Sherlock drove the vehicle down an abandoned alleyway and pulled to a halt by a door in the side of the building; abandoned, just the same as the alleyway. He breathed a deep sigh before placing his hand on the door handle and stepping out and looking around him. He had received the call not an hour prior. He had known immediately that something was horribly wrong. The tone in his voice had been…contrite. Sherlock's brother was rarely remorseful. He was rarely ever sorry. This had been the main reason for Sherlock's distress.

He entered the warehouse, staying near the entrance, and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. He tried not to look at the man standing a few meters away from him. He knew he would be made fun of enough in a few moments. All of his life, he had shut feelings out, he had put his mind on lockdown against all emotions, but this, this was more than enough doubt and suspicion to knock a huge hole in the walls he'd built. And this fact was reason for shame to him, to the man in front of him.

Sherlock knew he had to face him. He willed his mind to keep calm and shoved all of the sadness and panic and doubt to the back of his mind. He straightened up. "Hi."

"Yes, Sherlock."

Sherlock looked up to meet the eyes of his brother. He was greeted with a raise of the eyebrows as if to say 'it's been a while, and that's how you choose to greet me?' This questioning look melted into a remorseful look, one that matched the tone his voice had held on the phone earlier.

Sherlock was hit with a pang of familiarity. "I've seen that look before." The last time his brother had given him that look had been when John had been standing on the edge of a bridge, seven months previous, just before Sherlock had come back.

"John!" Sherlock screamed. He couldn't go to his friend, he was restrained by the police officers, but nothing could shield Sherlock from seeing his friend in pain. John held his head high and took a deep breath before spreading his arms, a salute to the dark-haired consulting detective behind him…but he didn't jump. Sherlock watched as John's chest rose and fall faster, his jaw clenched, his eyes closed and he tried to shut out the world before finishing everything, but he didn't. He didn't jump.

But Sherlock had been with John that morning. It wasn't John who was in trouble; it wasn't John that Mycroft was worried about. The only other person that it could be – "Molly?" Sherlock asked, his heart leaping at the mention of his partner. She had meant so much to him. She was the cover of Sherlock's faked death, she was the constant when he was in hiding, she had been everything to him, and now…

Mycroft pursed his lips. "She's dead."

No. No, no, no, no. "No," Sherlock shook his head. She couldn't be. She was brave, she was strong, and she couldn't be dead. It wasn't possible. "No, no." He let out a small laugh that was only half meant. That couldn't be true. He challenged the statement by meeting Mycroft's eyes.

"I'm sorry."

Sherlock scoffed. Sorry? Mycroft should have protected her. Sorry? He swallowed the huge lump in his throat, reminding himself to stay neutral. She didn't matter. She didn't count. Still, "What happened?" He needed to know how her last moments were spent.

Mycroft frowned and wrinkled his nose and narrowed his eyes. "You tell me."

A memory that had been deleted from Sherlock's memory flashed through his mind and Sherlock grimaced.

Sherlock brought his knee up into the bigger man's stomach and turned to one of the two men left standing. Molly's flat had been invaded by three big men. They obviously worked for someone, maybe even for Moriarty. Sherlock never found out, for the only thought that crossed his mind was 'protect Molly'. Sherlock swung his fist, but the man dodged. Molly screamed from the other side of the room and Sherlock turned to see her being carried away by the last gang member. Sherlock turned back, with a mind to knock out the man he was currently fighting and then proceed to rescue Molly, but he was caught by surprise when the man's fist connected with his jaw and he dropped to his hands and knees, head spinning, vision blurring, and ears ringing. He could still hear Molly's pleas for help. His attacker kicked the downed man in his stomach and Sherlock groaned, now breathless. He collapsed completely, watching as the two men left the flat with Molly in tow. He heard a car engine start and gathered enough energy to follow them out the door and tried to chase after the car. Before he even got out the door, the car was already down the street. Sherlock could do nothing.

Sherlock's eyes began watering, tears trying to pour out, but he held them back. "I – " He started, but couldn't finish.

Mycroft spoke what was on Sherlock's mind. "You miss her." Sherlock nodded as Molly's words flashed through his mind, I don't count, and his assurance, You do count. Sherlock wanted to punch something, to tell Mycroft he was lying and go to Molly's flat to assure himself she was still okay, that she was still alive, but he knew he wouldn't find her there. There was complete truth in Mycroft's words.

Mycroft scolded his little brother, "Caring is not an advantage," and an order, "from now on, you will stay out of this."

Sherlock knew his response wasn't truthful, he would obviously go and find Molly to prove to himself she wasn't actually dead, but still, he tried to console Mycroft, "Okay."

Mycroft's last statement to him surprised him greatly. "Welcome back." It was like a haunting reminder to Sherlock of the world he lived in and the reunion with danger and death after two years of being gone. "Time to move on."

Sherlock waited until Mycroft was gone before leaving himself. He gritted his teeth and swallowed his fear before getting into his car. He pulled out his phone, opening a picture taken three years before at the Christmas party at Baker Street. He and John and Molly all stood together for the picture. It had been one of the few times Sherlock had actually smiled in a picture, but of course he hadn't meant it. Now he regretted not meaning it. He looked at Molly's smiling face and gripped the phone tighter.

If there's anything I can do, anything you need, anything at all, you can have me.

She had been everything to him.

A/N: Hello everyone! So, I know this isn't exactly what everyone else is publishing (season 3 stuff), but it is inspired by Nyah86Production's 'BBC Sherlock - Welcome Back' video, which was brilliantly done, and you should check it out. This first chapter is basically the script of the video with a little bit of added commentary. I plan on making this a multi-chapter fic, so let me know if you like it!

All credit goes to Moftiss and Cumbersbumberswumbers and Martin Freeman and of course, Nyah86Production