The cool air from outside of the apartment filled the living room and gave it a slight draft, but to John Watson, the world felt completely still. Nothing seemed to move besides his unsteady quiet breath and his heart skipping a few beats. His shaking hand set the glass of whiskey in his hand onto the nearby coffee table, without his eyes straying even a centimeter from the man on the television. After he had returned from an unimportant phone call, he had played the last few seconds of the video. A single thought relayed itself in his mind over and over again, as he stared at Sherlock Holmes's winking face on his television screen.

He's alive. He's alive. He's alive. Sherlock is alive. The birthday video for him he had just watched was the first time he had seen Sherlock outside of photographs since that day. That horrible, pain stricken day. Even after two years, it still hurt John like an impalement to the chest to thinking about it, not unlike the sickened feeling he would get when he remembered the war, but almost worst. John was sucked back into the emotional whirlwind of memories, but it stopped at his recent realization. Sherlock is alive. He has to be.

There were emergences of thoughts that believed otherwise, voices of reason (although John didn't want to think of them like that) that said that an old video was not any sort of proof. The video had obviously been taken well before the day on the hospital roof, and all this was wishful thinking.

But to John, these thoughts were overshadowed by the immense hope this had given him. In the video, Sherlock seemed so real, like he was in the room, beside John, telling him he didn't want to go to dinner with him and all the other things he would say. John begin an imaginary conversation with Sherlock out loud.

"Sherlock, we need to go meet with Mycroft for dinner to discuss your case."

"I don't need his help, he is foolish and of no assistance to me with this project."

"Sherlock, he's the one that told you about it!"

John chuckled a bit, thinking about his slight insanity and that he did a pretty good impression of Sherlock's deep, baritone voice. And then thought of Sherlock in the video, how he said, "I'm going to be with you again very soon." Despite seeing his bleeding body on that pavement, John knew that Sherlock was way too clever to have gone like that, and that he was out there somewhere, preparing to show up at his door and say that what he said on the roof of Saint Bartholomew's about making up Moriarty was a lie, and all this had been for a reason.

It was just a matter of time before Sherlock used his deduction to someone figure out where John lived, popped up to his door and gave him an awkward Sherlock-type hug, a I-feel like-I-should-probably-do-this-seeing-as-I-fake-my-death-and-left-you-emotionally-distraught-for-two-years-but-I-don't-know-how-to-hug-so-this-awkward-arm-thing-happens-instead sort of thing. Despite how weird it would be, being close to Sherlock sounded incredible to John, feeling the warmth of his skin to remind himself that he is so alive.

John broke the stillness of the room to briskly grab the remote that lay beside his drink that he no longer felt necessary. He rewinded the video and played in again.

Watching more closely this time, he observed Sherlock's awkwardness, as he nervously paced back and forth across the room. Nervous seemed a bit out of character for him, perhaps it meant something.

"Of course I'm going to miss the dinner, there will be people!" John chuckled. Now this is much more like the Sherlock we know, with antisocial behavior and telling John that his friends hate him. It was oddly comforting for John, he had missed the bizarre way his flatmate seemed to care about him.

He played the video over and over again, treasuring the living, breathing Sherlock on the screen. He lost track of time after the seventh play or so, and took note of things he noticed to see what he could deduce. Sherlock would have wanted that, and hopefully still does.

"Only lies have detail." In that final phone call, although he didn't remember it well after that bash to the head, there were details, Sherlock had said that he had researched John and that he made up Moriarty. But the man said it himself - "only lies have detail."

"Don't worry, I am going to be with you again very soon," Sherlock's eyes looked straight into the camera, straight at John. John tried to remind himself that this was an old video, from the past he had spent with Sherlock, not now. It has been two years now, and John had gone on with his life, getting a girlfriend and a new home. Sherlock was part of a distant past, a buried relic of a long gone life. But something about the glint in Sherlock's eyes, that smile and wink he gave because it "humanizes him," it revitalized the hope that had been gone for so long, the hope of that man being out there somewhere, ready to come back and damn well explain himself.

John continued replaying the video, looking for clues of some kind, until his phone rang.

"Oh, shut up!" he shouted, then rushed to the insistent telephone.

"Hello?"

"John, it's me, Anderson." Why would Anderson be calling? John solely remembered him as a prime target of Sherlock's ridicule. He couldn't imagine Anderson having any business with him. They hadn't even spoken since what happened with Sherlock. He was just another part of the Sherlock's detective world that had been away.

"Anderson, yes? What do you need?" John spoke in a brisk, business-like tone.

"It's Sherlock. I found out some things about him. I think he is coming back. I just thought you would want to know," Anderson said. John's eyes widened.

"What did you find out? Have you been discussing it at Scotland Yard? Or with Lestrade? Where is he, Anderson?" His voice was speeding up and as the questions streaming out of his mouth were full of anticipation.

"Not Scotland Yard, I got sacked. They didn't believe me there, nor does Lestrade. But I am telling you, there is proof. You, of all people, have to believe me. You know he could pull off faking his death like that. You'd need a brilliant ass to pull something like that off, and he is just the brilliant ass to do it."

"Can I see the evidence you have then? We could meet for coffee and talk about it."

"Sure, how about at the coffee shop on Baker Street?" John hadn't been to Baker Street in a very long time, he now lived in a completely different part of London with his girlfriend Mary in the new flat he was now standing in. But Anderson had to have his reasons.

"Alright, tomorrow morning?" John asked.

"Sounds good. And, John. I am serious about this. He is coming back. I know it." Anderson certainly had an unmistakable mix of confidence and hope in his voice. John just really hoped he was actually on to something and it wasn't just longing and insanity speaking. But sometimes, all you really need is hope, and right now, he had more of it than he had in two years.

"We'll talk about it tomorrow. How about nine o'clock?"

"Right. And...John," Anderson paused, "You want him back, don't you? I mean, he was not kind to you by any means, and I'm sure your life has been more peaceful since..it happened."

"Anderson," John was still, his eyes fixed on nothing in particular. "Sherlock was my best friend. I saw my best friend jump off of a building. I saw his bloodied corpse on the ground. No matter how long time tries to heal this, it still is a festering wound that will never disappear. And the only bloody chance that it would was if I saw the man again, somehow alive and well, and he healed it for me. I need him back, Anderson. And I damn well hope you are onto something."

Stunned silence embodied the phone call for several long seconds. Not a sound was heard from Anderson's side of the line until he broke the silence with,

"I know. I really think he is coming back though. But I also hope you will be okay if it doesn't end up that way." John now regretting adding such tension to the phone call. He had calmed down some.

"Me too," John said more gently, "I will talk to you tomorrow then. Goodbye."

"Okay, bye John."

John put down the phone, and returned to the couch. He continued replaying the video countless times, until the hours grew late and he fell asleep on the couch, the video finished and stopped at Sherlock's winking face, as though he was watching over John sleeping, making his previous message known.

"I am going to be with you again very soon."

AN-

I hope you enjoyed ! This was pretty much my first fanfic, so please tell me how I did. There should be more coming out soon.

Have a lovely day! ^^