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Dreams are not memories. Dreams are worse. A lightning storm with no rain. In the dream I was running, and the gunfire sounded like thunder. I ran through the darkness while flashes of light illuminated a nightmare landscape of menacing faces. The only colours were black, red, and grey. The heat pressed in all around, moments later the rain started to fall. I welcomed the refreshing coolness of it against my skin. And then I looked down and saw that the liquid was red; it was not water falling from the sky but blood.
I woke up soaked with sweat and out of breath. Rain, real rain, battered the window and thunder rumbled in the distance.
“Watson.” I was in our sitting room, where at some point in the evening I’d laid down and fallen asleep. A fire crackled in the hearth and Holmes knelt at my side. I was about to apologise for my disturbance, but Holmes spoke first.
"I am sorry to cut short your sleep, but I must tell you about a theory I have." He said.
I did not want to hear any theories about my mental state, and I was about to stop him when he continued.
“The versatility as a precursor to primary chemicals and high-value derivative products provides the option of using relatively inexpensive coal to produce a wide range of valuable commodities. It is an exciting and expansive field of study.” Holmes said softly as he settled himself on the floor beside me.
“Coal?” I asked. “It sounds fascinating.” I lied.
He spoke to me quietly of the nature of coal derivatives until our fire threatened to die out, the lightning storm faded into the distance, the rain stopped, and the sky in the east turned a lighter shade through our window.