The morning of the 6th of March began like any other with me lying in bed listening to Sherlock playing his violin as he debated what to have for breakfast. I stretched and watched the weak sunlight managing to creep through the curtains with eyes still half glued together by sleep.

I couldn't believe it had been a whole two years since Sherlock had come back from the dead. Since then he and I had solved a couple of cases together; nothing major but enough to engage the interest of the media who'd published stories about a returned genius who'd been wrongly accused of being a fake. Gradually the cases had gotten bigger and more politically important as Lestrade and the others had learnt to trust Sherlock again. It was an agonisingly slow process but I had faith everything would be back to normal before too long.

I was torn from my thoughts by a loud vibrating noise. For a few moments I looked round, confused as the source of the sound before my eyes finally came to rest on Sherlock's phone. I glared fiercely in it's direction, willing it to burst into flames.

"Sherlock!" I yelled, my voice slightly muffled by the pillow. "You have a text."

I heard the strangled sound of a violin being abruptly silenced and there was a slight pause before Sherlock's head, his black hair sticking up in all directions and his shirt collar undone, poked round the door.

"Look at it for me will you?" he asked, his normally intense blue eyes clouded by sleep.

Grumbling under my breath I rolled over, picked up the phone and randomly stabbed at buttons until the screen lit up. A notification announced the sender of the text to be Lestrade and I groaned, knowing he probably wanted help with a crime scene. There went my plans for a quiet Saturday doing nothing while Sherlock relaxed for once. I heard a low chuckle and looked up to find Sherlock watching me intently.

"Let me guess." he said in his deep voice. "Lestrade wants us at a crime scene."

In answer I held out the phone to him before burrowing deeper under the duvet. Sherlock sighed, walked over and took the phone from me. I watched as he scanned the text, his expression becoming more and more animated the furthur down he scrolled.

"Lestrade wants us to meet him at the corner of Baker Street as soon as possible." he cried, already rushing into his own bedroom.

A few moments later a fully dressed Sherlock came bursting back into the room wearing his long woollen coat and wrapping his scarf around his neck. I let out a heartfelt groan, half hoping he would let me go back to sleep. Sherlock however was eager to go and walked towards the bed. In one swift moment he yanked the streets off me.

"Hey." I protested, sitting upright.

Sherlock just looked at me, his blue eyes serious. "Hurry up John. We have another case to solve." he paused and a slight smirk crept onto his features. "Nice pyjama's by the way."

I sighed and asked him to give me five minutes to get ready. Sherlock nodded his understanding and walked off in the direction of the living room.

"Don't be too long." He threw back over his shoulder.

Reluctantly, cursing Lestrade and crime in general under my breath, I dragged myself out of bed and fumbled round the room, pulling on random items of clothing that were lying around. A smile crept onto my face when I heard Sherlock loudly protesting he was bored from the other room. Hastily I finished dressing and hurried to find him.

I could vividly remember what had happened the last time my friend had become bored. The wall was still peppered with bullet holes. Low and behold when I entered the room I found Sherlock sitting sprawled in his armchair toying with my handgun. I was alarmed to see his finger dangerously close to the trigger.

"Oh good." cried Sherlock, unfolding his long body from the chair and rising to his full height. "You're here. Let's go."

I followed in his wake as he strode through the flat, my gaze fixed on my gun which was still in Sherlock's grip. "Sherlock; can I have my gun back please?"

Sherlock looked down at the gun in suprise as though he'd picked it up by mistake. Casually he tossed it to me. I snatched it from the air and clicked the safety on.

"How many times have I told you not to do that Sherlock? One of us could get shot." I snapped as I stashed the gun safetly away beneath my jacket.

Sherlock smiled and lazily waved his hand. "I'm much too clever to let that happen."

I rolled my eyes. Despite everything that had happened Sherlock was still the same as he'd been before he faked his death. Lestrade was still slightly mistrustful of Sherlock; which wasn't surprising considering the events that had ended with my friend jumping off the roof of St Bart's Hospital after Moriarty had tricked everyone into believing Sherlock was nothing but a fake who had been manipulating everyone all along.

There was no way Lestrade would forgive me if I let Sherlock wander the streets of London with a loaded gun in his hand. Sometimes there was no telling what my friend what do. Just before we left I called out to Mrs Hudson, telling her not to worry and that we would be back before nightfall. I didn't receive a reply but that didn't surprise me, she was usually busy doing something.

