New chapter up :D I think I am really bad at this xD You tell.

Enjoy :D

II

The door was knocked. Yawning, Dr Watson went downstairs. It was too early in the morning, barely six o'clock, who was the insane waking up people? A woman, she was. A quite tall ginger was knocking at their door at six o'clock early in the morning.

"John?" she greeted.

"Who are you?" he yawned again.

"Eleanor Gates, sir" the young girl, with a little naive smile.

"Oh...yes, you... you are Molly's assistant, aren't you?"

"Sorry, have we met?"

"I'm afraid so" he sighed. "A month ago... you were the one who was talking about the corpse of my dead friend (and Molly's friend to) in front of us while Molly cured the bound in my head."

"Yes! You were the one that... Oh, I'm sorry. In that moment I didn't know you were Sherlock Holmes' friend..."

"What do you want?" John was getting tired of everyone feeling sorry for his lost.

"Uh, yes, of course" she took a note from her chest-crossed purse. "This, is from Sherlock."

"Sherlock!" he exclaimed, totally awaken. "Is... is he alive?"

"I'm sorry, no" she looked quite sad, in fact. Did she knew him? "But... we where kind of... I'm mean... we had a deal."

"A deal?"

"Yes... You see, I was a huge fan and I asked in his blog (you can search, if you don't believe me) if he could gave me some of his... items. I don't know how to explain, because, you see, I'm not from this country."

"I understand. Take your time"

Finally a lead! It had arrived at his door, by its one feet! He could wait a few minutes more. The girl, Eleanor, he remembered, was having trouble to explain herself, so he let her in and made some tea. Suddenly, he felt like Sherlock Holmes, watching, trying to observe every detail from the woman.. Her clothes, which didn't match with each other, and her rare moves, were worth seeing. She was a foreigner, obviously.

"I got it" she exclaimed cheerfully. "Mr Holmes and I had an arrangement. I asked him to give me some of his stuff so I could learn how did he do the things he did. So, our deal was that the day he died, I could take whatever I wanted. Of course, we didn't expect it to be so... soon. As you know, he arrived alive to the hospital. He asked for paper and a pencil, and he wrote this, for you. The note."

For the first time in two years his hand was shacking again. The paper had Sherlock's calligraphy, it had been written by him, no doubt.

"I don't know if I can trust you but... take whatever you want" John lead her upstairs. The apartment hadn't change since the day his friend departed. His books, his notes, his files, his chemistry stuff... it was all as he had left them, in the same position. John didn't even let Mrs Hudson clean them. "Would you mind If I... ah... read this later?"

"Is yours" she said. "Don't worry, I don't need much... When he proposed me that... then I thought it was a joke, never thought really..."

"Eleanor!" Mrs Hudson appeared, very surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"Mother" Eleanor smiled.

"Mother? Have I missed something?" John, confused, asked. Mrs Hudson laughed.

"Couple of years ago I met this skinny little girl as I was walking by Oxford Street. She was lost, so I helped her..."

"... and I invited Mrs Hudson to a coffee" completed Eleanor.

"We happened to be friends at once, and every now and then since that day she pays me a visit. Time has made us to be like a mother and daughter, though we are not" Mrs Hudson finished, laughing and hugging her not-daughter. "But, what are you doing here, darling?"

"I didn't know you were living here, ma'am!" she exclaimed. "I'm so so sorry for your lose!"

"Oh... don't be, my dear. He's now in a better place."

"I hope so."

John felt disconnected from the conversation, so he went to his room and closed the door.

The note was held by his shaking hands, making it difficult to read. The ink was irregularly printed in the surface, written by a hand whose body was going to dead. John couldn't stand that thought. It was tough to know that his beloved friend wrote that little piece of paper a month before he could even read it. The clues of what really happened were few, and now that he had one, a real one...

"John" Mrs Hudson called, knocking at the door. "Are you alright, dear?"

"Yes... yes, Mrs Hudson" he replied, staring closely the paper in his hands, unable to open it.

"Well, come out" said Eleanor, opening the door without asking permission. "Let's have some coffee" she smiled in that way that John hated so much. "There's no need to talk about this... thing, we can leave it for later. If I had known that you were..."

"SHUT UP" he yelled. "I don't want to hear more of this nonsense. I don't know who are you, if you are truly who you say you are, and I am certainly not going anywhere with you. Now GET OUT of my room."

"Here, dear" said Mrs Hudson, taking Eleanor by the arms. "Leave him alone, we'll have that coffee, right?"

"You're a jerk" spat Eleanor to John before leaving.

"Yes, I am" he replied, though they were gone long ago.

Gregory Lestrade was a man of traditions. He knew what to do in every situation he could know, wherever he was. That was something that, he couldn't deny, was improved by Sherlock Holmes' activities. They were friends too, after all. Now that everything had changed, a new order was demanded in his method. The city had new criminals, people ready to kill anybody any second of any day. It seemed that now the detective was gone, all the thieves and killers had agreed to do misdeeds.

The phone rang, interrupting his thoughts.

"Who is it?" he yawned. It was barely three o'clock in the morning.

"John talking" was the reply. "I think I have... something, a clue about Sherlock."

"Are you O.K.? You're voice is like... trembling?"

"Yes, yes. My hand is shaking. Listen, I have this note from that Eleanor girl, Sherlock wrote it. I think it is important."

"John, in the morning. And go to the therapist" Lestrade yawned again.

"I don't need a therapist!"

"If you don't go to, I won't help you. Now let us sleep."

John ended the call. Lestrade was worried about him, he could tell, but there was no need to be such an... ass.

"Well, you were an ass to Eleanor" suddenly, the voice of a ghost filled the room, sending shivers to his spine.

"Sh-Sherlock?"

"Go back to sleep, John. You're hurting yourself."

"Ri... Right."

"And you're seeing a ghost. You better go to that therapist."

"I'll go" was the answer as he opened the bed.

"I hope you sleep well" were the last words of his hallucination.

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