A/N: Alrighty, so, second try at this fan fiction. I'm sorry for the long wait, and I'm mostly just going to be redrafting the chapters and posting them, so there won't be that much new material for a while. Enjoy! hsx

CHAPTER 1-

I was walking down Baker Street, like the way I used to do. It was the 15th of January, 2013. Exactly a year since Sherlock's death. I hadn't visited Baker Street much since then: it just brought back too many memories. I usually arranged to meet up with our mutual friends elsewhere in London, somewhere that didn't remind me of Sherlock. That was a difficult task: in the 18 months that we had known each other, we had visited most places in London. Most of them were past crime scenes or a suspect's house. I had met up with Mrs Hudson in a little café just off the Thames on numerous occasions, and in a pub by the London Eye with Molly and Greg. Molly had invited me to have lunch with her at Bart's, as did Greg at Scotland Yard. I had to decline. Other than 221B, those were the two other places that Sherlock spent most of his time. But Ella, my therapist, says going back to 221B will help. Last time she was right.

'I promise that writing a blog about everything that happens to you will make you feel better.'

I think it only helped because I had Sherlock with me. And he didn't even know how much he meant to me until it was too late.

I looked up at the black door and knocked on it, hands shaking a little. Mrs Hudson answered the door straight away, smiling. 'John! So glad you could make it. Greg and Molly said they'll be here soon. Come in, come in.' I entered the hallway, taking in the all too familiar smell of Mrs Hudson's perfume. I went through to the kitchen and Mrs Hudson made me a cup of tea, taking in the familiar surroundings. As I was halfway through my drink, there was another knock at the door. 'I'll get it, love; you rest your leg.' Mrs Hudson went out into the hallway to welcome in whoever it was. The psychosomatic condition on my leg had returned due to the traumatic events of Sherlock's death. It's better than when I first had it though, so it's not all bad news.

Greg came into the kitchen, smiling at me despite is unshaven face and bags under his eyes. 'John! How are you?'

'Fine, thanks. And yourself?'

'Not bad, just the usual pressure at work. Oh, Molly sent me a text saying she'll be fifteen minutes late and that she'd meet us at the cemetery for ten o'clock.'

'Well, we best get going then. I'll just get my coat on, boys.'

We exited 221B and got into Greg's car. The car journey to St. Woolos Cemetery was a quiet one, much like the one Mrs Hudson and I took just under a year ago. The only sound was the tooting of the car horns and Greg occasionally cursing under his breath if an idiot pulled out at the wrong time. I wasn't really concentrating on anything in particular and just stared out of the window, not even noticing when we arrived.

'John? John, come on. We're here.'

'Sorry.' I got out of the car to see Molly already hugging Mrs Hudson. Molly looked well. In fact, she was the only one of us who didn't look like they were about to burst into tears at the thought of visiting Sherlock's grave again.

'John, how are you?' I received a hug off Molly before replying.

'Ah, you know. A little shaky. But it's to be expected.'

'Of course. And you, Greg?'

'Same as John.' She nodded slowly, and bit her bottom lip.

'Shall we go then?' She had aimed it at me, knowing that I was possibly the one closest to tears. I nodded.

She linked her arm in mine and as a group of four we headed over to a quiet corner of St Woolos, where Sherlock's grave was located under a tree. Mrs Hudson and Molly, crying quietly, both laid a bouquet of roses on the grave: Mrs Hudson's were white, Molly's black. I held my emotions in check as the other three spoke to the grave, as if Sherlock could hear them.

'Would you like to say something, John?' I tilted my head slightly, signalling that I wanted to be alone with Sherlock. Mrs Hudson nodded. 'We'll be in the car, love. Don't be too long now.'

They walked off towards the church and I was left alone by the grave in silence. 'It's been a year now, Sherlock. And I honestly believed that you would be back. In the past, you had never failed to surprise me, and you've surprised me now by not doing a reappearing act. You really are dead.' I swallowed hard to try and stop myself from crying, but it was no use. 'I will never believe that you were a fraud. Moriarty is real. Always has been, always will be. And, I know I didn't say it the last time I was here, less than a year ago now, but, I love you. Not in the way that Angelo or Anderson or anyone in the press thought, but I love you as a friend. My best friend.' I paused, wiping away a few tears. 'Yeah, that's about all I've got to say, so, until the next time, I guess.' I wiped my eyes and headed back to Greg's car.

