Many Happy Returns

Lestrade couldn't believe he was actually sitting in a pub, listening to Anderson while he went off on one of his many theories about Sherlock, a few of his theories were even about Amelia… or Rachel Brook, as she was more commonly known as now days. Now, as a police officer, he was no stranger to hearing some pretty crazy stories and over the years he had developed a very good sense when it came to people, and right now Anderson was really starting to ring warning bells in his head. He even had a slightly manic look in his bloodshot, tired eyes as he spoke.

Poor Anderson really had let himself go over the past several months. His skin had a slightly sickly grey tone to it, like a man who hadn't been getting enough sun lately, he had grown a thick beared and let his hair grow longer, giving him a very unkempt look, and he also looked slightly thinner in his cheeks. Frankly, Lestrade was starting to feel a little concerned about the man's wellbeing, he knew that Anderson's wife had left him shortly after everything had happened and, personally, Lestrade couldn't help but wonder whether or not this whole obsession with Sherlock and Amelia was a part of his copying mechanism. He knew that it had played a big role in his wife leaving him, but ever since then it had just seemed to get even more out of control.

He hated to admit it, but when Anderson had called and asked him to meet with him in the pub for a drink, he had seriously considered declining. He felt guilty for even thinking about it, but seeing Anderson like this, with his whole life seemingly to be built entirely on mad theories about Amelia and Sherlock, made him sad to see. Anderson had never been fond of either of them when they had been alive, he had always made jabs at them both, and Lestrade personally suspected that this whole obsession was all due to guilt. The poor bloke desperately needed some sort of help or a new hobby to keep him entertained, something that didn't include wasting hours of his own life searching the internet and papers for the slightest, most obscure possible reference to anything that he could turn into a possible Amelia or Sherlock sighting.

Lestrade stared back at the man across from him, disbelief written across his face while the man continued to ramble away, his eyes still glinting with the same worrying manic look in them that he had seen several times on killer's faces before. Should he really be sitting there, letting Anderson go on like this? After all, wasn't that just encouraging him even more? Finally, when Anderson had paused to take a breath, he found himself unable to stay silent any longer.

"A breakaway sect of Buddhist warrior monks infiltrated by a blonde drug smuggler?" he scoffed, shaking his head. This truly was one of his most insane theories yet, "That never really happened!"

"A…a blonde drug smuggler who was exposed by an abbot with unusual powers of observation and deduction!" Anderson quickly argued, looking at him eagerly, expecting him to be just as excited as he was. The way he was talking made it sound like it ought to be completely obvious to see that this 'abbot' could only possibly be Sherlock Holmes.

"A blonde woman hiding amongst bald monks? That wouldn't exactly take Sherlock Holmes or even Amelia Wilson!"

"Well, perhaps it did!"

"He's dead," Lestrade told him firmly, ignoring the hurt look that crossed Anderson's face, "So is Amelia," the other man flinched and lowered his eyes to the table top between them, "I'm sorry," he sighed, truly meaning it, too, "I wish they weren't, but they really are dead and gone".

"Well, how do you explain this?" Anderson said hurriedly, reaching over to grab his bag that he had sitting on another stool beside him. He reached into it and pulled out a large world map, along with another slip of paper that looked like a printout from an online newspaper clipping. He laid the map out across the table for Lestrade to see, keeping the bit of paper in his lap.

Lestrade sighed heavily again, looking warily down at the map to see that Anderson had carefully marked out several different locations and cities all across the map with a red crosses. There was even a little red question mark over a section of Yorkshire and as he squinted, he could make out the words, 'Aysgarth'.

Anderson looked back up to Lestrade, pointing to where he had placed a red cross above New Delhi, "Sighting number two," he informed him, looking determined, "Incident at New Delhi".

His head snapped back up to him, his eyes widening slightly, "You haven't been titling these?" he asked, appalled by the very idea. It was bad enough he had spent time putting all these little red crosses on the map, let alone actually going so far as to name all of these so called 'Sherlock sightings'.

He gave him a slightly nervous look, shifting a little guiltily in on his stool, "As I was saying…" he began hastily, clearing his throat, "There is an Inspector Prakesh in New Delhi who claims, and listen to this," he grinned, his eyes glinting again, "That he solved a murder by working out the depth that the chocolate flakes in the victims ice-cream had sunk in the cone," he looked back up to Lestrade, excitement written across his face, "See?"

