I tried to describe John who got over Sherlock's death rather well, and moved on. Sherlock would've wanted John to live a full life. This is a pre-story of "Empty House". Thank you for reading. Comments are very welcome.

A secret government facility

The door of the morgue opened. Two tall men walked out after identifying the body, James Moriarty. One looked as if he could go to a ball any moment while the other was all patched up, with one arm in a plaster cast. Their faces were grim; their voices were low whispers.

Moriarty had nothing but a mobile, a gun and a wallet with cash only. The mobile didn't have that much information. Apparently there were a few missed calls from a mysterious caller in that morning. Stayin Alive was the ringtone that the criminal had been listening to when the detective arrived at the roof. Sherlock said,

"Moriarty wasn't listening to the music. He was ignoring the incoming call. In the pool, he had taken a call. What's different this time? It wasn't from his potential client. It must have been the number that he knew well, one of his associates."

After a moment, he continued,

"Moriarty had to face me alone. He was so sure of his victory. The call was from someone who tried to assist Moriarty. That's why he ignored it."

Mycroft answered,

"There's a high possibility that the caller ditched the mobile. We have to find it and the caller."

A few days later, a phone was retrieved from the pond in front of the Barbican Library: the pond was being drained for an annual clean-up. The newest Galaxy model. No fingerprints. Luckily its sim card was inside. The number was under a name, Ronald Adair, a lieutenant who was found dead with a gunshot on the head in Kabul, Afghanistan a few years earlier. Given the mobile model was released in 2012, it couldn't have been Adair's. Someone close to him must have been using it. Adair had gambling problems and was about to get discharged in dishonor. His death was considered as a suicide.

A dead-end.

The dead lieutenant seemed to have been close to few "gambling" buddies. Two of them had died in battles, and the only one alive was Colonel Moran, but his whereabouts was unknown. He had left the army around the time of Adair's death. The army record showed that the Colonel was an exemplary soldier with medals of valor and many badges. Over the recent three years, there had been no records of him what-so-ever.

Sherlock decided to leave England to break down Moriarty's vast network around the world as his wounds from the fall were healed. As long as John believed his death, his friends were safe. Mycroft promised maximum surveillance on John and the others. Two days before leaving, the sleuth sneaked into the cemetery and watched his friend and Mrs. Hudson visit his empty grave.

Greg Lestrade's Flat, three months after the fall.

Greg Lestrade was sitting in his dark living room, drinking beer and pondering over the call from the Yard. The committee decided to shorten his suspension today. He could go back to his job next week. It was an unexpected welcome yet he kept wondering why.

Obviously most cases that had involved Sherlock Holmes were scrutinized and validated. Quite significant number of officers had risen to restore the honor of the dead sleuth. For example, DI Dimmock who was working in Wales had visited the Yard three times to testify. The young DI was one of the few who didn't' lose faith in Sherlock Holmes. Dimmock used to call Sherlock for an advice even after he was transferred outside London, and knew that Sherlock couldn't have cracked so many cases of his with a few phone calls and image files sent via e-mail.

It had been almost three months since Sherlock committed a suicide. On that day, there was one more suicide in the hospital. However the other suicide had never been reported. Scotland Yard didn't, rather couldn't investigate it because the secret service had intervened.

Who's the second body? Why?

Lestrade decided to talk to John.

When Ambassador Bruhl asked Sherlock Holmes to find his kidnapped children, the sleuth didn't disappoint anybody. After a few hours, he led the Yard officers into a used sweet factory in Addlestone. Even Donovan seemed to thaw up towards the detective when she invited "amateurs" in the interrogation room. No one had expected what was to follow. Claudette Bruhl screamed when she saw Sherlock entering.

Everything started to fall apart. The stupid raid. His suicide...

He was just back from Baker Street. His face started to swell. To relieve pain and swelling, Lestrade made an ice pack using a couple of ice cubes. Applying the pack, he was just heading towards his office when a rookie detective saluted him and said, "Sir."

"What is it?"

"Sir, there's someone waiting for you."

Lestrade knew every officer's eyes were following him. The frenzy reporting of his suicide: it happened in the morning and every British citizen would know about it by now. He wondered if the bloody reporters would be allowed at the funeral. Funeral... He coiled at the word.

How could I attend his funeral when I know everybody, even Mrs. Hudson, despised me? What's next now?

He couldn't care less. All the hell would break loose for him anyway. He moved heavily towards his office.