Together Sherlock and I walked along Baker Street to the corner in silence. Beside me I could feel Sherlock's tension as he strode along, his body humming with eagerness to discover what new case Lestrade had for him to solve. When we reached the corner my step faltered. Before me was a fully operational, bustling crime scene. Off to one side I could see Lestrade leaning against a nearby wall. He looked up when he heard us approaching and a relieved smile spread across his face.

"You're finally decided to turn up then." Lestrade said, his voice gruff but friendly.

I'd always liked Lestrade. It was obvious even to me, despite Sherlock always commenting on how unobservant I am, that Lestrade has a deep found respect for Sherlock and his remarkable deduction skills. Out of everyone on the police force he'd been one of the first to accept Sherlock when the detective had revealed his wasn't dead. Lestrade was also unable to hold a grudge, a trait I have always thought to be essential in someone who works closely with Sherlock. I was especially grateful for that now as Sherlock walked straight past Lestrade without acknowledging him and ducked under the police tape, already pulling on a pair of gloves.

Seemingly oblivious to the people hovering around the body Sherlock bent down and began to examine it. I threw an apologetic look in Lestrade's direction and was relieved when he simply shrugged to show he didn't really mind before he turned to a nearby officer and nodded at them. The officer turned and made his way towards Sherlock.

"What's going on?" I asked. Over Lestrade's shoulder I could see the officer talking to Sherlock who appeared to be slightly worried. I shook my head, telling myself not to be so silly. Sherlock hid his emotions away when we were out in public.

"We got a call from a passer-by to tell us they'd found a dead body in Baker Street. I knew neither of you would be awake yet and decided it was best I got it under control before you arrived." he replied, running a hand over the stubble peppering his jaw. "So far all we know is that the victim was shot was quite a distance away."

I started in surprise. Usually when Sherlock and I were called to a crime scene it was because the police were out of their depth. This crime scene however seemed to be fully under control. I frowned. There must be some other reason Lestrade had summoned us.

I examined the crime scene from where I was standing, noting how the body was lying face down in a pool of blood. I was struck by a sudden thought. Surely it could only be a coincidence that someone had been shot dead barely five minutes from the flat I shared with Sherlock. I knew, because of what Mycroft had told me, there was a small chance Moriarty had left a back-up plan behind in case Sherlock somehow managed to beat him. So far there hadn't been any sign of any plans but you never could tell with Moriarty, it didn't do to underestimate him.

From the look on Lestrade's face I could see he was thinking along the same lines as me. I opened my mouth to ask him something when a loud commotion from the crime scene made us both jump. Together the two of us spun round to see what was happening.

"Hey. You can't do that. Lestrade, tell Sherlock to stop!" wailed Anderson.

"Oh stop being so pathetic Anderson. I don't see you doing anything useful." replied Sherlock, his deep voice tinged with sarcasm.

Lestrade's mouth fell open when he saw what was friend was doing. "What the hell do you think you're doing Sherlock?" He thundered, his face turning an unpleasant shade of red.

Almost not wanting to see what latest crazy idea Sherlock had decided to put into action I slowly turned and faltered, hardly able to believe what I was seeing. Sherlock was standing holding the body upright while he squinted at the nearby rooftops. He seemed deeply engrossed in what he was doing and barely noticed Lestrade striding towards him. Or that was how it seemed for as soon as Lestrade stopped beside him Sherlock started talking.

"What I am doing Lestrade is trying to help you. You did after all request my prescene here after all. You will find if you go to that rooftop over there signs of a gunman who was up there." Sherlock said, still examining the rooftops.

Lestrade looked as though he was about to say something when Sherlock leant over and murmured something in his ear. Lestrade looked at him for a few moments before he nodded and walked back towards me.

"He wants to see you." he said, flicking a thumb back over his shoulder in Sherlock's direction. "And." he yelled, raising his voice so Sherlock could hear him. "For heavens sake put that body down and search for clues or something."

Wondering what Sherlock wanted I headed over to him. He didn't seem to notice I was approaching and jumped slightly when I cleared my throat loudly.

"What's wrong?" I asked. "Lestrade said you wanted to see me."

Sherlock turned towards me, his expression unreadable. "What do you see John?"

I hated it when he said that. Everytime he got me to make my own deductions about a crime scene or an object he always seemed to take great delight in pointing out exactly what I'd missed.

