Alice arrived in England early in the morning, exhausted. She hadn't slept at all during the flight, constantly afraid that someone would be after her. She was only sure that she hadn't been followed when she had disembarked, caught a cab, and found somewhere to stay. It took a while to get there, since she had some errands to run and wanted to shake off anyone tailing her.

There was no way she could go back to Baker Street, not yet. But she went anyway, just to look in the windows and hope that Sherlock was doing alright. It was a calculated risk, knowing that one of them could easily walk outside at any second, that Mr. Chatterjee could stop and say hello to her, or that a client would recognize her on the street. But she went anyway.

From Baker Street, Alice went across town to grab some groceries, and then to one of the many safe houses that had been set up years before. This one wasn't terrible, but it was no hotel room either. She had just set up a sleeping bag in the small facade house when a train went by, shaking its foundations. That was the one thing about the Leinster Gardens hideout - there was no missing the trains. But it was fairly close to Baker Street, and fairly close to Moran, who she would be hunting down that evening. It was a perfect hiding place, except for the trains. But she had dealt with much, much worse in the past, when she had been working for Moriarty. She and her fellow agents had made campsites in the jungles of South and Central America, holed up with ten people to a room in old, crumbling hotels in North Africa, and camped on the moors of rural England. They'd slept through gunfire, sandstorms, and more bugs than they could count. Leinster Gardens was paradise compared to some of the places that she had stayed with the team.

Sherlock hated waiting. It would always annoy him when it was the enemy's turn to make a move, and waiting for Alice to make a reappearance was no different. He hated being told to wait. So he had cleaned up the flat, started running a new experiment, and had picked Rosie up from Mrs. Hudson. They'd taken Chester for a walk and watched the ducks down at the park, and were sitting on the living room floor, building a very elaborate fort out of chairs and cushions when John got home from work. He smiled, looking to where Rosie was stacking pillows in the fort. "Afternoon, Your Majesty," he nodded to his daughter. "You look like you've been productive, Sherlock."

"Alice has been on the move. She's alive, and she's coming back," he told John. "She's in London now, waiting for the right moment to come back, I can tell. She's got business to take care of with Moran. Only a few days, I'm sure."

"You're sure?" John asked, scooping Rosie up in his arms. He tried not to say too much in front of her, since she had already been asking questions about where Aunt Alice was and why she was gone for so long. The hadn't told her that Alice had died, but their explanations were wearing thin.

Sherlock nodded. "She'll be back. I have to believe it."

"Is Auntie Alice coming home?" the two-year old was incredibly well-spoken, probably because she spent much of her time with Molly, John, Mrs. Hudson, and Sherlock.

"Yes," Sherlock told her, adjusting the crown on her head. "She will be."

"Soon?"

"I hope." Sherlock turned away for a moment, ostensibly to pick up a few things that Rosie had left on the table, but in reality, he didn't feel like making eye contact with John, who had squared his jaw and sighed, thinking that it was an incredibly long shot and that they shouldn't be resting on the hope that she was still alive. There was a chance, but most likely, someone was trying to dupe the great detective. And because of his attachment to her, they were winning.

Sebastian Moran was not exactly surprised when Alice showed up at his house. Admittedly, he was almost pleased. He knew that there was no way he could have kept her in exile for long. She was always one of the strongest, smartest agents. She would have figured out a way to get back to England no matter where he sent her. So when he found her sitting on his sofa, having a glass of wine and a snack, he poured himself one and sat down across from her. "Nicely done with the improvised bomb."

"Thanks," she smiled. "It was getting boring, and I had an idea. So I came back to tell you."

"Go on, then."

"He's already ruined, right? Now's when we lead him out and kill him. Make it look like a suicide in a foolproof way. Seb, we'll do it together. What Jim never could. We're going to kill Sherlock Holmes."

Moran thought this over, swirling the wine in his glass, a 1960 Burgundy that cost over 500 Pounds per bottle. He'd picked it up from a French ambassador who he had been helping. Some papers crucial to his impending indictment disappeared, and a crate of the rare wine had arrived on Moran's doorstep the next day. "Very well. How are you going to do it?"

Alice smiled malevolently. "The last time he 'died', he jumped off of a roof. That means if he were to do it again, wouldn't he pick a tall place? Combined with a dislike for deep water, and we've got one of the most public places in London. Conveniently located, ready-made for a murder. And it'll be hard to find the body."