Lestrade nodded, looking mildly impressed, "Clever man, Inspector Prakesh".

"Oh, for…" he stopped himself, exasperated that the other man still refused to see what was so clear to him. Was he even listening to a word that he was saying? "What police inspector could have made that deduction?" he rolled his eyes.

"Oh, thank you," he said sarcastically, looking quite offended. The way he made it sound, he might as well have been a car salesman who was taken off the street and told to solve crimes.

"You remember how Sherlock and Amelia never took the credit when they solved all of your cases?"

Lestrade frowned at him, "They didn't solve all of my cases!" he said indignantly, deeply regretting his change of heart to actually agree to meet up with Anderson now.

Anderson didn't even seem to hear him, "They're out there," he murmured, looking back across towards the bar, his eyes growing distant with thought, "Hiding. But Sherlock can't stop himself from getting involved," he laughed, shaking his head. Lestrade eyed him, slightly concerned, "It's so obviously him, if you know how to spot the signs!"

He dragged his eyes off him, hoping to try and distract him. Seeing Anderson sitting there, chuckling to himself like that was getting just a little too weird for him to handle, "The Klein Brothers," he began listing off his successful cases that he had solved without any help from Sherlock or Amelia, still feeling rather offended by his previous statement, "The Tower House thing, the Kensignton Ripper…I solved all those myself!" he turned back to Anderson.

"Well, you got Tower House wrong".

"No I didn't!"

"Yep, you did," Anderson replied, not even pausing as he flipped the map over onto another section of the globe, "Okay, sighting number three…" he tapped Hamburg, Germany on the map, "…the Mysterious Juror".

Lestrade groaned and let his head fall onto the table with a loud thump.

The other man cast him a quick look, but he wasn't to be deterred, "There's been a man on trial over in Germany, a Herr Trepoff," he explained to Lestrade, who still hadn't lifted his head off the table, "He was accused of murdering his wife, and all the jurors believed that he had done it…" a grin crossed his face, his voice deepening dramatically as he went on, "All except for one. He even managed to convince the rest of them that he was guilty!" he looked back to Lestrade, who sighed loudly and lifted his head to face him, "It had to be him!" he insisted, "There's no one else it can be!"

He glanced back at the map, frowning slightly, "Why are you so convinced Amelia's still alive?" he questioned, realising that out of all the so called sightings that he had mentioned, not one of them had had anything to do with Amelia.

"Ah!" Anderson pointed at him, his eyes lighting up, "Yes, this is conclusive proof!" he excitedly grabbed the piece of paper that he had resting in his lap and laid it out across the table between them, "I found it on the web".

Lestrade looked down at it to find that he had been right, it appeared to be a printout from a village newsletter with a large image of two men and two woman sitting in what looked like a pub, gathered around a table much like the table that they were sitting at right now with a large trophy sitting in the middle of table. It wasn't hard to work out just who Anderson was convinced was Amelia. Sitting on the right side of the table with her elbow leaning rather elegantly against the table, was a rather pretty woman with dead straight blonde hair that fell to the middle of the woman's back and with a pair of tortoise shell glasses that half hid her dark brown eyes. He hated to admit it, but the woman did look similar to Amelia, they had the same bone structure and even the smile on her face could have easily have been mistaken as Amelia's. This one was going to be hard to just simply ignore.

"Her names Jessica Holmes," Anderson informed him, smiling brightly as he glanced at Lestrade, who was still staring down at the photo, "She's a primary school teacher who can play both the clarinet and violin, just like Amelia, and she's on the village pub trivia team. I mean, just look at her! They could be twins".

He frowned deeply, dragging his eyes off the woman, "It looks a bit like her, yeah," he admitted, nodding slowly as he cast the picture another quick look. He sighed heavily, shaking his head as he looked back to him, "But Amelia's not a pub girl, she liked cocktails and high-end clubs, and a trivia team isn't really her style, is it? Also, Holmes?" he laughed slightly, "What sort of joke is that?"

