CHAPTER ONE
"SHERLOCK!" John screamed as he rose up in his bed, wiping the sweat off of his face. He had had it again, the same nightmare that had been waking him for weeks. The images of Sherlock falling off of the rooftop refused to leave his head. John looked at the clock. "Bloody hell!" he murmured. 4:25 am. The nightmare had scared him so much and had gotten him so worked up that he knew he wouldn't be able to fall back asleep. John had gotten up, put on his robe and headed for the kitchen.
As John sat there at the table sipping is coffee, he started to break into tears. He couldn't help it. He had missed his flat mate so very much, who had been gone for almost three years. He kept remembering the last words he had said before he left Sherlock's grave the day he was buried, "One last miracle for me. Stop what ever it is you're doing. Don't be dead".
John's head sprung up as he heard the doorknob wiggle. "Who's there?" John shouted. No answer. John ran into his bedroom to grab his gun. He loaded it and went back into the kitchen. There was a silhouette standing next to the table. Wearing a pea coat and a scarf. John looked up to look the silhouette in the eyes. He dropped the gun all of a sudden as if every muscle in his arm gave out. His knees were shaking and tears began to run down his face.
"Hello John."