A/N: welcome to my Shernel sequel and my second Sherlock fic! First of all, thanks to all those who read and enjoyed my first fic, and if you're new and haven't read that one yet, I suggest you go do that first (LOL). For those of you who have returned for more, HERE IT IS! I'VE FINALLY STARTED! and without further ado, ENJOY!

Chapter 1: A Day in a Life Without Sherlock Holmes

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers, pulling her as close as he could as he instantly deepened the kiss. He pulled back and stared into her eyes as she caught her breath from the desperate kiss.

"I love you," he whispered, making her heart leap as her eyes shot wide, but her heart sank again with his next words. "I need you to trust me and stand right here. Don't move."

He began backing away from her and she took a step with him, but he gently pushed her back, neither one breaking eye contact. She sobbed, shaking her head as he still stepped back, remaining in her spot as their embrace was broken. He gave her a sad smile as their fingers slipped from the other's grip and she screamed at him, but he only turned to step toward the ledge, then up onto it. She shook her head, trying to call out to him, silently and hoping he would turn around to give her that signature smirk and explain how he could get himself out of this.

He spread his arms and let himself fall forward off the building.

"Sherlock!"

"Sherlock!"

She screamed as she shot up in her bed, panting as her heart raced from the terror induced by the dream she'd just had.

"Quennel?"

She gasped and turned in the bed to see the very man she'd just dreamt of staring at her with wide, blue eyes filled with concern.

"Oh, Sherlock," she shuddered, instantly falling against his chest and laying them both down again as he held her, burying her face into his chest. "I just had a terrible nightmare! Moriarty…Moriarty made you kill yourself!"

"Now, why are you crying about that, Miss Yule?" he murmured. "You're being obtuse again. After all, it did happen."

She froze and frowned in wonder before silently shifting to look up at him. Her breath caught in her throat when Sherlock's face was covered in blood pouring from a wound on his head as he still held her in his arms.

"I am dead, you silly woman."

She screamed in horror, pushing against him…

Quennel Yule screamed as she awoke then gave a grunt of pain when she landed on the floor of her flat, having rolled off of her bed. She groaned as she sat up, tangled in her sheets and Caesar, her German Shepherd hurried toward her to be sure his mistress was alright. The canine instantly began licking her face, making her unable to help but chuckle, tiredly as she lifted a hand to stroke his fur, soothingly.

"Sto bene, Caesar, te lo prometto," (I'm ok, Caesar, I promise) she murmured as he backed away to look her over and make sure she was telling the truth. "Solo un brutto sogno." (Just a bad dream)

She groaned as she struggled to stand, pushing past the pain and her body still trying to wake up. She looked to the clock on the stand next to her bed and groaned again. It was time for her to get up and start her day.

"I'm going to kill Mycroft for putting me on this bloody mission," she grumbled, shoving herself up to head toward her restroom to start her daily routine. "He said it would be lengthy, but this is getting ridiculous."

It had been two years since the incident she dubbed 'The Fall.' Immediately after that, she realized she would need a new job as her previous occupation as Sherlock's assistant was a bust, in so many words.

She had tried to pick up her old career as a reporter, but the BBC wouldn't even touch after she'd been in the press connected to Sherlock. She tried to get into the morgue with Molly, hoping her education in forensics would get her somewhere, but Molly's higher-up refused…for the same reason the BBC refused her. Too close to Sherlock.

The only other person she knew she could turn to was Mycroft…the very man she'd refused taking a job from when she was sacked as a reporter. She was grateful at first when she spent her first months as his personal secretary. However, after six months of that, he began sending her on missions. Undercover mostly, but it was grueling work. She was regretting taking up on his job offer. And now she was on a mission that required her to work for a man she rather wished she'd never even heard of, let alone began working for as a secretary.

Quennel fixed her now long, curly hair into a sideways do before quickly beginning to apply her makeup. She couldn't believe she'd let her hair grow longer than her usual pixie cut, but she rather liked it. And on this undercover mission, she had to look as feminine as possible.

"God, I hope I'm almost done with this one," she sighed, finishing up with her face. "Working for him gives me the willies."

She demonstrated to herself with a shiver before hurrying toward her sitting room and grabbing her purse.

"I'll be back tonight, Caesar!" she called as he trotted after her, but remained inside when she opened the door and grinned at him, "Essere un bravo ragazzo, ok?" (Be a good boy, ok?)

Caesar barked once in response, making her giggle and blow a kiss to him.

"Ciao!" she called, shutting the door to her flat and locking it.

"Heading to work, Quennel?" a friendly, elderly woman's voice called to her from behind, making her turn toward the voice with a grin.

"Yep," she smiled, tucking her keys into her purse and moving some of her hair from her face. "The boys home?"