"There's a body, which you're still holding, and it's been shot." I said, knowing from Sherlock's frown I'd missed the vital point he was trying to get across to me.

Sherlock carefully dropped the body back down and rotated it so I could see the person's face. He looed up at me with an intense look in his blue eyes but didn't say anything. I crossed my arms, still unsure what he wanted me to see.

"And? I get that it's a body Sherlock."

Sherlock sighed irritably. "Why am I surrounded by unobservant idiots?" he muttered quietly. "Look at the face John; notice anything interesting?"

I did as he asked and bent down to take a closer look at the body. Suddenly I spotted what had worried Sherlock earlier and why Lestrade had called us to the crime scene. A quiet gasp escaped me. "It looks just like me."

I couldn't believe it had taken me as long as it had to notice. Now I knew what I was looking for it was impossible to ignore. The dead person really was spookily similiar to me, right down to the jacket they were wearing. I glanced at Sherlock in time to see a mixed look of apprehension and surprise flash across his face.

"Who do you think would do this?" I asked, not entirely sure if I wanted to know the answer.

Sherlock's blue eyes were heavy with sadness when he answered. "Moriarty."

At a loss at how to reply I could do nothing but stare at my friend for a few moments. "But he's dead." I stammered. "There's no way he could be behind this."

Sherlock had told me himself how Moriarty had shot himself before laying on the roof of St Bart's with blood pooling from the back of his head. Surely Sherlock didn't believe there was a chance Moriarty could possibly have survived.

Sherlock slowly shook his head and stuck his hands in the pockets of his coat. "I was clever enough to fake my own death and it stands to reason he may have managed to do the same."

Silence settled over us in a cloud as we stood beside the body, unsure what to say to one another. Even Anderson muttering to the other forensic scienctists was unable to defuse the tension between us. The awkwardness was eventually broken by a shout from behind us.

"Sherlock you were right. I found signs of a gunman and they left something behind." Lestrade yelled, one fist raised in truimph.

Sherlock took a step towards him and pulled off his gloves before carelessly stuffing them back into his coat pocket. I stayed by the body and watched the two of them talking together in low voices. Lestrade handed something to Sherlock that glinted in the early morning sun and I craned my neck, trying to see what the object was. I was unsuccesful however and the object was quickly dropped into one of Sherlock's deep pockets. I was so busy watching the interaction between them that I didn't hear the footsteps appraoching.

"Do you really think we can trust him? I heard what he was said about Moriarty, the person we all know he invented to make himself look clever."

I jumped slightly and clenched my fists. It takes every ounce of will I possess to prevent myself from lashing out at Anderson. I have never liked him much. He's a forensic scientist by trade and frequently locks horns with Sherlock at crime scenes as a result. Anderson was also one of the first to discredit the detective as a fake. In fact he still reckoned Sherlock was a fake and had pretended to die so everyone would be all sympathic and forget about the fact he supposedly created Moriarty.

"Piss off Anderson, I don't have time for this. Sherlock and I have a case to solve."

Anderson snorted loudly, his lip curling slightly. "You mean Sherlock has a case to solve. You're after all only his sidekick."

He drew in a breath to continue but instead, once he saw Sherlock heading towards us, backed off towards the other forensic scientists. Sherlock glareed fiercely in Anderson's direction before he turned to face me.

"What did he want?" he asks, his deep voice dangerously low.

I hesistated for a moment, unsure how to answer him. I could either tell him the truth and risk my friend confronting Anderson or I could lie and risk him working out what Anderson had said anyway. I dithered for a while longer beteen the two before deciding to lie. Hopefully Sherlock was too distracted to notice.

"Oh nothing. He was just being his usual annoying self." I said, trying hard to keep my voice level.

To my relief Sherlock barely seemed to take in what I said, obviously distracted by what Lestrade had handed to him. He was already turning on his heel to head back to the flat. I waited for a few more seconds to see if he had anything to say but he didn't turn back and I quickly hurried after him.

Lestrade watched Sherlock and John walk away before he sighed deeply and closed his eyes. He was unsettled by how similiar the body looked to John and thought back to what Sherlock had said about Moriarty being behind it. Surely it just wasn't possible. Then Lestrade remembered what he'd found and a cold shiver ran down his spine. Maybe it wasn't so impossible after all. He opened his eyes when he heard Anderson calling to him and headed in the scienctist's direction. Deep down he had a bad feeling about this case.