It seemed like there were no more messages that day. Only that one. My mind was still trying to understand if I believed Sherlock was back or not. "Sleep on it." , the angel on my shoulder said. "What if your nightmare comes back?" , the devil replied. There was one and only one way to stop the two little creatures on my shoulders from fighting: go towards that bar again. As soon as I stood up, closing down the laptop, another text appeared on my phone "Still waiting. You know where to find me. SH." Every atom of my body felt the urge to run where I knew I'd find him, but I let my mind take control. I found my coat and wore it. I went out my flat under a rainy London night. I cried myself a cab; "New Scotland Yard, please."

As soon as the wheels started moving, my eyes fixed on the glass. Water drops were streaming down. I followed two of them with my eyes. And as those little drops were chasing each other, I saw Sherlock and I. The drop arrived first, was Sherlock falling down. The second one, followed only two seconds later but too late. Funny how we can compare our lives to the smallest things. Our lives themselves are little things. The deep thought was soon cancelled by the cabbie. "Scotland Yard, gentleman. Are you going to get off or..?"I cleared my throat, in evident discomfort. "Yes. Sorry."I handed him some pounds "Keep the charge. Thank you." And after nodding politely, I got off.

Heavy rain was still pouring down as I pulled myself up the stairs. "Excuse me. Who are you?" asked a bobby. "I'm.. John Watson. I'm willing to speak to Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade." I nodded again, trying to get my way. "In what regard, if I may?" he replied. I sighed, of course he wouldn't believe me if I told him "Sherlock Holmes texted me twice." "I might have some updates for a case he's working on. Please. Let me through." He must had seen my hopeful look so he nodded. "Cheers." I replied to his nod and got my way up to Greg's office. "Lestrade!" I cried along the way. "Lestrade!" I repeated, stopping at his door, before knocking. Sergeant Donovan opened the door. After a brief exchange looks, she looked towards Lestrade. "The freak's companion is back." She cried. Lestrade welcomed me in with a giggle. "John Watson. What brings you here?" he showed a hint of a smile. I glanced at his head, noticing a few hair missing but then I turned back to his eyes, accepting to sit down. "See, Detective…" I looked around, still seeking the right words. How to explain to a D.I. that a dead man had actually texted me? I sighed, not able to pick the exact words to begin my sentence with. I just extended my phone to him. Lestrade took it and frowned as his eyes gazed on the screen. "You can't be serious, Watson." Greg's expression had turned into a frown as soon as the phone vibrated again. "Hello Lestrade. Long time no see. Ps: grow your hair back. SH." I let out a small grin. Now he had the proof I wasn't lying. "See? That's the third." Lestrade sighed in defeat and handed the phone to Donovan. "Let Anderson track the number down." Sally glared at Lestrade, "You gotta be kidding me, Greg." Her statement received a disappointed frown in reply. "I'm not kidding, Sergeant Donovan. Let. Anderson. Track. The. Number." Lestrade said, spelling each word as if he were talking to Sally through a glass. Sergeant Donovan nodded and left the room, directing herself in the lab. While I was waiting for the bloody phone on Lestrade's desk to ring, the minutes were like hours. "Do you want a cup of tea while waiting, John?" I nodded "Yes. Yes please." Lestrade approached the tea machine and brew two teas. He then added some sugar and handed one cup to me. "Cheers." I smiled a little and took a sip. "Seen the cup where I put your tea in?" Greg pointed out. "What about it?" I frowned, focusing on the cup. "Funny, Lestrade. Really funny." Greg giggled. The cup read "I'm just a high functioning sociopath." I put the cup down. Drinking from it was now discomforting. "world won't stop producing those little cute gadgets since… you know. He fell." "Yeah. Right." I cleared my throat. A sudden ring coming from Lestrade's desk phone interrupted the conversation. "Lestrade." Said, picking up the receiver, he nodded as the person spoke. "Right. Thanks." He then added and put his receiver back in place. "It was Anderson." - "and?" – "and he tracked the number down and located it in Baker Street." My eyes went wide as he pronounced those last two words. "Baker Street." I repeated to myself, almost unbelieving it. "Baker Street… he's in Baker Street." Lestrade rolled his eyes "He or someone's playing up with you. Someone who knows your weak spot, John." I stood up, shaking my head. "Mrs Hudson wouldn't let anyone it but me or Sherlock. So either she's learnt to text in the 'Sherlock way' – I said gesturing speech comas with my hands – "or Sherlock is in that flat. How? Don't ask me. I know what you're thinking, Lestrade. Go and laugh about it with Sergeant Donovan. With all due respect, Detective Inspector Lestrade, I'm seriously willing to go at Baker Street and you are not going to stop me." I nodded and left the building. I didn't know exactly what to feel. I called myself a taxi. The rain had stopped. "Baker Street, please." I commanded. He left and drove up to my destination. "Here is fine." I said, handing some pounds. "Thanks" we both said and I got off, walking to the 221B as my legs were shaking. I knocked. Mrs. Hudson opened the door and welcomed me with an hug. "It's been a long time!" I smiled at her actions. "Yes. I know. Didn't want to come back for some reasons." She nodded. "The things are still there. No-one had touched them since. I'm just a landlady. Not a housekeeper." I nodded smiling "Yes. I do remember. May I? I think I had forgotten something." "Sure! Make yourself at home. After all, this is still your home." I nodded, walking upstairs. Before knocking, I made sure Mrs. Hudson was already back in her apartment. I knocked and waited. I knocked again and waited some more. Then I pushed the door and realized it was open. I pushed it some more studying my surroundings. That place, of course, was bringing memories back. My eyes then fixed on the couch. What I was staring at, was a back of an head. "Excuse me." I cleared my throat and the man on the couch turned his head.