"But don't you see? That's why it's the perfect disguise! Who would ever think that Amelia would be hiding under the name 'Holmes?'" he looked at him hopefully, but Lestrade could only shrug slightly. His smile faded, having been completely convinced that this picture would be the conclusive proof that no one could possibly argue with, "Do you not see?" he asked quietly, a hint of desperation entering his voice now.

Lestrade look at him almost sadly. Sure, the picture had given him pause, but there were a lot of people out there who could look similar to Amelia, he had a cousin that looked like a clone of David Tennant but that didn't make his cousin the Doctor.

"I see that you lost a good job fantasising about a dead man and woman coming back to life," he said to Anderson, "And I know why you want that to happen," he paused, grimacing painfully, wishing nothing more than that Anderson was right. He took a deep breath, looking back to him, "But it's never gonna," he watched as Anderson refused to look at him, shaking his head with a stubborn expression on his face. He sighed, "Okay…" he grabbed his glass and finished off the rest of his pint, before sitting the now empty glass back down on the table, "I'm gonna go and see an old friend," he grabbed his coat, shaking it out before looking back to him, "You take care, okay?" he told him, standing and grabbing a white shoebox that he had sitting on a stool beside his own, tucking his coat under his arm as he eyed Anderson sympathetically for a moment, "I'll put a word in…see if they won't review your case".

"Just look at the map, though," Anderson tried again, tracing a line with his fingertip from New Delhi to Hamburg, and then on to Brussels, "He's getting closer," he finally looked back up to Lestrade, realisation crossing his face, "It's like he's coming back".

Lestrade paused, looking thoughtful for a long moment, before he looked back to him and politely nodded. He turned and walked away, heading for the door, his mind whirling.

….

John Watson smiled, looking back to Lestrade, who was following behind him, "It's good to see you, Greg," he said to him, walking into his living room and placing the white shoebox that Lestrade had handed him on top of a filing cabinet.

He was no longer living at Baker Street, in fact he hadn't been able to step inside the flat since he had packed up his clothing and the few personal belongings that he had wanted to take with him. He was happier now, things were finally starting to get better and he owed it largely to his girlfriend, Mary. They had been dating for a while now and had even moved in together into Mary's row house. It was a small, two bedroom place, but he was loving every moment of it and he had even gone back to his doctor's practise now that he was no longer spending his time chasing around after Amelia and Sherlock. It was how he and Mary had met; she was the receptionist at the clinic.

"And you," Lestrade returned his smile, reaching out to shake John's hand.

"Have a seat," he told him, gesturing over to where an armchair was before the window, sitting down himself on the sofa that was pushed up against the wall.

Lestrade sat down in the chair, "So, how've you been?"

"Er, yeah, good," he replied, clasping his hands together on his knees, "Yeah. Much better," Lestrade nodded, looking pleased as John looked back over to the shoebox on the filing cabinet, pointing at it, "Er, so what's in the, er…?" he turned back to Lestrade.

"Oh, that, yeah. That's, er, that's some stuff from my office…some stuff of Sherlock's, actually. Even one of two things of Amelia's. I probably should have thrown it out, but I didn't know if…" he trailed off, looking slightly awkwardly back across to John.

"No, fine, yeah," John quickly nodded, trying hard to appear to be completely fine. It was still painful, thinking about it. He tried to smile at the other man, but it felt tight and uncomfortable as it twisted his lips.

Lestrade looked at him for a long moment, seeing through his smile, but he wasn't about to say anything, "Yeah, there's…there's…there's something here," he stood and walked across the room to the box, "Um, wasn't sure whether I should have kept it in," he took the lid off it, reaching inside as he began shuffling the contents around, moving aside a red silk scarf that had belonged to Amelia and the fake pink phone, a box of nicotine patches, a sheet of paper with Amelia's handwriting scribbled across it, a yellow mask, even a small black toy train. But he pushed all of that aside and instead picked out a DVD case, holding it up for John to see, "You remember the video message Amelia and Sherlock made for your birthday?" John nodded as he continued, sounding slightly fond, "Oh, I had to practically threaten him and Amelia had that terrible cold," John smiled sadly, remembering it well he waved the DVD around, "This is the uncut version. It's quite funny," he smiled broadly, holding it out to him.

"Oh, right," John said, slightly surprised as he took the offered DVD. He stared down at it, his gaze growing distant with memories.

He watched him for a moment, "Maybe I shouldn't have brought it…" he began, concerned.