"From all the carryings on I heard in there? Either they're home, or I have a pair of squatters that sound just like them," Mrs. Turner smirked, making Quennel laugh before she made her way to her neighbor's door to knock as Mrs. Turner made her way toward the very front door, keys in hand. "I'm going for groceries, darling. Need anything?"

"Oh, no, thank you, Mrs. Turner," Quennel grinned, waiting for one of the men to answer the door. She looked to the door when it slowly opened, revealing a handsome man with mussed brown hair, blue eyes that were squinting out the gap of the door, a chiseled jaw and broad shoulders. "Wakey, wakey, Andy!"

"Please…not so loud," he groaned, rubbing his face and Quennel couldn't help but gaze over Andy's shirtless torso. She may not have been on the market, and he was certainly not batting for her team, but she could absolutely enjoy the sight of him standing shirtless in front of her, and often had over the two years of being neighbors. "And turn the lights down, will ya?"

"I would if I could, but I'm not God," she smirked, leaning on the frame of the door. "Contrary to popular belief. Is one of you sober?"

"Will can handle it better than me," Andy replied, rubbing his eyes. "Watch Caesar?"

"Yes, please. I'll text him," she nodded cheerfully before leaning closer to press a kiss to his cheek. "Try a Prairie Oyster for that hangover."

"More like Hair of the Dog," he grumbled as she turned to head toward the door and he shut his flat door after her.

Quennel sighed as she stood at the curb, waiting for the black car that usually picked her up to take her to work. Mycroft was nice enough to allow her to take his car there…since she was so 'close to the family,' as he put it. Not only that, but the mission was a rather important one. The car pulled up, prompt as always, and she climbed into the back seat, only to gasp with a start at who was joining her.

"Good morning, Miss Yule," Mycroft greeted next to her.

"Bloody hell, I can see where Sherlock got it from," she sighed, placing a hand over her racing heart. "Do you have to give me a start just before work?"

"Forgive me, but I wanted check up on you, personally," he confessed as she shut her door and the car pulled into traffic.

"Do you have time for that sort of thing?" she teased, pulling on her seat belt.

"Just enough to spare a slight detour in my own errands today," he retorted.

Quennel only gave a scoff as she looked out the window. She had come to expect this since starting this mission. Every once in a while Mycroft would show up, out of the blue, claiming in his Mycroft way that he was in the neighborhood. She didn't mind him checking up on her so much. It reminded her of the way he used to do the same thing with Sherlock.

"Feeling nostalgic, are we?" Mycroft asked, making her look to him in wonder at how he had guessed what she was thinking. Then again, she should have known he would, but he went on to explain, "You start twirling your hair when you're thinking back on something. My brother, perhaps?"

Her expression fell as she turned back to the window, lowering her hand from the end of her hair where she'd been twirling it…as he said.

"I had a dream about…that day," she reported, making him give a nod of understanding. "It was a dream within a dream. I woke up in bed with Sherlock, but he…he was bloodied all over his face. When I actually woke up I fell off my bed and onto the floor. Now I can't seem to stop thinking about Sherlock…as if I ever did."

After a moment, in which Mycroft remained silent, she gave a small sigh and rubbed her tired eyes, adding, "Look, I understand you're immune to sentiment, but an encouraging word wouldn't go amiss here."

Mycroft took in a breath before replying, "Perhaps you will take solace in the fact that, the night before…what you call 'The Fall,' John came to see me and gave me a stern talking-to about telling one of the most dangerous men in the world Sherlock's life story."

"I remember," Quennel chuckled. "I'm sure he was furious with you. He was angry when I told him everything about my involvement, but he did forgive me."

The car came to a stop in front of large building, and she undid her seatbelt, adding, "Thank you for the ride, Mr. Holmes."

"You're quite welcome, Miss Yule," he nodded as she climbed out of the car to head toward the building they were stopped in front of.

Afternoon...

Quennel gave a small sigh as she trudged down Baker Street from where the cab had left her. She was glad her 'employer' let her go for the rest of the day. She wasn't sure she could stand being there any longer today. Not after the night she'd had. She stepped toward her own building, but stopped before she went up the steps to the front door, glancing toward the building next to hers.

221

She chewed on her lower lip in thought. She'd been thinking about Sherlock all day long, and now she realized she hadn't made her weekly visit to Mrs. Hudson yet. She would go there, have tea or breakfast or dinner and spend time with a woman that she was sure Sherlock thought of a second mother, or even a grandmother. It made her feel closer to Sherlock.

"Oi, Miss!"

She jumped and looked to the sidewalk where two children were standing with a stroller that had clothes piled in it and stuffed to make it look like a man's body, a balloon with a face drawn on it as the head.

"Penny for the Guy?" the boy asked, making her frown until she realized the time of year it was. She gave a smile and rummaged through her purse for a penny all the way down at the bottom and handed it to him, making him grin. "Thank you, Miss!"