BREAK

Our next stop was Bart's. I had no idea why I agreed to the go on the anniversary-of-Sherlock's-death trip: it was providing a more traumatic experience than Afghanistan ever was. As we walked towards the bench where Sherlock had fallen, we saw that a small crowd had gathered. Flowers had been laid on the bench, and the people there were all wearing the same t-shirt with some sort of slogan on it. On the wall above the bench were posters; posters of Sherlock, of Moriarty, each with a slogan across them.

'Excuse me, why are you all here?' I asked a member of the crowd.

Two girls with brown hair, one about 17, the other about 15, turned around. 'We're here for…' They both looked absolutely wonderstruck when they saw me. 'Are you John Watson?' I nodded slowly. 'We're here for your best friend. It's a year today he… you know.'

The younger one spoke, 'Are you okay?' I managed a nod and a smile for the girl. 'Do you want an "I believe in Sherlock Holmes" t-shirt?' I smiled at the young girl and nodded. She took my arm and pulled me through the crowd into the centre. 'Clive, do you have a medium?'

A boy, the same age as the girl, turned around to face me. He had medium-length light brown hair that flicked up over his ears and across his forehead. 'Who's it for, Jess?' He asked, chocolate-coloured eyes stared at her intently.

'This man… ummm… wants to be part of the campaign.' The girl fidgeted and blushed as she spoke to him, and he smiled at her.

'Errmmm…' He rummaged through the box that was on the floor next to him. 'I've not got one in here. There'll be one in my Dad's van. Won't be a minute.' He got up and ran around to the hospital car park.

'That's Clive, Kitty's brother.' I nodded, watching as Jess stared in the direction that Clive had gone.

'Is Kitty that other girl?' Jess nodded as Kitty came through the crowd to join us. 'You should ask Clive out.' The young girl looked at me, showing her surprise with wide eyes.

'What? Are you joking? I don't like him in that way.'

'No, of course you don't. In general, if you don't like someone, you don't watch them as they run off and you don't blush and stutter when you talk to him.' Jess turned away from me, hiding the small smile from me just as Clive returned, this time holding a t-shirt.

'Here you go, Jessamine.'

'Thanks, Clive.' Their hands touched as he handed her the t-shirt and they stared at each other. I smirked and went back over to Molly, Greg and Mrs Hudson: Clive and Jess would figure it out on their own.

The three of us walked over to the bench and laid down another bouquet of roses; red this time. I looked up at the wall, reading all of the posters that had been put up.

I believe in Sherlock Holmes.

I fight John Watson's war.

Richard Brook was a fraud. Moriarty was real.

The Devil wears Westwood.

He jumped off a 60ft and 8inch high building to save his only three friends in the world: would you?

We know the truth. Sherlock was not a lie.

I am a Watson Warrior.

I was struggling to believe just how much people cared about him. I held back my tears, managing to make it into the hospital canteen for lunch without bursting into tears.

BREAK

'Are you okay, John?'

'Yeah, I'll be fine. It's just, I've never done anything like that for Sherlock since he died. Those people probably didn't even meet Sherlock, yet they're doing all of this for him.'

Molly smiled a little. 'I'm sorry.'

'What for?' I asked her as Greg brought over sandwiches and cups of coffee.

'I should have told you about the "I Believe in Sherlock Holmes" campaign ages ago.'

'When did it start?'

'About a month after he died. First it started off as few sticky notes on the bench. Then the posters came. After that, there was no stopping them. They all have blogs, websites, pages on facebook… all of them for Sherlock. I was called into my boss' office because everyone thought it was me who had started it off. To be honest, I wish I had.' I smiled at her and we ate the rest of our lunch in silence.

BREAK

The afternoon took us all around London, going to all of Sherlock's favourite places, or rather his favourite crime scenes. We went to the Tapas Brindisa Bar restaurant, Roland Kerr Further Education College, Tower 42, the Lucky Cat Emporium, the National Antiquities Museum, St. Aldate's Boarding School, Trafalgar Square… there were too many to name. We went everywhere Sherlock and I had been together.

When we finished, Greg drove us all to Baker Street: our last stop. 'Come in for cup of tea everyone. I think we'll probably need one after the day we've had.' We all nodded and went into 221, sitting down in Mrs Hudson's kitchen. She handed out the biscuits as Greg started talking about how stupid Anderson had been on their previous case, managing to distract us all from the day's events.

