'Are you sure that this is going to work?'

'Have I ever proven you wrong?'

'I can count a good number of times. Be careful.'

'I'll try.'

Sherlock blinked and came back to life. A sharp glance at a wall clock opposite him showed that he'd been in his mind palace for 3 solid hours. If he really wanted to be honest to himself, he wasn't looking for anything in particular. Just reviewing things he already knew to be right. When did I start hesitating to do what must be done? He knew the answer to that one too. Just didn't want to admit it. Admiting it meant giving it power and he'd rather commit suicide all over again before admitting to that.

His phone beeped and he sat up. He grabbed his phone and looked at the screen before groaning inwardly.

7:00AM Sharp. DO NOT BE LATE.

Sherlock threw down the phone on the table before swearing. Whose idea was this anyway?

Sherlock sighed in contentment. He had missed London. It's feel, it's smell, the incessant downpour of rain. He welcomed it. It had been too long. 3 years. His phone beeped again and he glanced down at it.

Haven't you got more pressing matters than rain appreciation? MH

Sherlock scowled before deleting the message. He'd deal with Mycroft when he had the time and patience. As of right now, he had things to do. Hailing a cab, he jumped in. The cabby hardly gave him a moment's glance before speeding off to the address he'd given. Sherlock couldn't blame him though. He'd undergone a 'makeover' in the name of keeping his survival a secret. His hair was blond now and he had contacts. Also, perhaps the most annoying of all changes, he'd gotten an American accent. He was still very much British, no amount of travelling could change that, but now and then, he found bits of American slangs finding their way into his speech. One of the first things to be eliminated once I reveal myself. Sherlock rested against the back seat of the cab and looked out into the lit streets. He'd chosen a rainy night to come into London. He wanted to avoid recognition by all costs. He still wondered how in the hell Mycroft knew he was back when he'd deliberately taken precautions against him finding out but he figured that was something he'll sort with Mycroft later.

He was just hoping that Mycroft was the only person who knew about his arrival. Chances were slim but he was hoping that Mycroft had the good sense to make sure no one else had been alerted. He didn't want London to become off limits for him too.

Hoping to make a dramatic entrance, I presume? MH

Sherlock glared at his screen. No doubt, Mycroft was talking about the fact that today was his 'anniversary'. Bloody git. He didn't want to be dramatic but it wasn't his fault he had a flair for drama. I wonder when someone will inform my dear brother that he's twice as dramatic as I am. He was just hoping that things had died down after 3 years. John. Sherlock wasn't one for sentiment but this was the first time he'd ridden a cab without John in a while. A long while. He'd missed the man. More than he thought he would. It was annoying how much he felt for the man. The only person he'd let get that close was Mycroft and look how that ended. Caring was not an advantage and yet, he'd found himself caring more than he cared to in the past years. It was revolting. He didn't mind caring for John though. He'd jump a second time if it meant saving John's life. John had brought perspective into his life. A sort of light if one might say. It had helped though. And he'd never realized how lonely he was until John was out of his life.

I'm assuming this onslaught of emotion is just joy at being back in London. Nothing more. Sherlock 's face bounced from sober to hardened in an instant. He glanced through the window. 'This is it. Thank you.' The cabbie stopped and he paid his fee. Walking slowly in the rain, his plan ran through his head. By midnight, he should be back at 221b Baker Street. Sleeping in his own bed. It was now eight. So it begins.

John sighed sadly. Three years to this date, he'd watched his best friend jump to his death. Some nights, he still had dreams of him. Not the nightmares that plagued him in the first months following Sherlock's death. He'd felt like hell was a step up compared to those. These were different. Not nightmares but just replays of that fateful day. He would see Sherlock on the roof as usual, saying his last goodbyes. Then he'd jump. John would race to him as he always would and just before getting to him, Sherlock would fall on to the pavement. Skull cracked, blood everywhere and that blank, vacant stare in his eyes. And as usual, John would wake up drenched in sweat, Sherlock's name on the tip of his tongue. It sucked but compared to his PTSD ones, this seemed like a step up.

It didn't mean that they didn't give him sleepless nights though. It was of course better but it no matter what happened, John couldn't let go of his friend. Especially not tonight of all nights. John got up. His therapist had told him to try and go out on the anniversaries but he'd always shrugged her off. He might as well start this year. Wasn't like there was anything motivating him to stay at home. He grabbed a jumper and jeans and put them on. He wasn't really planning to do much though. Probably drink himself silly. John fished his keys out of a pocket and locked his flat. He bounded down the stairs and stepped out into the London night. Shit. John got hit by raindrops and his first reaction was to go back inside.

Figures it'll be raining on the bugger's anniversary. He sighed and weighed his options. He could either go back inside and bore himself until he slept and then have another one of his 'invigorating' dreams. Hell no. Or he could brave the rain and get to a bar to get plastered. Both options weren't exactly the best but he'd go with the lesser of the two evils. He could just have stayed alive and saved me the trouble. John sighed a last time before making a dash for it. He ran a couple of streets before dashing into a nearby phone booth to catch his breath.

