Sorry this is short... i had to cut it though and this was the best spot! don't hate me! More will be up this week! Thanks again everyone for reading and reviewing!

John Watson blinked his eyes to make sure he wasn't seeing things. Normally they'd always left the flat door unlocked. The front door was always bolted as per Mrs. Hudson's orders but apparently that wasn't safe enough. Someone had obviously gotten in. John paused a long moment to make sure the leg on the floor wasn't moving and to check for the sound of other movement before continuing his assent up the wooden stairs.

John's eyes traveled slowly up from the pants to the finely tailored suit jacket as he took slow meaningful steps up the stairs. Once he reached the landing, his gaze went farther up to the ashen features and finally stopped on the disheveled mop of dark curls scattered about the pale face and dark wood floor.

"Sherlock…" John's voice was just above a whisper as the name slid off his dry tongue with a breath. He could only stand there for a moment, taking in the sight before him… groceries long forgotten on the landing. His friend was lying on the floor, his legs straight but slightly parted, his left arm by his side while his right arm rested limply over his stomach. His head faced straight up, eyes closed, no movement…. Nothing…

So many questions littered John's brain at a speed he couldn't keep up with. He'd just watched Sherlock being lowered into the cold ground almost two hours ago and now he was lying on the floor in their flat, looking nothing more then sleeping deeply.

John lowered himself to his knees along side his still friend. He didn't even remember walking the distance from the door to him. His mind was on overdrive. What was this game? It could only be Moriarty. What other person in Sherlock's past would give him enough of their time and effort after death? Only someone with sick and twisted intentions.

Sherlock was dead. What more could this man possibly get out of digging him up and bringing him back to Baker St.?

John was only a piece in the game… not a player.

John rubbed a hand over his tired face and sat back on his knees. He took in the man lying in front of him. His friend, colleague and flat mate… and for a brief moment Dr. John Watson, Ex-army medic and soldier, had no idea what to do. Life could be absolutely simple. The mission could always be straightforward. And when things get tough or unexpected you relied on your experience and knowledge to decide your next course of action.

But what was he suppose to do about this?

His dead friend, who they'd just buried, was now lying in front of him. How would he explain this? How would he make this better? HOW did Sherlock even GET here?

"Its all so confusing isn't it Dr. Watson?"

John jumped to his feet in surprise, silently berating himself for not noticing someone else in the flat. Some Solider he was.

"Don't be miffed that I snuck up on you Johnny. I'm that good."

"Right…" John watched Jim Moriarty like a hawk as he walked over from the window to the arm of the sofa and perched himself on it. The man was well dressed as usual, showing no sign that he was recently in an explosion. The same maniacal smile from the other night graced his lips. It made John's blood boil. He would make sure he was between him and his friend's body. It's all he could do.

"Well? No thank you?"

"For what…" John couldn't hide his hateful glare. He shouldn't have let his emotions puncture through his composure but… well he just couldn't help it.

"For returning your friend?" The mad man gestured to Sherlock's body.

"You're a sick bastard! All you did was desecrate a grave. You've already won… what more can you do to him now?"

"Oh sooo much more John. So much more… did you look at him John? Did you take a good look?"

John refused to turn away from the psycho in front of him to play into his game. "I looked at him… he's dead because of you. Couldn't you have had some respect for once?"

"Hey now… I didn't shoot the bomb did I? No no nooo… and I respect Sherlock Holmes… I respect what he does. I just don't want him in my business when I don't want him to be. I felt he needed a message that read loud and clear."

"Well I think you were crystal." John's hand swept behind him self to Sherlock.

"Oh my dear Watson. I don't think you understand me. I wonder how Holmes can tolerate your slowness."

John's eyes squinted at him… he didn't know what this psycho was getting at but he was pretty sure he'd lost his patience a long time ago.

"Oh COME ON John! You're a Doctor right? Take a LOOK at him! How long have you believed him to be dead? Four full days? Tell me if you see any signs that prove that fact. Prove to me you're worth keeping around for cryin' out loud!"

John eyed the man suspiciously for a moment while backing up enough to look at Sherlock and keep Moriarty in his side vision. He let his eyes roam over his friend's body. This was a visual test. He couldn't cheat by touching. Mentally he let his education kick in while scanning the body. The arms and legs were loose. Normal after several days. The chest did not move. No intake of breath, no movement from the neck… no pulse. Finally he brought his eyes to Sherlock's face. A pang of grief stabbed him in the heart again but he pushed it aside as best he could and studied the cold pale features below him. After this amount of time the face would sink in. Problem with that though… Sherlock was so thin and his facial features were sharp. He couldn't rely on that. What was he suppose to be seeing?

Then suddenly his eyes widened. He took a step closer to make sure before turning back to Moriarty.

"How?"

Moriarty just grinned and stood from the arm of the chair.

"Damn it! How? HOW?"

"My Darling John… That's for you to find out. I can't give you ALL the answers now can I? What would be the challenge in that? I know this is quite… Shocking… and your heart must be racing… " Moriarty stopped and leaned in with a whisper… "It's the adrenalin you see…"

"You son of a bitch…" John seethed and stepped back away from Moriarty.

"Now now John… be nice… after all I've done!"

"How are you doing this? Why?" John wanted to grab the man by the collar and shake him.

"I can't divulge my secrets my lovely Watson. But wasn't it curious how Juliet pulled it off?

