A/N

This was in fact a very detailed request from someone on Tumblr. Here is what they asked for in a nutshell:

-At least 10 chapters

-Fem!lock, female Sherlock, Male John.

-Sherlock comes back from the dead after three years, angsty reunion

-Emotionally violent Sherlock, in-denial John

-Sherlock admits to being in a mid-life crisis, comes to a realization that she does want a baby. Questions her sanity because of.

-Admittingly wants to start a family with John, being the only man she trusts enough to get close to.

-Several sex scenes/ trying for a child

-Virgin Sherlock

I'm not regretting tackling this idea. I'm regretting that fact that I'm starting a 10+ chapter fic when I have a month left before school starts.

I plan to update this at the very least twice a week, if anyone is interested. Review and favourite, please.

Thank you.

Prologue: Dear Sherlock.

"Dear Sherlock:

It has been three years, and I'm not exactly sure how many letters I have left here. It's also been three years since your burial, and I'm still trying my best to move on. I've explained this what seems like a million times to you. Rather, written these words and left them here on your grave. While it may seem like I'm rambling (Or, it may just feel like I am) this will actually be my last letter. This will be the end of my visits, and the last time I will physically stand over your grave. I refuse to let myself be tortured by the fact you are so close, yet so far away by doing so. Therefore, Harry has been a huge help to me these past three years – Although Lestrade, and Mycroft have tried, they aren't the most social, nor even close to understanding most anything – Harry has offered me to stay with her in Cambridge.

"There isn't much left for me here, Sherlock. After Mrs. Hudson's burial, I feel no reason to stay at 221B. It seems all my ties to London are dying away, and I fear I may be next if I stay here.

"I've packed most my things, and will be ready within the next week for departure. I will be leaving your items to Mycroft and your family. Mycroft has taken over the building of 221B, and been offering me advances on rent in return of staying in London. Your brother is awfully set on my staying in London; if I didn't know any better, I'd say he wanted be to be here.

"Sherlock, I miss you. I don't know what I'm doing with out you.

"It was hard for me to admit how I felt about you when you were still alive. When you had me on the phone before you…" Several attempts at writing a single word were scribbled out frantically on the paper, making the legibility almost non-existent, despite John's messy handwriting. "before you jumped. I was so close to telling you "I love you, don't jump. Don't leave me." But, I highly doubt you'd decide against your determination to end your life if I admitting my feelings toward you. You always were stubborn, that way. But, I—"

It seemed as though John wasted half of the ink within his pen trying to delete what he wished he hadn't written.

" –Sherlock, there is not a single person in this world that can convince me you ever told me a lie. It's not possible, I believe in you, Sherlock Holmes. You meant the world to me. You were always capable before, so please, I ask one more time: give me a miracle.

Goodbye, Sherlock.

I love you.

John Watson "

It took Sherlock a cab ride from the cemetery to the door of 221B to even comprehend the words John had formed on the paper. It was something hard to admit for the extensive knowledge inside the brain of London's own consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes. She knew exactly what John's words meant, but had no clue how to string them together. They were words that almost broke Sherlock's almost-non-existent world in two at the realization: John was leaving London. Sherlock had spent the last tree years re-reading each letter John has left at her headstone. His messy, curly handwriting was what was keeping her alive in the tediously dull days of occupying a hotel room alone on the other side of Croydon with nothing but a few messages from her brother to keep her company.

What didn't make sense, though, about John's most recent letter, was John's almost desperate attempt at leaving London to live with his sister, and Mycroft's inability to keep John sated. It was now up to the Holmes' daughter, then, to keep Doctor Watson in place, though, to her, it was a selfish act.

Selfisness hadn't bothered Sherlock before she topped the final 17-step hike up the bannister to the door of 221B. Now, she contemplated to herself what he actions consisted of: and attempt to keep John rooted to where he belonged on Baker Street, and the sudden revelation of the same man that the woman he believed to have taken her own life was alive, and therefore trying to keep him rooted to where he belonged on Baker Street.

It never occurred to Sherlock, until now, that it was John's way of coping with the end of her own life was moving to live with his sister, far away from the life he had once lead with the consulting detective. This was his way of healing from the past, and Sherlock, suddenly showing up after three years of a faked suicide, would reopen a gaping wound the doctor was in the very least attempting to suture on his own.

This was selfishness, because Sherlock would happily admit that she would miss John if he left, just in the very same way John missed her at this very moment.

Selfish, she though, her face falling into her hands as she stood outside the door to the flat she once shared with the army doctor. A life they both lead, happily, together. Sherlock missed it.

She was never one for confronting her emotions.