Chapter 1

Molly shivered from the cold, having been in the stone and dampened basement for so long. Adjusting her lab coat, she looked over to John and tried to speak up.

"You know if we do this we can never go back."

John slipped on a pair of rubber gloves and stared at the body underneath the sheet before him.

"I think we have already reached that point of no return…I'm sure though…"

The two nodded in agreement and fitted on their goggles as John flipped on the large electrical switch causing the instruments to whizz and beep. Energy filling the room.

"One. More. Miracle."

The body on the table seized, arching back beneath the sheet. His arms flailed, narrowly missing striking at Molly and John, and his legs spasmed, falling to hang limply off the table. As the electricity was turned down, he went still, except for his chest. It rose and fell gently.

"Oh my god... Molly..." John almost fell backwards and she gripped his arm.

"John I'm scared..."

He groaned. The cloth veiled over his face was thin enough to breathe through, but he strained his neck, struggling to get it off. His body felt heavy- '-where was he?' he wondered.

"So then... he's alive?" Molly quivered and dared not to venture near him, still clutching to John.

"I think so... Sh- sh- sherlock?" With a shaky hand, John flipped the cloth of the body and gasped a bit, pulling his hand back quickly. Sherlock gasped, the sudden light burning his eyes. Carefully, he squinted up into the light, peering up at the darkened figures above him.

"John?" he questioned, his voice thick from disuse. His hands were shaking on top of the table, and he shivered against the chill, "M-Molly?", "Where-where are we?"

"It worked... Molly it actually worked!" John clasped a hand to his mouth and Molly fell onto her knees in disbelief, "We... um... on an abandoned island in Scotland... so then, you can understand us?"

"Sort of... you sound far away, but it's not too bad." Sherlock winced, and dragged a shaky hand up to his chest. His arm didn't seem to want to cooperate very well, but he prodded at his skin for the source of the ache. His chest seemed to be held together with metal staples. He trailed his fingers along the zipper and anxiously called out.

"John? John! What-I don't understand-"

"Shhhhh, it's ok. It's ok. What's the last thing you remember?" John neared his hand to his shoulder, wanting to comfort him, but it was such a struggle to touch the impossible. The improbable.

"I'm s-s-sorry John... I-I j-just need some air," Molly rushed out with her voice caught in her throat and almost missed the door because her eyes were so misty.

Sherlock's breath was quick and a bit ragged with panic. "We were in the lab at St. Bart's, and Mrs. Hudson was hurt, and you shouted at me but I couldn't go- and then Moriarty was there- and, I don't- I don't remember, John, why can't I remember?"

"Now listen, Sherlock, please. I need you to try to stay calm because... I am not sure how... I just need you to keep yourself together alright?" John managed, "I'm fine, everyone's ok."

The Detective tried to steady his breathing and nodded, still running his fingers down the jagged stapled line. "I'll try. I just don't understand... what happened?"

"Well... to be honest I'm not sure myself. You said Mrs. Hudson was hurt, so I rushed back to the flat. But when I got there she was fine, so I had to take a cab back to Bart's and then- then when I get there you are standing at the edge of the bloody roof! You jumped Sherlock, you made me watch!" his voice shook because the memory always stirred up a mixture of emotions.

Sherlock closed his eyes. His shoes scraping against the ledge of St. Bart's, his hand stretched out, John standing on the street below. "Oh, gods," he murmured, the disjointed memories coming back. "I didn't want to, but I- I think I had to-" Moriarty's leering face swam into his vision again, and he shook his head.

"Had to? Well, never mind about that, what about you? Any pain?"

"My chest... I can't stop shaking," he mumbled, searching along the right side of his face and finding more staples leading into his hair, "My head hurts. Did I... was I dead?" he asked shakily.

"I'll give you some pain killers," John answered and pushed a needle into Sherlock's arm, "Should work, if you can talk and move then the circulatory system should be stable enough," he mumbled. Inside, he could have shouted to the heavens and laugh Death in the face. He won. Feeling tingly, Sherlock struggled to prop himself up on his elbows as the drugs hit his system.

"I don't really know what I thought would happen after I died," he said, trying to remain focused on John as the dizziness set in, "This wasn't exactly the afterlife I was expecting, but it's interesting. I hope you and Molly didn't get here prematurely like me."

"Um... yes, I was lucky enough to run into her and we wandered for some time," John bit his lip and tried to think of something clever, "For me I was at Barfundle Bay where my father had taken me once and now we seem to be in Scotland... why would you choose Scotland?"

Sherlock lay back down, too dizzy to hold himself up. "I have no idea. I'm quite glad that you're here, though. So we're both dead?" he asked, the painkillers blurring his speech mildly.

"Just... just rest, it's always rough when you cross the other side," John finally managed to run a hand through Sherlock's hair and tried not to cringe at the staples in his head. Molly had to know about this as well and quickly.

'I am happy to see you again too Sherlock, I missed you."

"I missed you too," he murmured, his eyes drifting closed. "I'm tired. Sorry. How strange it is, being dead," he added quietly.

"Ok. I'll be back in a bit, just stay here." Reluctantly, John pulled away from him and found Molly outside, knees to her chest on the floor.

"You going to be ok?"

She nodded, swiping at the tears on her cheeks, "He's really back, isn't he? We actually did it?"

"Yeah, we brought Sherlock back. But he doesn't know he's back."

The mortician stood up, nervously tucking her gloves away, "What do you mean, he doesn't know? He can't remember anything?"

"Not really, he doesn't seem to remember the suicide or anything, only that I had last spoken to him in the lab at Bart's. I just couldn't tell him, I don't know how. Oh hi Sherlock, we brought you back to life and with the parts of other people in order for it to work," he leaned against the wall tiredly.

Molly leaned against the wall beside him. "It's normal for people to lose memories about a traumatic event. It's not that surprising that he's blocking what happened on the rooftop," she said quietly.

"We can't just not tell him. It's Sherlock: it'll drive him mad if we won't tell him everything." She sighed, and untangled her goggles from her hair.

"Well he should be sleeping now, had to give him some morphine for the pain, though I really hope it's not permanent," John pondered for a minute as the silence enveloped them, "Do you regret anything?" His joy and pride began to drain at the realization that he had created something, not just bringing his friend back... it was Sherlock though for sure. Right?

Molly looked down at the uneven concrete floor. "I don't know," she admitted. "I'm scared-terrified, really. No one's ever done this before, John. If he could remember us, that's a good sign, right?"

"Mhm. Maybe we ought to go to bed too, figure this out more in the morning. Night."

"Goodnight, John," she nodded back towards the operating room, "I'll let you know when he's awake again."

"You sure? If anything happens, come get me." Taking the creaky wooden stairs up, John stripped of his gloves and goggles, stuffing them in his coat pocket. At first he tossed and turned to try to sleep. Then he was having the nightmares again, Sherlock always falling and always meeting a destination. Now there was something after him, something Supernatural. Whatever it was, it tore him apart, limb from limb, and in screaming with blood spatter everywhere John remembering distinctly ice blue eyes.