On a random note, I met Chris Colfer last night and he is SO ADORABLE. And SO INCREDIBLY SWEET. So far, I'm a little more than halfway through his book, The Land Of Stories: A Wishing Spell, and I love it.

And now...some replies to these two lovely reviewers:

Kuon: I couldn't decide if Mycroft actually wanted Melissa to look into Sherlock's death...or if he was sending her a warning that Sherlock is still alive. I lean more towards the latter based on what Sherlock says to her in this chapter, but it's really up to you!

AsgardianTank59: Thanks so much!

Anyway...back to the story!

Chapter 6: The Return

Six months later.

After an uneventful day at Scotland Yard, Melissa lounged on the couch in front of the fireplace in her flat. She had put on a pair of black leggings and an oversized purple sweater as well as a fluffy purple throw blanket, but she was still freezing. She looked out the window at the ominous black clouds that were preparing for an imminent downpour.

Though it was beginning to get dark, especially with the storm closing in, Melissa decided not to turn on any lights. The light from the fireplace cast eerie yet beautiful shadows all around the room. She couldn't imagine a better way to spend a rainy afternoon in London.

Expect it was on days like these that her guilt began to eat away at her.

At the moment, she was reliving the moments of that fateful night over and over again in her mind. She looked down and saw that her hands were shaking. Was she just cold…or was she feeling especially guilt-ridden?

Her phone vibrated and she reached out. It was John.

"Mind if I stop by?" the text read.

"Not at all," Melissa typed back. A few moments later, her doorbell rang. She stood and answered the door.

"Come on in," she said, walking back towards the living room. She sat on the couch again and wrapped herself in the blanket once more.

John sat on the couch next to her. They sat for a few minutes in silence, just staring at the flames leaping within the fireplace. Melissa had always found fire to be utterly entrancing. So beautiful, yet so dangerous.

John glanced at Melissa then looked back at the fire. As he watched the flames dance, he said quietly, "I don't believe that Sherlock ever told me a lie."

Melissa tore her eyes away from the dancing orange tendrils to gaze at John. She was surprised. Though they had been friendly for at least six months, neither he nor Melissa had ever brought Sherlock up.

"I don't think he lied, either," she whispered back.

Melissa suddenly began to feel uncomfortable as she realized just how close John was to her.

John began leaning towards her, and all he could think was that she was so similar to Sherlock. Maybe that was why he felt strangely attracted to her.

Melissa raised a hand and placed it on his chest, stopping his lips a mere centimeter away from her own. "I can't," she said, with a conflicted look on her face. Part of her seemed to be upset, but there was another look he couldn't quite place.

A knock sounded at her door, making both of them jump. Melissa sprang up, draping her blanket over the couch. She approached her door and looked through her peephole.

Melissa felt her jaw drop. She pulled the door open, too shocked to say anything. There, standing in Melissa's doorway, was Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock walked swiftly past her, into the living room. She heard Sherlock say, "Hello, John," followed by a gasp from John. Melissa still stood in the doorway, unsure of what she had just witnessed.

"Are you planning to join us or will you just stand there gawking at an open door?" Sherlock's voice sounded from the living room. Melissa closed her mouth and shut her door. She then walked slowly to the living room, trying to decide if she were dreaming. She arrived in her living room only to see John standing with his mouth gaping and a finger pointed at Sherlock. John was as shocked as she was to see Sherlock.

Sherlock, Melissa, and John continued to stare at each other for another seconds, before Sherlock glanced at Melissa, saying, "This doesn't come as a surprise to you." It wasn't a question.

Melissa was taken aback.

"I am surprised to see you," Melissa said slowly. "Why would you think that I wouldn't be?"

Sherlock turned to fully face Melissa then, taking in her still shocked expression. He frowned.

"You shouldn't be surprised though," he said as if it was the most obvious thing on the planet.

"And why not?"

"Do you observe nothing?" Sherlock said, taking a step towards her. Melissa's face changed from shock to something closer to anger.

"I do observe things," Melissa replied indignantly. "But what on earth are you going on about?"

Sherlock opened his mouth to respond, but John interrupted, "What the hell?" He no longer looked shocked, but he too looked angry. "You were alive this whole time. And yet you made no contact with me? Do you know how hard it's been coming to terms with what I thought was my best friend's death? Or do I not matter at all to you?"

Sherlock's face had fallen. "I was only trying to protect you, John," he reasoned quietly.

Melissa felt as though she were intruding on a private moment.

But John wasn't finished. "Do you know how impossible it is to carry on with daily life? I can't go for five minutes without you crossing my mind! No matter what I do, you're always there, haunting me. I can't get over you just like that, Sherlock. I cared about you. That's what friends do. They care about each other. They don't lie to each other."

