Mary was sitting by the window, warming up her hands on the cup of tea. John had been sitting by the computer the whole morning, trying to find anything interesting enough to update his blog. He had been working a fair amount of shifts the last week and was having trouble focusing on what he was doing. Mary got up, ready to go and give him a hug but a shadow on the street made her stop. She looked out the window. There was a man at the door, with the hand raised, and he looked unsure as to knock or not. Mary looked at John.
"Daring, there's someone at the door."
John raised his eyes from the computer, gazing at his wife. She looked beautiful, her brown hair falling on her shoulders. She had been the best thing to happen to him since⦠he shook his head, avoiding the thought. Everything always seemed to lead to that fateful day at St. Bart's.
"Who is it?" He asked.
"A man. I think he is a friend of yours. I'll go."
She placed the already empty mug on the table and paced towards the door. John made her stop.
"I don't have friends Mary."
The door of the flat opened, screeching.
"No." The man said, stepping into the apartment. "You just got one."
John got up, trying to understand how his dead friend, Sherlock Holmes, was stepping into his apartment, as real as he had even been. He didn't have much time to think. The dizziness took care of him and his vision blurred. Last thing he remembered was his body falling to the ground, right before he blacked out.