Quennel watched the boys head down the street before looking back at Sherlock's building. Making up her mind she stepped toward 221, pulling out her keys where she still had the key to the building, unlocking the front door and heading right for Mrs. Hudson's flat door. She knocked quickly before she could change her mind, and was relieved when she instantly came to the door.

"Quennel, dear!" Mrs. Hudson grinned, throwing her arms around the young woman for a tight hug. "You're out of work early!"

"Yeah, boss only needed me for half the day," Quennel shrugged.

"Quennel?"

She gave a frown at the familiar voice behind the landlady, who moved aside to let the brunette see who was sitting at the table in her flat.

"John Watson!" she grinned, letting herself into the flat as John stood in time to catch Quennel when she threw her arms around him. "Good God, man! It's been ages! How are you?!"

"I'm fine," he nodded as they released each other. "You look well."

"Thanks, but my life is boring," she smiled. "Tell me about you! What have you been up to?"

"Ah, well, I was just here to…pick up a few things," he replied.

"Oh! Yes! We can head up now, if you like," Mrs. Hudson stated.

Quennel froze as she looked to the woman in shock before murmuring, "Up…to the flat?"

"Quennel, if you'd rather not—"

"No, it's fine," Quennel cut into Mrs. Hudson's concern as John placed a consoling hand on her shoulder. "I just…wasn't prepared."

"I'll only be a minute," John assured her. "If you'd like to stay down here, I'm sure neither of us would be offended."

"Sherlock would be," she murmured, unable to help the small smile that came to her lips, John meeting her gaze in understanding.

"Sentiment," they said together, making Mrs. Hudson give a small laugh before they all made their way to the door.

"John?" Quennel began as they made their way up the stairs.

"Yes?"

"Are you…planning on keeping that?" she asked, gesturing to her own mouth as she referred to the moustache John now sported above his lip.

"Well, of course," he frowned in wonder as they reached the door and Mrs. Hudson unlocked it.

"Alright," she shrugged. "I know my opinion probably means nothing, but for what it is worth, it doesn't suit you."

"Right, thanks," John retorted, making Quennel smirk before they stepped through the door and Mrs. Hudson turned on the lights.

Everything was exactly where it had been two years before. Dust had collected on everything and was floating in the air, only being seen when the light coming through the cracks in the thick curtains caught the specks flying around. Quennel swallowed, hard as memories instantly flooded her mind when she glanced around the room, John beside her, no doubt feeling the pain of his own loss as well.

"I couldn't face letting it out," Mrs. Hudson explained, heading toward one of the windows to push the heavy curtains aside and let in more light. She coughed as the thick layers of dust flew up into the air, John making his way around to look over the kitchen and Quennel only kept her spot near the door. "He never liked me dusting."

"I remember," Quennel murmured, looking to John as he stepped back into the living area.

"So why now?" Mrs. Hudson asked John, heading for the other window to open those curtains as well. "What changed your mind?"

"Well, I've got some news," John began, making both women look to him.

"John…is it serious?" Quennel breathed in concern as she took his hand.

"What?" John frowned in wonder before replying, "No, no, I'm not ill. I'm, uh…moving on."

"You're emigrating," Mrs. Hudson guessed, sadly as John patted Quennel's hand reassuringly, and both of them looked to her in confusion.

"Nope," John retorted, slightly exasperated as Quennel couldn't help but smile, but said nothing. "No, I've, uh…I've met someone."

"Oh!" Mrs. Hudson giggled, stepping closer and clapping her hands as Quennel grinned. "Ah, lovely!"

"That's wonderful!" Quennel cheered, hugging his arm and he nodded his thanks.

"Yeah, we're getting married," he reported. "Well, I'm going to ask, anyway."

"So soon, after Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson frowned in wonder, making both of them frown in wonder.

"Well, yes," John replied, shortly.

"What's his name?" Mrs. Hudson wondered, making Quennel unable to keep herself from bursting into a laugh as John sighed.

"It's a woman," he replied.

"A woman?!"

"Yes, of course it's a woman."

"You really have moved on, haven't you?"

"Mrs. Hudson, how many times…? Sherlock was not my boyfriend."

"Live and let live, that's my motto."

"Listen to me. I am not gay!"

Quennel doubled over with laughter, tears coming to the corners of her eyes.

Evening...

Quennel knelt down toward the gravestone to rest a small bouquet of flowers at its base before standing and staring down at it.

"I don't care if you wouldn't want me to bring you flowers, but I brought them anyway," she told the gravestone with the name of her beloved carved into it.

