Chapter 2

It was a another dull evening in 221B Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson was in the kitchen washing dishes, humming a little tune. She didn't know why, but she was beginning to miss cleaning out dead body parts from the fridge. At least it kept the night somewhat interesting. Suddenly there was a creaking sound coming from the door. Someone had broken in. Startled, Mrs. Hudson slowly reached for her phone to call the police. But before she could grab it, a shadowy silhouette of a man appeared through the translucent door. She looked closely and noticed how familiar he looked. He was wearing a long coat and bushy, curly hair.

"Just like-"

The door opened.

In Scotland Yard, Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade was calling it night. He had already ordered the lights to be shut off, but there were still some flickering at the end of the hall. Irritated, he headed down that direction to turn them off himself, when he noticed someone standing at the end.

"Excuse me sir, something I can help you with?"

The man didn't say anything. Immediately, Lestrade froze in place the moment he got a better look at the man. It couldn't be.

At St. Bartholomew's Hospital, Molly Hooper had just finished her shift and was packing her things on her way to leave for home. She opened her locker door and nearly screamed as she looked in her mirror. It wasn't herself that terrified her. It was someone else. A man. A ghost. But she knew for a fact that there were no such things as ghost.

Mycroft Holmes was in his office sitting cross-legged in his chair going over some kind of file. The door opened and he expected it to be the maid here to finish cleaning up. But the door shut abruptly, breaking Mycroft's concentration. He looked up and nearly lost his cool composure, as he stared up in utter shock.

John Watson was sitting by himself at a restaurant enjoying a glass of wine. He had gotten an invitation about an hour ago and was asked to meet here and not worry about paying.

We need to talk. It's important.

-Holmes

He had been waiting for nearly 30 minutes, he never imagined Mycroft showing up fashionably late, but he had spoken to the man in weeks. He had began developing somewhat of a relationship with the elder Holmes, but never forgave him for his betrayal. The only reason why he showed up because the note stated it was important. The door opened and a man walked in. John assumed it was Mycroft, but didn't bother turning around. The man walked past John and just stood there. After several seconds of silence the man speaks.

"Hello John."

John froze. That voice, it couldn't have been. After 3 years of pain, loss, and tragedy, why was he hearing that voice again? He must've been dreaming, but dreams couldn't be this realistic, could they? In spite of himself, he looked up. He saw the man standing, with his back towards him, but he instantly recognized that curly hair. The man turned around, and revealed himself to John. It was him. It was Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock took a seat at the table and looked at John. He was expecting some kind of reaction, yet wasn't too surprised when John just sat there and stared at him. Sherlock made a quick deduction about John.

-He had grown a mustache the over the years (not for himself obviously, but maybe to impress someone else)

-There has been a significant amount of fidgeting in his left hand, not because he was nervous or surprised, because this wasn't normal for him. His limp had returned.

-He looked rather dapper in his new suit, but it wasn't fit for this occasion. John wouldn't normally dress like this, not his style.

-He had just recently retired as a surgeon. Not because of depression.

-Overall: He was seeing someone.

"I see that you're surprised to see me." Sherlock stated in his casual monotone.

John continued to stare in utter shock, jaw dropped wide open. He was resisting the urge to pick up a fork and stab himself with it just to wake himself up.

"I understand that you have questions. And I assure you, I do plan on having them answered, But now's not the time."

John nearly lost it after that last sentence. He didn't care if everyone else was watching.

"Now's not the time?!"he exclaimed after letting out a humorless chuckle.

"You were dead, Sherlock. You jumped multiple stories off St. Bart's Roof. Now after 3 years, here you are alive and in front and ALL you can say is 'now's not the time.'

"John I understand how you must feel after all this time, but-

"No Sherlock, you don't. And until, I get some answers I'm not saying a word to you."

Sherlock sat back in his seat to think. He could explain to John how he faked his death, that would easy. But explaining why he did it, why he never told John, and where he had been these past three years would not be that simple. Also it was risky coming back here in the first place with Moran on the loose, and if he stayed any longer eventually word would get out. Moran would find out and be on his tail. The only reason Sherlock returned was to ensure his friends safety, but at the same time to get help. He had less than two days until his 'sponsor' contacted him, and as usual Sherlock was still skeptic about the idea. Holmes knew nothing about that person and there was a possibility that it could be a trap. If that was the case he needed assistance. He was hesitant about putting John or anyone else he cared for endanger, but John was the only one he could trust. Even though he had mixed feelings about seeing Sherlock, he knew for a fact that John couldn't resist learning how the sleuth cheated death.

So Sherlock rationalized and stood up making his way to the door.

"There isn't enough time. There's something I still need to do, I can't return home permanently unless I finish this final task. If you want to know more you'll have to follow me. But I'm not going to force you to do something against your own will. "

And with that he was gone. But he knew for a fact that he wouldn't be alone.

"3...2...1.."

"SHERLOCK!"

Sherlock turned around to find John chasing him down the street. When he finally caught up, he practically pleaded to know.

"Please, just tell me what's going on."

Sherlock smirked and gestured for John to follow him.

Just like old times.