finding him? 

John turned to look at Lestrade, half smiling at something Sherlock had said.  The doctor's expression quickly contorted with anger and fear of something behind Lestrade.  Greg tensed and spun around just in time to see Moriarty stabbing him.  He gasped and collapsed against Moriarty's chest. 

"Shh, darling.  I'm always with you." 

"No..."  Greg shook his head desperately.  "No..."

[greglestradedi]

Sluggish Dreams

"Greg, what's the matter, love?" 

"No, Cathy, no.  It's not..." 

"Shh, darling, you're running a fever.  Just sleep and try to get some rest.  I'm here; I'll always be here." 

Lestrade closed his eyes and just focused on breathing and the sensation of Catherine's fingers running through his hair. 

[greglestradedi]

Dreaming of Insanity

Lestrade jerked up in the bed.  Catherine was sleeping next to him peacefully.  He looked around in confusion.  He was afraid; what had happened?! 

"Come now, Greg."  A sickeningly familiar voice spoke to him.  "You're having nightmares.  Lots of them, or so you've been saying.  It's called Lucid Dreaming." 

Greg blinked in confusion.  Where was Cathy?  "Sorry?" 

Greg was laying on a comfortable sofa in an immaculate room.  The wall behind the speaker was entirely made of bright, open windows with luxurious, long curtains.  The speaker was perched in a throne-like arm chair and seemed very imposing and... wrong.

"You've been plagued by lucid dreams.  During the REM sleep state, your dreams are more vivid and realistic than most people's dreams.  It can lead to disorientation and confusion.  Sometimes lucid dreamers aren't certain what is a dream and what is reality." 

The speaker paused, letting the information sink in.  Greg glanced around the room.  There are several paintings, beautiful paintings, around the room, and flowers. 

"Sometimes, however, lucid dreaming is a symptom of more serious conditions." 

Greg turned his head to face the speaker whose face he couldn't quite make out.  "More serious conditions?"  He wanted to sit up, but he couldn't.  "Like what?" 

"You don't need to worry about that, Greg."  The doctor said in a condescending tone.  "We're going to start you up on some medication now, to keep those nasty dreams in check." 

Lestrade couldn't move.  Why couldn't he move!?  He closed his eyes, trying to control his breathing. 

"I don't want it." 

"Your dreams are ruining your relationships in the real world, Greg.  It's important and for your own good." 

"I said, I DON'T WANT IT!"  Lestrade shouted.  "Who are you?  What have you done to me!  I can't move!" 

The figure pulled out a needle filled with something and tested it carefully.  He rose from the arm chair and approached the detective, speaking slowly and carefully. 

"Hush, Gregory.  Everything is going to be just fine.  Take a deep breath and take your medication." 

Lestrade shouted at the doctor. "No!  Stop, I don't want it!  Get that away from me!" 

The figure came closer with the needle and pulled the detective's sleeve up.  "It's okay, Detective.  A little prick.  And it'll be done." 

"LET ME UP!  SHERLOCK!  JOHN!  JACK!!"  He was panicking now as the man slid the needle into his arm, dispensing the drug.  "ANYONE, PLEASE!!" 

Greg's vision went blurry and his breathing regulated.  With a sigh, everything went black.