"I was able to leave work early today," she began. "I had lunch with Scarlett and then headed home. She's doing well with her beau. Hopefully there'll be a wedding soon, she's been dating him long enough. Then I headed to Baker Street and had my weekly chat with Mrs. Hudson. John was there, actually. He said he wanted to see the flat, get a few things of his, I guess. He's getting married as soon as he asks her."

She lowered her head to her hands where she began wringing her fingers, then resumed, "I…went up to the flat, too. It wasn't as hard as I thought it would be…but it still hurt a bit. Everything is as you left it. None of us had the heart to touch anything else. I know what you'd say…something about sentiment, but you're dead, so I suppose it doesn't matter."

Tears began welling up in her eyes as her emotions got the better of her, the dream from that night still haunting her as well.

"I miss you, Sherlock," she whispered in a shudder. "It's been two years…but I still miss you. I dream about the day I lost you and it…kills me inside every time. Sometimes…I dream that it was all just a nightmare, and I wake up and I'm in your arms, but those dreams either end up becoming nightmares…or they don't last very long. John asked you for a miracle Sherlock…and I'm waiting for you to deliver."

"Quennel!"

She gasped as she turned to the familiar voice, before looking away to wipe away her tears then turn back to the man approaching her with a smile.

"Anderson," she smiled as the scruffy faced man stepped up to her, glancing at the gravestone. "What did you bring me?"

"Thought I might find you here," he nodded in understanding before looking to her again as she sniffled and he held something up in his hand. "I have the map."

Quennel's eyes widened as she took the rolled map from him and instantly knelt down to open it up and spread it out. Over the map were dots, dashes and solid lines indicating a journey someone either was or would be taking.

"Mind you, these are just estimates, based on the stories I've heard," Anderson explained, kneeling next to her as she kept her eyes on the map. "But if you have a look at the solid lines…those are the points I know for sure are connected. And if you look at the path they make…"

He pointed her in the direction on the map where he thought it would lead next, making her take in a slow breath as her eyes widened.

"It's making its way back to England," Anderson explained. "According to the dates…Sherlock is coming back this way."

Quennel's heart raced as she stared at the map, hope swirling into her heart.

Anderson had come to her a year ago with his theory that Sherlock had faked his death somehow and that he was off around the world solving crimes and keeping busy. He had gone to everyone that would listen to him. John wanted nothing to do with it. Donovan could've cared less. Lestrade indulged him, but told him time and time again it was all bollucks, and Molly and Mrs. Hudson, like John, refused to listen. Only Quennel seemed to have some belief that maybe Anderson was right. Maybe Sherlock was still alive? After all, she wouldn't put it past him to fake his death for whatever reason, and based on what he had told her their last night together, she was sure he had had something planned.

"Quennel, I'm having an Empty Hearse meeting at my flat," Anderson reported as she still stared at the map. "I would be honored if you came. The members would love it, and I'm certain they'll give you comfort."

"I told you, Phillip, I won't go to your meetings," she reiterated. "I don't need Sherlockians gawking at me. But you give them my best. I can keep this, yes?"

"Yes, of course, but you have to hold up your end of the deal, and look at this," Anderson reminded her as he pulled a folded picture from his trouser pocket to hold it toward her. "What do you think? It's in the papers already. We did everything you told us to do. Does it look alright? Do you think it'll lure him out if he saw it in the papers?"

Quennel looked to the picture of a skeleton in an old suit sitting at a desk in an underground room. She regretted her part in setting that up, but he wouldn't give her the information she wanted without her help. She was sure, if Sherlock was alive, he would hate her for it.

"It looks good," she replied, vaguely, rolling the map again. "I have to get home. Thanks for this. I'll see you around."

She didn't wait for a response from him before she made her way toward the gate leading to the street.

223A…

Quennel lifted the map and tacked it onto the wall above her headboard, making sure it was straight and flat before shuffling off of her bed and standing next to it to have a look at her work. Caesar trotted up next to her and sat, letting her scratch behind his ears and she looked at the lines over the map, unable to keep from smiling, slightly.

"I know what Sherlock would say," she sighed, looking down at Caesar before kneeling to be at his level and scratch at his head with both hands. "He would say it's futile to indulge any delusions that the dead can come back to life, wouldn't he?"

Caesar gave a small grunt, as if to agree, making her chuckle and stand tall to head for her kitchen, the red dressing gown flowing behind her as she walked. She wore that dressing gown every night. She was on the verge of saying her obsession was unhealthy herself, but she refused to say that out loud. Her neighbors or her landlady would take her to the loony bin themselves.

She took the glass of wine that sat on the counter and made her way to her sitting room, Caesar right behind her as she plopped onto her sofa. She flipped on the telly and changed channels until she could find something to her liking. She never could.

"Well, Caesar," she sighed as he sat next to her on the sofa. "Just another day in a life without Sherlock Holmes."

A/N: there it is! reviews?