"Don't worry," he shook his head, still looking down at it, "It's okay. Probably won't even watch it," he looked back up to him and they shared a slightly awkward smile, before he looked back down at the DVD.

…

It was later on in the afternoon, long after Lestrade had left, that John found himself sitting in the armchair and pouring a bit of whisky into a glass as it sat on his coffee table, the DVD right beside his glass. He screwed the lid back on the bottle and returned it back into the kitchen cabinet, before returning back to his chair and picking up his glass, taking a sip. His eyes came to rest on the DVD, looking at it for a long moment before he sat forward, sitting his glass back down and grabbing the DVD, spinning it around in his hands for a second. He cast the TV a thoughtful look, debating with himself whether or not he should.

In the end, his curiosity became too much to take and he stood with the DVD in hand, walking over to the TV set, inserting the disk into the player. As it loaded, he went back to grab his glass and moved to sit on the sofa, looking up at the TV screen directly across from him to see the familiar black and white wallpaper of 221B Baker Street on the screen and the sofa that was positioned before it, the yellow spray painted smiley face smiling back at him. A loud, dry bark-like cough sounded from somewhere off screen, making him jump slightly.

"Do we really have to do this, Lestrade?" Amelia's voice came, sounding very heavily congested and slightly wheezy, "I just want to go back to bed. I look awful; I can't possibly be seen on camera like this".

"You look fine," Lestrade's voice came, sounding reassuring, just as another nasty cough sounded.

John couldn't help wincing, recalling just how ill Amelia had been. She had fallen ill shortly after their case at Baskerville and had been so sick that Sherlock had even had to take care of her when he had been away for the day and half the night. He still recalled coming home to find the two of them curled up in Amelia's room, Amelia fast asleep beneath a thin sheet in bed while Sherlock had been snoring softly, propped up by a few pillows on top of the sheets, the TV still playing quietly in the background. Sherlock had obviously fallen asleep while watching TV, apparently taking his duty to care for Amelia while she had been so sick very seriously. That, and Amelia had probably asked him to stay with her.

Amelia slowly edged into view of the camera and moved to take a seat on the edge of the coffee table as Lestrade moved closer to her. She truly had looked awful. Her hair was falling out of a messy ponytail, her skin was very pale and she had dark circles under her tired eyes. She wasn't even dressed properly, which truly went to show how sick she must have been, only wearing a pair of pyjamas that were covered by a fluffy royal blue dressing gown. She wasn't wearing slippers, just a pair of rainbow bed socks.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," she muttered, sniffing as she reached into her dressing gown pocket, pulling out a tissue to dab at her nose, "God, I feel bloody awful," she moaned, breaking into another coughing fit.

"You're not dying, Amelia," Sherlock's voice suddenly came from behind the camera, startling John slightly.

"Shut up, Holmes, before I throw this tissue at you and see how well you handle being sick".

"Children, please," Lestrade cut in, sounding exasperated, and the night was only young, "Amelia, you agreed to do this. For John, remember?"

She nodded tiredly, only to pause and cough into the sleeve of her dressing gown, "He had better be grateful," she said, once the coughing had passed and she had lifted her head up from her sleeve. She looked back to the camera, her eyes watering slightly, "Okay, I'm ready," she plastid a smile to her face, one that actually looked real and looked directly into the camera lens, "Hi, John, I can't believe I'm missing out on your birthday. I was so looking forward to it," her smile widened further, but even John could tell that she was starting to struggle to keep it in place, "I just want to say that you are one of my dearest friends and one of the sweetest men I know, and I so wish you the best possible birthday. So, from Baker Street, best wishes for the coming year, I know that it's going to be great," she gave him a mock salute.

John smiled bitterly, taking a sip from his glass, letting the liquid burn his throat as he swallowed it, "You were wrong," he murmured to the TV. It truly had been the worst year of his life.

Amelia broke off into a coughing fit, this time it was so bad that Sherlock even had to step out into camera view with a glass of water for her, which she gladly drank in one go. Once the glass was empty, she gave him a grateful look and rose a little unsteadily to her feet, grabbing Sherlock's arm to regain her balance as she made her way back out of shot. Sherlock began to pace the living room.

