I stare up at the ceiling of the flat I share with Sarah. Sometimes Sherlock visits me ; but only when the moon is shining and my eyes are tight closed. I never say a word, I know if I ever do I would break the dreams magic. Tonight the room is filled with moonlight and the tree outside the window dances to the song of the wind. I hear a small knock on the front door to the flat; I scramble up nearly falling off of the couch. I wonder if I am sleeping again, the pills were particularly nasty tonight.

"John?" asks the deep baritone that matched his long black trench-coat. I scramble with the lock as quitely as possible and swing the door wide open and stare at my favorite human. I memorize the way is ebony curls dance over the ivory skin, seeing him gives me chills. I shouldn't be seeing him, he isn't real. Why is he here? Am I just getting worse?

"Sherlock." I whisper quickly and frown. "It has been nearly a year. You sure took your bloody time."

"Oh I know John, I've been watching." he answers frowning to himself.

"So Sherlock what shall we be doing tonight, have you got an Idea on that murder down in Cardiff?" I ask sarcastically.

"It was the neighbor's caretaker." He answers matter-of-factly and makes the infamous 'we both know whats going on here' face

"Huh." I look at him quite confused, he should just leave me alone. I don't need another Sherlock in the waking world. I watch as Sherlock takes off his gloves and looks around the living room, and I stare incredulously.

"You shouldn't be here. You aren't real." I say to myself whispering in case of Sarah.

"Oh but I am John, and you should start believing it." he says smiling at me.

"But how?!" I finally burst out as quiet as an angry man can manage.

"Molly." was his one word answer.

"But why di-"

"Moriarty. He was going to kill you John. Mrs Hudson and Lestrade as well. I couldn't let you die because of me, I had to lay low, I couldn't risk it jo-" his voice cracks and he looks down. "John, all that matters. Is that we are back together."

I see a small tear slide down his cheeks. And I frown at the sadness I had caused in this man. I look at him again; this time I ignore the perfect contrast of skin and hair and see that his eyes are so tired. I see the eyes of an old man; his hands, callused and bruised the nails broken and chewed. His purple shirt baggy when it was once bursting with him.

"Sherlock . . " I trail off and stare at his disheveled appearance.

"John" he says standing as tall as ever, he flicks the tear away and continues. "John, I think you should come with me" He walks up to me grabs my wrist and pulls me out the door.