It would be like an eye of a hurricane before the funeral. Then John Watson was certain to be summoned as a key witness in everything: the kidnapping, the suicide, and most of the past cases that Sherlock had been involved. John himself might face a charge of assault against the Chief Superintendent. His boss did look very angry when Sherlock took John as hostage and ran away. Greg barely slept that night. Strangely, there was no APW and his boss didn't mention last night's fiasco at all when he arrived at the Yard early in the morning.

A misconduct hearing would follow. Almost all the past cases that Sherlock had cracked might have to be investigated again. The best he could expect was a suspension. Or he might have to leave. He wasn't sure if he could be eligible for a full pension. Looking defeated, Greg opened his door and found a stranger, possibly an agent from the secret service.

After half an hour, Lestrade stared blankly at the door that closed behind the woman. She left more questions than answers although she had delivered some good news for him.

The Ambassador had asked to close the kidnapping case as soon as possible. This morning the girl told her mother that the kidnapper had forced her to scream if she saw a man in the picture – Sherlock's wearing the deerstalker. Sherlock Holmes was off the hook: the Yard would have to continue the investigation - protocol. If only Greg had believed him, then he would be still alive and well. The guilt would never go away. There was another news that Lestrade hadn't expected. The secret service was taking over the investigation of the two suicides at Bart's. Another body was found on the rooftop. A suicide from a self-inflicted gunshot wound. No details would be released to the media.

After the funeral, the disciplinary committee decided to give Lestrade a three-month suspension, which was surprisingly lenient.

Therapist Office

John tearfully whispered, "Sorry, I can't."

Ella tried a few more times to open up John Watson to no avail. John was scheduling the next counseling when Greg Lestrade walked into the waiting room. John flinched, not expecting him here. The DI looked uncomfortable, fidgeting and avoiding his eyes. John could've just walked out, but his face softened when he saw Lestrade's face. He looked worse, by far worse... Three-month suspension. The guilt over the nightly raid. The stupid attempt to arrest Sherlock. Lestrade was suffering. DI Dimmock had called John with the news. John gave a terse nod.

"John."

"Greg."

"Can we talk?"

John shrugged and didn't object when Greg headed to a nearby café.

Greg wasn't supposed to tell John about the secret service's involvement. He didn't give a damn. John's eyebrows furrowed into a thin line when the DI talked about the meeting with a secret service agent.

"The body had to be Jim Moriarty's. They had to finish the game. I thought it odd that the media didn't mention anything about Moriarty. I didn't know Moriarty had killed himself."

"On the roof, something did happen and Moriarty was dead. Sherlock killed himself. John, by any chance..."

"No."

John cut in bluntly.

"I don't think Sherlock had killed Moriarty. You said it was a suicide, right?"

"Yes. Then Sherlock might have jumped at a gunpoint..."

"Sherlock? No, unless there was something that made him jump. What could have driven him to such an extreme choice?"

In silence, the two men drank their coffee.

"He called me. Strange choice of words... Wait, he knew Mrs. Hudson was okay. How? Who could have made the fake call?"

Lestrade shook his head, feeling sorry to make John remember again. The doctor asked,

" Did you retrieve his mobile? I saw him throw it away."

"I think the secret service had taken it, too."

John seemed to ponder over something. He let out a short outcry.

"What?"

"Mycroft Holmes might know something about it. The fake paramedic call. What if it wasn't from Moriarty's gangs. I've been focusing on only one possibility. There's more. I have to see Mycroft."

"You're implying Mycroft could've been behind the call? Why?"

John's voice got lower,

"Sherlock. He might have asked Mycroft to protect me. In the pool...I still remember his face when I walked out from the shower booth with explosives laced around me. No, he couldn't. They were not even on speaking terms."

"John, hold on. Let's not jump the guns."

Lestrade tried to change the subject: John looked so lost.

" By the way, I heard Mycroft's still paying for 221B. Why did you move out?"

"Temporarily. Ella told me to move out as soon as possible. Harry wanted it, too. I'm staying with her. She yells at me now because she can't drink as much as she like."

John smiled sadly,

"The flat is too clean, quiet, and odorless. And his things scattered all over - the violin, the skull, the bullet holes on the wall,microscope... It's just so hard to look at his things. I had thought Mycroft would clean up the flat and got some items for personal memory. In his bedroom, there is only one picture frame- a picture of Mycroft and Sherlock together. I thought Mycroft would have wanted it."

