AN: As much as I love Sherlock I own nothing besides Hannah.

It had been eight months since The Fall. Eight long months that Sherlock Holmes hid in the shadows and had danced and sliced the web Moriarty had woven around his life. Each strand had taken meticulous movements on his part, anything that would have backfired would have resulted in his discovery or the murders of the people closest to him. Excluding Mycroft of course.

His name had been cleared last week while he had been in Prague, "Sherlock's Salvation" had been plastered all over the newsprint. Lestrade and John had their names cleared and Mrs. Hudson had been unavailable for comment, her grief at the mere mention of his name sent her into repeated hysterics.

221b Baker St had been left to collect dust. John had moved into Harry's spare room before moving in with his current conquest a few weeks later, Mary. It looked to be a similar flat to the one he had shared with John, down to the layout of the bathroom. Subconscious need for familiarity was the likely cause for that decision, as well as the occasional physical outlet John had required.

Sherlock looked at the reflection before him. The local homeless shelter had been more than willing to provide him a room of his own for a few days in order for him to lay low. It would be time to return he had decided, his own disgusting need for ordinary people had taken a stubborn grasp on his psyche.

As Sherlock picked up the razor on the sink next to him he paused, taking a deep breath and putting both hands on the sink as he lowered his head- there was so much that was going to change. Mrs. Hudson would welcome him back, gladly give him the keys to his flat again, John would come around eventually, Lestrade would be happy about his return but act as if he was anything but.

She however, he thought with a shaky breath, She was the one he was unsure of.

Flashbacks within his mind began to replay at breakneck speed of the time he had spent with her. The hibiscus flowers he had left on her nightstand, the smile she gave him as he attempted to make her breakfast that ended up a pile of char, the way her hands clenched his arms as she arched into his kisses, the way her sounds of sleep shifted after they made love, the horrible singing that had been done in the shower.

The Woman and She had nothing in common besides their beauty. While Irene was manipulative, She was adoringly clumsy but could light up a room with her smile. She had never made a cross remark about him, whenever John had there was a look of pure guilt for a brief moment the next time he had seen Sherlock. She had accepted him for the man, the ordinary word tasted vile in his mouth, rather than admired the freak everyone else had dubbed him as.

Their relationship had been so new, so brilliantly fleeting….similar to a flare in the dark country sky. It blazed through him, her heart lighting crevices that Sherlock had no idea existed within himself.

With newly determined eyes Sherlock faced himself. Long ebony tresses fell to the ground, curls bouncing back into their former shape and the ragged beard let to smooth skin before being touched gently with aftershave on his pulse points.

Sherlock hadn't had to say good-bye to the manager of the homeless estate, the key was left on the neatly made bed. The ragged junkie had left as a clean cut detective racing to return home.

Gregory Lestrade had been snoring softly on the bed as the doorbell buzzed to life rapidly. Undoubtedly the keys were forgotten behind again he said to himself before frowning. Keys were gone from the hook near the door. It was too early to be back from the shop with the groceries, not that the shopping couldn't be done by himself to ease whatever stress he could. It was bad enough that the painting and shopping had been done mostly without him, only remarking on the colors here and there.

Rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm, Lestrade turned the handle. "Who is it, I am quite busy," he said as his voice tapered off in a yawn before his mouth fell open again. "It can't- you can't be here- we buried you!"

"Well unless I am Gandalf or the second coming of Christ, here I stand Detective Inspector."

John punching him across the jaw was almost expected, Sherlock mused as he looked at the pale and shaky members of the room. Mrs. Hudson had slapped him before breaking down in his arms and he had wrapped his hands around her shaking form before guiding her down next to John.

Giving a thankful nod to Lestrade as he took a bag of frozen peas for his face, Sherlock felt the weight of their questions radiating. The first however was to both himself and Lestrade, "does she know Gregory? Does she know he is back yet? Have you seen her yet Sherlock?"

Lestrade's pupils dilated with panic as he turned to Sherlock, "have you seen her yet? I think she would have told me if she had seen you but you didn't mention if she had…" He was cut off by the creak of the front door opening again. All four members of the living room darted their gazes to each other in questioning before turning back to Sherlock. "No I haven't seen her yet, why is something the-"

"Greg be a love and lock the door for me would you? I can't manage to find my keys and I am knackered. I ran into Mrs. Lewis and she asked how long it had been since I had seen my-" She said as the front door to the flat opened up. "Toes."

Sherlock's skills of deduction had told him in eight seconds flat that there had been six eggs in the canvas grocery sack that had been purchased a few weeks ago along with a open jar of peanut butter that had been dipped in with a partially eaten baguette, that it had dropped considerably in temperature outside and that Hannah Hudson was eight months, give or take a few days, along in gestation with his child.

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