"So, what do I...what do I…what d'you want me to do at the end?" he asked as he continued to pace, glancing over to Lestrade behind the camera, seeming to be quite agitated in front of the lens.

"Sherlock, don't worry about it," Amelia's voice came again, sounding worse after having spoken her little birthday message, "Just say something nice, wish John some best wishes, and that's it".

He nodded, but still seemed quite stressed over the whole thing as he stopped, looking passed the camera to where John assumed Amelia must have been, "Shall I, um…smile and wink?" he suggested, "I do that sometimes," he shrugged, shaking his head, "I've no idea why. People seem to like it, humanises me," he turned away, glancing out the window.

"Fine," Lestrade sighed, "Whatever".

"Do whatever feels right, Holmes," Amelia advised him, breaking off with another cough.

He frowned, turning back to the camera, "Why am I doing this, again?"

"You're gonna miss the dinner," Lestrade reminded him, his exasperation growing in his voice.

"Of course I'm going to miss dinner. There'll be people".

"It's called being there for your friend, Holmes," Amelia said, and John could hear the eye roll in her voice, even when it was so heavily congested.

Sherlock began to turn away again, when he suddenly turned back to the camera, "How can John be having a birthday dinner?" he asked, frowning deeply at Lestrade and Amelia behind the camera, "All his friends hate him".

John's mouth twitched. It was just such a completely Sherlock thing to say.

"Holmes…" Amelia's warning voice came, sounding more amusing then anything.

"Oh, you know I'm right," Sherlock pointed off to something on the left of the screen, and a loud sigh came from the same direction, out of sight, "You only have to look at their faces," he continued, "I wrote an essay on suppressed hatred in close proximity based entirely on his friends," he looked away, thoughtful as John smiled again, "On reflection, it probably wasn't a very good choice of gift".

"Oh, God," Amelia groaned loudly, and the camera briefly turned to her. She was staring at Sherlock, now off screen with a horrified expression as she sat on the arm of Sherlock's chair. She closed her eyes and shook her head, "And this is why I will be checking whatever present you give to anyone from now one," she sighed.

"Probably a wise idea," Sherlock remarked, not seeming to be overly concerned. He frowned as the camera turned back onto him, "What was my excuse again?"

"You said you had a thing," Lestrade replied.

"Ah, right, yes!" he nodded, it apparently coming back to him now, "That's right. A thing".

"You might want to elaborate".

"No, no, no. Only lies have detail".

"True," Amelia agreed off screen.

John closed his eyes and shook his head very slightly, a flash of pain crossing his face before he opened his eyes again and looked back at the screen.

Sherlock looked directly into the camera for a moment, seeming to be trying to find the right words, "Right, I just…I need a moment to, um, figure out what I'm going to do," he turned away and stepped over towards his chair, Amelia appearing back into view as the camera followed him.

John looked down at his glass, "I can tell you what you can both do," he said softly, "You can stop being dead," he lifted the glass up to his mouth, taking a large drink.

"Okay," Sherlock said, and his head snapped back up, startled as, at the same time, Amelia said, "Got it?" having been obviously speaking to Sherlock, but it had sounded like they had just answered him.

Sherlock turned away again, "Okay, I'm ready now," he sat down in his armchair; Amelia still perched on the armrest. He looked up at the camera, "Hallo, John," he smiled up at it, "I'm sorry I'm not there at the moment," he told him, sounding sincere, "I'm very busy. However, many happy returns," he looked down, before quickly looking back up again, going on, "Oh, and don't worry. I'm going to be with you again very soon".

The doorbell of John's front door began ringing and he glanced back at the screen, before quickly sitting forward and placing his glass down on the coffee table, clearing his throat as he used the TV remote to pause the DVD on Sherlock and Amelia's faces, Amelia smiling back at him. He rose and went to check the door. Unknowingly, as he left the room, the DVD un-paused itself and began playing on its own accord. Sherlock and Amelia shared a quick glance before turning back to the camera, smiling widely as they winked.

And here we are the start of the Third season. I've already got the next chapter and possibly, depending on whether of not I decide to split it into two, possibly also the one after that partly finished. Sherlock and Amelia will be back again, properly, and I have missed writing Amelia so much. I didn't even realise how much I missed it until I started the next chapter. I hope you liked it, tell me what you thought. Please review :)