Melissa felt even more awkward about witnessing this personal exchange. John was sounding as though Sherlock had broken his heart.

Sherlock looked away from John. "You wouldn't understand."

"Well maybe if you took the time to explain it to me rather than treating me like someone you don't even know, I would understand," John countered angrily.

"That's what I'm tryingto do, John," Sherlock said, looking directly at John.

"Oh," John replied and sat down on the couch.

"As I already told you, I was trying to protect you," Sherlock began. "Moriarty had three snipers. One was to shoot you if Moriarty's men didn't see me jump. The other two were to shoot Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade. I believed that I could get Moriarty to call the whole thing off. But then Moriarty shot himself. I had no choice but to jump."

A silence ensued.

"Then how are you here?" John finally managed.

"I had an idea as to what Moriarty was planning and I enlisted the help of Molly. She helped me –"

"Molly knew about this?" John cried incredulously. "You told her but not me?"

"I knew that Moriarty would have you watched as you were my best friend. Molly, on the other hand, was a girl who I had never paid much attention to. But what Moriarty didn't know was just how much I trusted Molly. How much she does matter to me." John looked away.

"I counted on the fact that he would underestimate my relationship with Molly." Melissa was slightly confused. Who was Molly? And just what sort of relationship was she having with Sherlock?

"Anyway," Sherlock continued, "Molly and I arranged for a truck to be placed just under the point where I would jump. It was packed with mattresses in order to cushion my fall. I entrusted members of the homeless network to place the body that Molly had provided from the morgue in the correct spot. That was why I needed you to stand behind the building. So you wouldn't see what had actually happened. Then a man on a bicycle rammed into you, as planned. I trusted that the shock of seeing your best friend kill himself after admitting that his entire life was a lie then being knocked to the ground would render you incapable of being able to properly identify the body. While the body did in fact resemble myself, even you would've been able to tell the difference had you not been rendered somewhat confused."

Melissa glanced at John, who made a face at Sherlock's insult.

"Didn't you find it odd that people rushed out of the hospital and gathered from all directions to bring the body inside the hospital?" Sherlock asked excitedly. "All of the people milling around were part of the homeless network. They were all informed of what to do. You couldn't be allowed to study the body. You had to feel the pulse to make sure that I was truly dead, but that was all. You couldn't know that I was alive until I was positive that the sniper was no longer watching you. I also needed to know that Moriarty was truly dead."

Melissa blinked. Wait. Moriarty…dead?

"Why do keep saying that Moriarty's dead?" John asked, confused.

"I watched him shoot himself. The body was on the roof when I jumped," Sherlock said.

"Sherlock," John replied slowly. "No body was ever found. The police inspected every inch of that roof. There was no trace of anything up there."

Sherlock frowned and his brow creased. "But he was dead. He opened his mouth, inserted the gun, and pulled the trigger. I watched the blood seep around his head before I jum –" He stopped abruptly. "Oh. How clever."

He looked at John as though he were supposed to understand exactly what Sherlock was talking about.

"Care to explain? Because even though you seem to think everything is utterly obvious, it isn't," John said, clearly annoyed.

But it wasn't Sherlock who answered.

"He faked his death," Melissa elucidated. "Just like you faked yours."

"But how?" Sherlock complained. "How could the police not find any sign of the blood that was there?"

"He's clever," Melissa responded. "More clever than you or I, apparently."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that he's more clever than I am," Sherlock countered. Melissa raised an eyebrow at the insult.

"Modest, aren't we?" Melissa replied, sarcasm dripping from her words.

"Sherlock's never been one for modesty," John interceded quickly.

"So I've heard," she answered. After a moment she inquired, "Why are you here anyway?"

"It looked as though you needed help with the case," Sherlock revealed.

"So you come back to solve a case with her," John retorted incredulously, "but not to tell me that you're alive?"

"Well I believe the expression is to kill two birds with one stone, as it were," Sherlock said. "And the two of you seemed to be getting pretty close, so I figured I'd say hello."

John shifted on the couch. Melissa glanced awkwardly around the room.

"Well I think that's enough for one night," Sherlock said breezily. He walked towards the door and John stood to follow him.

"Where are you staying anyway?"

"Molly's flat," Sherlock stated, as though it were as common as knowing that the planets revolve around the sun. And with that, he swept out, leaving Melissa and John staring at one another, trying to process what had just happened.

Sherlock's Return! I just wanted to say that Sherlock's explanation is my own theory of what might have happened. I hope you guys liked it!

Also, I felt that I had to include John making a move, solely because he always hits on the ladies. Plus, it kind of just happened as I wrote it. Then I decided I liked it because Sherlock's jealous that Melissa is getting close to his man.

Please review! :)