THE HIATUS IS OVER! For now, anyway. Mostly this one just wouldn't leave me alone. This one takes places not long after Auld Lang Syne. It'll probably be two or three chapters long. I was planning on making it a oneshot, but it grew in my head as I was writing. I could probably still fit it into one, but I'm tired and want to get some sleep before work tomorrow. So here's a rather short opener for the next part of the Lost and Found Series!

Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC. Nothing is mine and I don't make any money off of writing this.

The fancy dress party was officially a private party, only the members of the country club allowed within its hallowed halls. That, of course, would never stop Sherlock Holmes from entering. He was on a case, something to keep his mind off of the text he'd gotten weeks ago. Not that it was working. As big as his mind was, it stubbornly stuck to the ten words followed by her initials. Her married initials at that. She had never used that those except when she was feeling particularly romantic. So about once a year, at most.

Happy New Year. I'll see you soon. All my love, CMH

It was so simple, and yet those words had spun his entire world around. His past, the one thing that haunted him, hovered over him like a dark cloud, and come back as quietly as a whisper. And it didn't hurt. He was anxious, excited, eager. A myriad of words could describe how he felt since New Year's, but all the pain, the gaping hole that had ripped through his chest so many years ago, was finally gone. He could finally breathe again.

But now he couldn't work, couldn't concentrate. He was making stupid mistakes that had Anderson laughing at him openly in public. Lestrade was eyeing him with caution, clearly looking for signs that he was using again. John was the only one with sympathy. More than once in the last few days, the ex-army doctor had told off Anderson, redirected Lestrade's attention, and offered silent support, all while helping to keep the text a secret. He was a far better friend than Sherlock deserved and he had never been more grateful to have him.

He shook his head slightly, drawing his focus back to the task at hand. He had been called to America once more on a case, this time in upstate New York where socialites were being murdered from within the country club. It had all been hushed as much as possible, but the police had yet to even find a suspect. Anderson, who had heard about the case from an old college friend, and Lestrade, who was currently separated from his wife and in need of some time away from England, had tagged along, if only to keep an eye on Sherlock. He sighed in exasperation as he spotted them in the milling crowd. To blend in they had all dawned masks and suits, but Anderson especially looked out of place, the DI not far behind. Both men stood in the corner of the room, eyes constantly scanning the area through their colorful masks. John was much more at ease, gliding through the crowds with smiles and idle chitchat while his keen eye kept a sharp lookout for any suspicious activity.

Not that there was any, unfortunately. It had been three hours since the club opened and not even a single peep had been heard from the murderer. He had been so sure the man would choose tonight, when the club was at its fullest, to pick another victim. They hadn't found any connection between the three previous except for this club being the sight of the murder, and Sherlock knew that it was only a matter of time before something else cropped up. Sure enough, his mobile buzzed lightly in his pocket, making him duck behind a billowy curtain for cover. He slipped it out and checked the e-mail he had just received, frowning at the contents. The victims did have a connection. One not even Sherlock had noticed.

Before he could brood over the fact for too long, his phone buzzed again as a text appeared on screen.

I see you.

The number was unfamiliar, making his frown deepen. He glanced up, scanning the area for someone looking at him. His mobile buzzed again in his hand.

Why are you hiding?

He pursed his lips as he considered his options, then answered anyway.

I'm not. – SH

Yes you are.

The answer was immeidiate, almost coming before he could send the text, as if the person could predict what he was about to say.

John? What is this number? – SH

Not John.

He frowned. Who else would know him so well? He froze, thumbs hovering over the key pad as another option entered his mind. But she couldn't possibly be here. Could she? Why now? Why here? Only one way to find out.

Katie?

Told you I'd see you soon.

He chuckled humorlessly, his eyes inexplicably filling with tears as he stared down at his phone. His heart felt lighter than it had in years. She was back! She was here! His head snapped back up, twisting this way and that to try to get a glimpse of her as he typed out a new message.

Where are you?

You tell me.

He grinned. This was familiar, something they had always secretly did when meeting somewhere crowded. It was a game to them, something private that only they knew about. This, more than anything, proved this was exactly who she claimed to be.

Challenge Accepted. – SH

I'm waiting. – CMH

His heart leapt at the initials she was still using, making his grin widen. The murderer completely slipped his mind as he pushed into the crowd, eyes darting from woman to woman, looking for one in particular. In the corner of his eye he saw John across the room, following his determined movements with interest. The doctor probably thought he had caught a clue for the murder, but that was the last thing Sherlock was worried about at the moment.