A/N: Hiatus is done! I'm back with a new Sherlock story, and I'm very excited! This story takes place directly after series three ends... my explanation of how Moriarty mysteriously reappears. Enjoy!

London was in a full state of panic.

People were crying and acting rashly in an effort to protect themselves from London's greatest enemy. Police were responding to outlandish tips, though given that Moriarty was involved, every call was taken very seriously. Even Her Majesty spoke publically regarding the criminal mastermind's apparent return.

A lone figure stood high atop a roof, watching the city below. With a satisfied grin at the scene, the figure walked away, ready to begin.

Everything was going exactly as planned.

Sherlock burst through the morgue doors at St. Bart's with John and Lestrade hot on his heels. There was no feasible way for James Moriarty to be alive, Sherlock decided. He had watched the blood pour out of the bullet hole in Moriarty's head on the roof of St. Bart's all those years ago. His body had been brought down with Sherlock's, and Molly had assured him later that night another pathologist would do the autopsy.

The room was crowded, full of pathologists, forensics, and administrative workers alike. Some were pouring over files; others were working diligently on computers and borrowed laptops. In the sea of white coats, Sherlock spotted Dr. Hooper in a deep discussion with an administrator. Catching Sherlock's eye, she excused herself and made her way towards them.

"We're looking for Moriarty's file... his autopsy report, his death certificate, all of it," she whispered urgently, answering their unasked questions. "But we can't find any of it. It's not been scanned in electronically as it should have been. It's not filed under the M's with the other closed cases. It's not in any of the open case files. It has to be somewhere."

The three men remained silent, and with no further questions to answer, Molly made her way back to an unopened box of files. They watched the hospital workers search diligently for a few more minutes, until a voice from somewhere in the back cried out in relief. "I found something!"

Sherlock pushed his way through the crowd, Lestrade waving his badge behind him so people would clear out of the way. "Hooper," a man in a white lab coat stated accusingly, before Sherlock could reach him. "The autopsy report has your signature on it."

"What?" she exclaimed, pushing her own way through now. "That's impossible. I left after..."

Sherlock snatched the autopsy report from the man's hand, looking quickly over it. Molly squeezed next to him, gently pushing John out of the way to get a better look. "That's not my signature!" she declared, a sigh of relief escaping her. "It looks nothing like mine!"

"No, it doesn't," Sherlock agreed. The signature on the page lacked any of the embellishments or large loops Molly always used. He couldn't tell if the signature was made by a male or a female, but it was certainly not made by Molly's hand. "If you are not a pathologist, your services are no longer needed. Please leave."

Not many people made to leave; instead they looked around nervously, unsure of what they should do. "Do as he says, people," Lestrade called out. "If you were involved at all with the autopsy, stay. Otherwise, get out."

The majority of the people slowly left the room, whispering urgently to each other about Moriarty's return. Once the room cleared out, only two other men in white coats remained.

"Molly, what happened that day?" Lestrade asked.

"Well, they brought both of the bodies in," Molly began, concentrating on a speck on the floor, remembering what happened those years ago. "I... helped Sherlock escape. His brother had a car waiting for him. Once he was gone, I... faked all of his documents." It was well aware now that Molly had played a large role in faking Sherlock's death; not only with providing a similar looking body, but convincing everyone that he was in fact dead. This included drawing up a fake autopsy report and signing a death certificate. She was officially forgiven by Bart's for her involvement (with some thanks to Mycroft, no doubt), but it didn't change some of her colleagues opinions about her. She didn't like to bring it up in front of them, if at all possible. "When I finished, I called Dr. Uman and requested the rest of the day off... a personal day."

"Which I granted," Dr. Uman agreed, nodding his head. "I called Dr. Nelson here to finish the remainder of her shift, which included, if I recall correctly, Moriarty's autopsy."

"I thought so, too," Dr. Nelson said, fidgeting nervously. "It hadn't seem like enough time had past since we were notified of what happened for Dr. Hooper to have performed two autopsies. But when I arrived, the paperwork wasn't there and the body was locked up. I had assumed she had completed both. I moved on to the next autopsy."

"That didn't seem odd to you?" Sherlock quested, deducing the nervous man in front of him. It was obvious that the man had no villainous intentions. If anything, his mistake was made out of pure laziness.

"Well, a bit," he sheepishly admitted. "But Dr. Hooper's work has always been exemplary. I had no reason to think that something... nefarious had happened. Well, more so than what had already happened. That day was already so chaotic..."

"Yes, thank you," Sherlock said dismissively. The two men took their cue and left. Molly stood beside them, nervously twirling the end of the braid in her hand.

"So, what do we do now?" John asked, breaking the unsettling silence that surrounded them.

"We dig up the body. Prove it's there. Things will quiet down once we have proof," Sherlock said, assured he could lay this to rest once and for all.

"And where is he buried?" John asked, perplexed. "I don't recall hearing anything Moriarty getting his own grave."

"Officially, he didn't," Sherlock conceited. "But he was, in fact, buried."

"Where?"

Sherlock gave him a grim smile. "My grave."

"I still can't believe that James Moriarty is buried in your grave," John muttered for the upteenth time.

Sherlock remained silent, waiting as patiently as possible for the police to return with the newly exhumed coffin. He sighed, pacing around the morgue, unable to keep still.

Sherlock Holmes was not a man known for his patience.

"I thought I was standing over your grave and mourned for you, Sherlock! And instead, I stood over Moriarty! Moriarty!" John cried.

"I heard you, remember?" Sherlock snapped. "Besides, a dead body can't hear anything, anyway." John continued to fume silently in the corner until the police workers carried in Sherlock's coffin, followed by Lestrade.

"Ready for..." Lestrade began, gesturing to the coffin before them. Sherlock nodded, and the crew began opening the cover. For the second time in just 24 hours, the site before her caused Molly to drop the drink she was holding, surprise and terror engulfing her. Even Sherlock was not prepared for what he saw before him.

The coffin was completely empty.