"You can stay in my place if you like. I mean..."

"If I overstay Harry's welcome... Thanks."

"I'm thinking about visiting his grave tomorrow."

"Mrs. Hudson and I did a few days ago. It's strange. I just can't believe he's dead. I can feel his presence somehow."

He cleared his throat, and added.

" I'll contact Mycroft. The photo should be an ice-breaker, I think."

"Call me if you get some information. I can't shake off a feeling that there was more than we saw."

The doctor agreed, and they kept on talking about their detective friend.

At the grave, three days later

The cemetery was quiet with an occasional chirping of birds overhead. John tried to suppress the anger. His eyes counted the number of the roses in the vase that he had just placed. The well-dressed tall man asked,

"What did you see, John?"

"I saw him fall."

"You have to believe what you saw, John. I understand you desire to doubt everything but I had identified his body at the morgue."

"There are many things that his suicide can't explain. Mycroft. Answer me! Why did Lestrade get away with his admonition? Who's the second body? Is it Moriarty? Did he kill himself? Did he exist? Did you make a fake call on Mrs. Hudson being shot?"

The older Holmes took his time as if he were trying to choose his words carefully and spoke slowly without losing calm.

"Let me give you the answers to your questions, John. Lestrade didn't get away; he did receive a suspension. My brother's cases had been validated and it's a waste if Scotland Yard does not use such a resourceful man like Lestrade. The body found on the roof was Moriarty. Apparently he pulled the trigger with a gun in his mouth. I don't know who called you that morning. I did attempt to track it down. It was from a prepaid phone with a dummy sim card. It could be one of Moriarty's men."

John stuttered, feeling the blood flooding into his face.

"Moriarty could've forced Sherlock to jump."

"That's one possibility."

"Is there any other?"

Mycroft's eyes darkened at this. He decided to throw away the usual façade and get honest with the doctor although he knew his brother would never approve it. He already knew there had been three snipers trained on three people. Yet he decided to play it out. He laughed rather shakily and then muttered out.

"I think I can tell you as much. You're a soldier. You saw your buddies die in battles. You'll understand it."

"What will I understand?"

"Truth. Mind you we have no proof: there are no survivors. I've been questioning why my brother made such an extreme decision. The scandal. He would have brushed it off. Why killed himself in a hurry?"

"And?"

"Moriarty must have done something to force my brother jump. Remember all those snipers around your flat? A sniper could have been trained on you, John, ready to pull the trigger if Sherlock hadn't..."

Mycroft couldn't finish his words as John's body swayed, registering the implication of what he had just heard. His voice broke,

"You mean I could've died if he hadn't jumped?"

"There might be more. Sherlock had mentioned three names to you. Mrs. Hudson, Molly Hooper, and Greg Lestrade. Four snipers, four bullets, and four victims. You all were to die."

He sighed, cleared his throat, and continued rather huskily.

"Moriarty had shot himself when he was winning. I think Moriarty was the key that could stop the snipers. My brother figured out how to stop him. The maniac had to kill himself to make Sherlock finish his game."

John turned pale. A painful memory surfaced.

"You Machine. No, friends protect each other." He "said" it, but Sherlock "did" it.

John slumped on the ground and buried his head in his hands. Mycroft remembered his last face-to-face conversation with Sherlock. His brother didn't say it loud yet he understood.

I might be overdoing it, but I'm saying this for you, the thing you really wanted to tell him, Sherlock.

He took a cracked mobile from his pocket and said,

"Thank you for the photo. I've got something for you, too. Here."

John raised his head slowly. His eyes found it, his cracked mobile.

"As his brother, I got to keep it after the investigation. I think he would've wanted you to have it."

Mycroft gently put the mobile on John's palm and turned around.

"John. Keep on living. My brother wanted you to live. That's why he took his own life."

Mycroft left without any more words. John didn't notice; he stared at the cracked screen for a long time. In hesitation, his shaky fingers moved to turn it on. He took out his own mobile, and called his number.

Beep. Sherlock Holmes. Leave a message, and I'll contact you back. Beep.

John's eyes burned. Blinking, he pocketed the two mobiles and walked out of the cemetery. He was going back to the old flat. He had to live a full life for Sherlock Holmes, the least that he could do for his best friend.

Two years after the fall, John happened to visit his old flat at a "wrong" time.

Thanks for your reading. Comments are very welcome.

APW: UK version of APB(All Points Bulletin)

All the characters are fictional.