"That was a play! This is real life incase you've noticed! Stuff like that does not exist."

"Doesn't it? Oh John… you see right here that you are wrong. Why waste your breath?

John couldn't understand it. He was a doctor! Sherlock was dead! He'd checked him himself! But… there were talks of certain secretions from amphibians in… NO… no no no… he'd checked! He'd felt for a pulse and there was nothing. They did an autopsy! Again everything was just all wrong!

"I've given you all you need. Well… maybe one more tid bit… you have 24 hours. After that you might want to bury him again. I hear the smell is atrocious."

"Your sick…"

"And your clock is ticking."

John grumbled as he watched Moriarty back up to the door.

"Good luck. Johnny… I'm depending on you… don't disappoint."

And with that, Moriarty slipped out the door with the grace of a cat.

Once John heard the footsteps on the stairs he dropped down to his friend's side.

He couldn't believe it! No way? But he saw it with his own eyes… Evidence that something was still moving around his flat mates body.

A couple of small tiny cuts from the rubble that night and that long red line down the left cheek…. They were HEALING! NOT to mention that Sherlock was beginning to need a shave.

He didn't understand how or even why but at this particular moment he had to concentrate on one thing… what to do about it.

Dead bodies didn't grow hair and they certainly didn't heal! Even though it seemed to be a slow growth it was still something.

The Doctor reached down and picked up Sherlock's limp hand. Suddenly his eyebrows fused together as confusion and a jumbled mess of other feelings flooded him.

The hand was warm.

Fingers felt for a pulse down a bit from the hand he had held. Nothing… Just like before.

But the evidence was right there…

John didn't expect his body's reaction as he gently lifted one of Sherlock's eyelids… and saw something!

"Jesus!" John had jumped to his feet and now hovered over the body in front of him with great interest. He reached for the eyelid again…

And with the lamp from the table above helping along, Sherlock's pupil dilated. Slowly but surely!

John stood up and scratched the short hairs on the back of his neck in thought as he stared downward. "I know he's not dead! Now how do I fix him!" he growled out in frustration and tapped his fingers on his knee as he bent over.

A crash of broken glass behind him and the deep gasp that followed had John cursing severely under his breath as he turned around to the doorway.

"Mrs. Hudson…"

The poor old woman looked passed John at the pale face. The teacup she no doubt brought up to comfort him now lay in pieces at her feet. John rushed the distance to the older woman's side.

"Mrs. Hudson… are you hurt? Did you get burned? Cut?"

She ignored his concerns, still looking at Sherlock around John's shoulder.

"John Watson…" She said breathlessly. "What have you done…"

"What? No… No no Mrs. Hudson I came home to find him here…"

"John this is wrong! What did you do?"

"Mrs. Hudson listen to me… I found him here… He's…"

John stopped talking… not knowing what to continue with. Was he really alive? Should he give this woman hope for nothing if he couldn't figure it out?"

"John… what did you think you could do? Shock him back to life?"

"Mrs. Hudson…." Suddenly John's eyes lit up. Could it be that easy? "Wait… Mrs. Hudson that's it!"

"What? What are you getting at boy?"

"Please do something for me. Go back to your flat and call this number." John reached into his pocket for his cellphone and lunged over for a pen and paper on the lamp table. "Ma'am call this number and tell this man to come here. Just him. That it's important but don't tell him why. Tell him John Watson needs him. He'll come."

Mrs. Hudson was unsure. She looked at John sideways before glancing back over to Sherlock looking uneasy but John knew that she'd do it. The little old lady had a spark to her. She already seemed to be recovering from seeing a presumably dead body in her house.

"Fine…" Stepping over some glass, Mrs. Hudson made her way to the stairs but turned around before she took a step. "John? Fix this…"

"Yes Ma'am…" and John intended to keep his word.

He waited for her door to shut before rushing in the complete opposite direction of Sherlock, up the stairs two at a time to his bedroom… the limp gone and forgotten. He grabbed what he needed, knowing exactly where it was and half slid back down the stairs

John crashed once again to his knees, thinking on a side note that he was going to be pretty bruised before this was over.

He wasted no time with the buttons on the dress shirt and pulled as hard as he could, ignoring the top three buttons that flung themselves about the floor. If he could fix this sick and twisted joke then he'd buy Sherlock another shirt. Right now it was horribly in his way. He placed the shock pads on his friend chest, knowing just where the right place should be…

He couldn't help but notice the happy absence of a Y incision. Maybe James Moriarty WAS that good. He knew Mycroft Holmes had insisted upon an autopsy. After all… he was there.

John was not one to panic in a sticky situation. No… he waited till it was over. But right now his hands shook like he was freezing cold. He'd chalk it up later to excitement and worry… not panic… A trembling index finger hesitated before pressing hard on the button. He waited a moment for the device to charge… the red light turning green as an indication.

This was it…

John took a deep breath and wasted no time roughly pressing the button on the device.

Sherlock's body twitched under the zap. But his eyes remained closed… his chest did not move up and down…

It didn't work.

The doctor's confusion was evident on his face. It should work. Moriarty had all but told him how and why. An electric jolt and then the adrenaline produced should kick start everything back up from its dormant state.

He had to be right!

John hit it again, not caring if it wasn't logical. If he didn't do it now he'd always wonder why he didn't just give it a second chance. At this point it wasn't going to hurt.

And with every fiber of his being… he was glad he did.