'…seriously, the guy has no idea!'

As we all laughed there was a banging noise coming from upstairs. 'Oh, John, will you just go upstairs and see what that was? Birds keep on flying into the windows up there.'

'Of course, Mrs Hudson.'

I went into the hallway, taking the stairs slowly then pushed open the door to the flat. There, stood in front of me, was Sherlock, rearranging the things on his desk. He looked up at me, expression inscrutable, and I felt my throat go dry as I stared at him for a few minutes. 'You were dead.' My voice broke and tears began to fall.

Sherlock rolled his lips together and ruffled his hair. 'John, please understand, I had to do it. If I didn't, Moriarty would have killed you.'

I stepped forwards and went with my first impulse, which was punching him before he could say anything else, cutting all of the knuckles on my right hand.

'I guess that you really can cut yourself.' He smiled slightly and stepped forwards, but I moved away from him, still angry. 'I had to wait a year at least. Moriarty's network were still at large and I needed to dismantle it. I'm sorry, John. I couldn't let you know. The only people who knew were Mycroft and Molly.'

'Molly knew?!' Why would he tell Molly?

'Of course Molly knew. She had to fake the report on my death.'

'That's no excuse, Sherlock! I was- hold on. You did it to save me?'

He nodded earnestly. I looked at him properly now. He was wearing his normal clothes; black suit, white shirt, his black curls still intact. I took a quick look around the flat. His coat and scarf were hanging over the arm of my chair, and his violin was in his. Most of his belongings were in boxes that Mrs Hudson and I had packed up many months before: I'm glad that I had refused to give them to a charity shop or throw them away. He had taken some things out of the boxes already, like the skull and union jack cushion, but most things were still in storage.

I slowly walked forwards, my hand stretched out. 'Are you real?'

'Of course I'm real, John.'

I could feel his breath on me now that we were stood so close. 'You have no idea what you've put me through.'

'I know.' We both smiled, despite the few rogue tears that had escaped my eyes.' I swallowed hard as he stuck out his hand for me to shake. I just grinned and hugged him tightly instead, tight enough that I thought his lean frame would break. He hugged me back, instead of awkwardly standing unresponsively like he probably would have done.

'John, what are you doing up here? You've been ages.' Greg came up the stairs, followed by Molly and Mrs Hudson.

I gave all three of them the biggest smile I could muster, only registering the look of utter confusion on Mrs Hudson's face after a couple of seconds.

'Sherlock… you're dead… He is dead, right?'

Molly smiled back at the pair of us. 'Nope.'

'Mrs Hudson?' She looked between the four occupants of the room, getting paler every time her gaze passed over Sherlock.

'Mrs Hudson?' She looked up as Sherlock spoke to her, shook her head, and then fainted. 'John, Molly, see to her.' We carried her to the settee, making sure that she was in a comfortable position.

'She's okay. Well, other than the fact you just possibly gave her the biggest fright of her life, Sherlock.'

He smirked. 'You said she's fine, so that's all that matters.'

I shook my head. 'Will you get her a glass of water for when she wakes up, Greg?'

He nodded and went into the kitchen in an attempt to find a glass, Molly now stepping towards Sherlock. 'You said three years, Sherlock! It's only been a year! What if Moriarty's network are still trying to find you?'

'Molly, calm down. The network is no bigger than five people now. I can handle it.' The doorbell rang. 'Leave it.'

'But it might be important.'

'I highly doubt it. Who would be coming to see Mrs Hudson?'

'What I don't understand,' Greg commented as he placed the glass of water on the table, 'is how you did it?'

Comments were flying across the room from all three of us, Sherlock looking on as the doorbell continued to ring.

'Be quiet!' The door downstairs opened and we could hear three people advancing at a casual pace up the stairs. Moriarty's final people? No, I doubt that they would walk slowly if they were coming to kill us all. The door to the flat opened slowly, revealing two men dressed in black suits carrying a suitcase each. 'And you are?' The men looked up at Sherlock, both faces blank.

Another figure came up the stairs. It was a young girl, with long dark brown curly hair in a pink hoodie, skinny jeans and trainers. She smiled at Sherlock. 'Hello, Uncle.'