Sally Donovan pinched the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes to shut out the mountain of paperwork she still had to do. It had been a particularly gruesome case, involving a psychopath, and it had dragged on and on because the no longer had their own personal psychopath to help them solve it. It had been months since the Freak died, and Donovan almost missed him. Almost. She'd never much cared for him or John, but she'd never forgive the Freak for what his suicide did to the soldier- what being forced to watch did to him.
"It was obviously the janitor. Didn't you see his elbows?" a deep, familiar voice scolded from out of nowhere.
Sally jumped and cursed, "Jesus! Don't just come in here without-" she looked up at her intruder and her mouth fell open, quite comically. Sherlock Holmes was standing in front of her, in the flesh, wearing that ridiculous black coat that he always had on.
"What, aren't you happy to see me?" he asked, the corners of his mouth just hinting at a smile. He rolled his eyes. "Honestly, haven't you all figured it out yet? I faked my death because Moriarty had snipers ready to take out the DI, Mrs. Hudson, and John if I didn't jump." She always knew he was too annoying to die.
Sally Donovan stepped around her desk and slapped Sherlock, hard, right across the face.
"What was that for?" he exclaimed. She glared at him with a venom he'd never seen before.
"That, Freak, was for John. For bloody John, who you made bloody watch you die. Do you know what that did to him? You should have seen the state he was in when you hit the ground! How dare you make him watch, you bastard!"