'Not much of a runner too?'

John recoiled from the voice, his body hitting the door of the booth. Laughter echoed through the booth. 'I'm soo sorry. I shouldn't have shocked you like that.' A hand reached out to John and he grabbed on to it. It was a female hand. John glanced up. She was a brunette. Her hair was piled on top of her head, wet tendrils sticking to the sides of her face. Despite the rain, her makeup was just the lightest bit smudged. She was tall too. Or that could just be the heels. John couldn't see her body but he'd bet that it fitted the face. She was gorgeous. 'Oh, it's nothing.' John found himself saying. 'I should've looked before rushing in.' She grinned. 'I suppose I should introduce myself. Mary Morstan.'

'John Watson.' He replied. Her forehead crinkled. 'Watson? The friend of the-' John could feel his spirits sinking. Of all the days and of all the people to met! 'Yes.' John answered harshly. Mary nodded. 'Today's the anniversary?' She asked. John nodded. 'Sorry for your loss. He was a genius.' John looked at her. 'What?' He said a bit dumbfounded. Did she just…agree with me? 'He was a genius.' Mary repeated. 'I never believed any of the newspaper trash. No offence, but no British could've made all of that up. You're a bit lacking in the imagination department.' Despite, his shock, John burst into laughter. 'I take it, you're not from around here.' He said when he'd gotten his breath back. She shook her head, a few giggles escaping from her mouth.

'I'm a reluctant visitor. A friend of mine's been bugging me so I decided to come and get it over with.' Mary said. John raised a brow. 'That bad?' He asked. 'I'm not really a fan of the rain.' Mary said again, gesturing outside. 'We aren't either.' John said to her. She chuckled and John smiled back at her. Their quite was cut short by John's phone.

221b Baker Street.

John's good mood evaporated immediately. No. Not again. Not now. The blood drained out of his face as he stared at his phone. 'John?' Mary asked. John continued to stare at his phone, memories that he'd been trying hard to delete came flooding back. He staggered a bit. 'John!' Mary yelled steadying him. 'I'm fine. I'm fine. Just-' John said faintly. Mary grabbed his phone and stared at it. 'Hang on. Isn't this your old addy?' John said nothing, his head still reeling. Mary glanced out the booth before opening the door. 'Well? You're not going?' She asked. John stared at her. It wasn't her fault. She honestly couldn't fathom the hell that his life had been the past three years. Still that gave her no excuse! John grabbed his phone from her. 'You can't be serious. Don't you want to check it out?' She asked standing there. It had stopped raining now.

John shook his head. 'I can't. Not again. I can't put myself through…that again.' Mary's face softened. 'I'm such a jerk. I completely forgot how close you too were. I'm soo sorry.' John automatically waved off her apology. They stood there for a few seconds before Mary spoke up again. 'Don't you wanna know? I mean he could've left a clue or something.' John shook his head. 'I mean, if it were someone I knew, I'd still go. Even though it might be nothing.' She said. She looked at John with a raised brow. John stood. He was afraid to hope. To dream. But if it were possible, he'd take every chance. Dammit. 'I'll call a cab. It's too cold to walk.' This better be worth while.

Sherlock stepped into the living room. A thin film of dust coated all the surroundings. Cleaned every two weeks. His eyes swept over everything. Nothing had been moved. It was like he'd never left. He half expected John to come bounding up the stairs, complaining about the fact that he was the only one doing the shopping. Speaking of which. Sherlock glanced down at his watch. Nine o'clock on the dot. Perfect. John should be here any moment. Given he takes the bait. Sherlock ignored the niggling voice in the back of his mind. John would come. He had to.

A creak was heard and Sherlock perked up. John. A million things began to run through his mind but he quickly silenced them. He was sticking to his plan and that was that. He could hear pounding up the stairs followed by more feminine steps. Feminine? That wasn't part of his plan. But there was no time for that because the door was opening.

'The stairs are soo creaky…feels like a haunted mansion.'

'You're welcome to stand outside.'

'And miss out on the action? Not a chance.'

The door opened fully and John stepped in. The smile on his face vanished and he stared. Sherlock took in a deep breath. Not bad. Better than I hoped. 'John.' Sherlock said. John continued to stare. 'You're alive?' said Mary next to John. That seemed to be the ice breaker. John flew at Sherlock, throwing a left hook that knocked him off his feet. Sherlock landed on the floor. Better. Now on to- But Sherlock's train of thought cut off as John delivered another blow.

'You bloody bastard!'

One punch.

'You died! I saw you jump!'

Another punch.

Sherlock raised a hand. 'John. John, wait. There's something-' A baby's cry cut off Sherlock's speech and John's attacks. 'Oh, for the love of God!' Sherlock groaned on the floor. John stared at the stairs. 'Is that...a baby?' Mary asked.