"And in the meantime?"

"I'm hiding out somewhere."

"You're more than welcome to stay here."

"I'll move in tomorrow night, then. I've already got everything set up to camp out, and I'm not about to go back there and then turn right back around and haul everything tonight. I'm going to go sleep off some jet lag," she told him. Of course, this was nothing near what she would actually be doing.

Sherlock was sitting up in his room, reading a book about tensile strength of different fibers and how they varied in fires, when he heard a noise. Something was at the window. He stood, looking out curiously as the window opened and a mass of red hair started climbing through it. Alice jumped into the room, landing on her feet. As she brushed her hair out of her face, she smiled, saying, "It's a bit cheesy, but I guess I'm breaking in to see you."

Sherlock just stared as she set her bag down. "I was right…"

"Yep. Long story short, not dead," she shrugged.

Sherlock said nothing, striding over and hugging her tightly. "I knew it. I knew it all didn't add up." Alice reached up and kissed him. "I've missed this."

"I've missed you," she replied, burying her face in his shoulder. "I've been out of the country for a bit."

"Samarra? Judging by the sand that's still embedded in your shoes and the strange pattern of sunburns you have. And I assume the rest of the group you were with unfortunately couldn't make it back to England."

"Samarra. But I was the one who was following Moran's people there. Needless to say, you're right. They didn't leave the city with me." She let him go, promising, "I'll tell you everything, but I need a real shower and something to eat. Have you got any leftovers or something?"

"Of course. I'll make tea too."

"Sherlock," Alice caught him before he walked into the kitchen, "try to be quiet. I wouldn't want to wake Rosie up, and I don't think the middle of the night is a good time to tell John or Mrs. Hudson that I'm alive."

Nice and clean, Alice sat on the bed, drinking a cup of tea and eating the leftover Chinese food Sherlock had reheated while she was in the shower. Sherlock sat across from her, since he wouldn't let go of her hand. "I'm going to have to go back to the safe house and pick things up tomorrow, and from there, I'm going to stay with Moran. I'll sneak out to see you every night, if I can. But he's got to trust me, if we want to get to him. First, though, he wants you dead. We can pull it off and then take care of him. He won't suspect you if he thinks you're dead."

"What is he planning?"

"You're not supposed to know I'm alive right now, you see. But he's going to have me lure you out and finish you off. It's the perfect test of loyalty for me and the perfect chance for him to see you dead." Alice outlined the plan she and Moran had come up with, and then detailed how they could pull it off without really killing him. "We're going to need some of the Homeless Network's help, and you're going to have to be careful when we do this. But if you can make it off of a building, you can do this. If we really have to, we can use Mycroft's help too, but I think we can pull it off without him."

Sherlock nodded, noticing how her hair curled a bit as it dried. He had been paying attention, yes, but it was so much more important that she was back, at least in the moment. Faking another death wouldn't be too difficult, so thinking about it could be put off for another time. He reached over, setting their dishes on the bedside table before pulling Alice into his arms. They fell down onto the bed together, Sherlock refusing to let her go. "Please don't ever… leave like that again."

Running a hand up his left arm, she felt the crook of his elbow, confirming her suspicions. Fresh wound. Add that to the needle she'd found in the bathroom trash and… "Babe, while I was gone, did you-"

"Yes," he admitted, burying his face in her hair. It smelled fresh and kind of like strawberries, like he always remembered. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I couldn't take it, and I know I shouldn't have, but I had to. I thought you were dead, and I couldn't work. After you had died, I lost all of my motivation… the cases didn't seem to matter any more. They were interesting, sure, but they were only momentary distractions from the pain, from trying to find you, from believing that you were out there somewhere. I had to do something to stop all of the noise." He cleared his throat, saying, "I'm sorry. I really shouldn't bother you with-"

"No, it's okay. Let them think whatever they want about you. I'm here, and if you want to talk about it, you can. I'll listen," she promised, running a hand through his hair. "If you don't want to, that's okay too. But I'm here, no matter what."

"Not now," Sherlock told her, reaching over to turn out the lights. "I just want to hold onto you for now." After a moment, he added, "Tell me if you're ever going to fake your death again, alright? I don't care if I'm not supposed to know. You know I can act in front of people. I just don't want to have to think you're actually gone, not when I'm lying here at night. It's not pretty."

"Okay," she promised. "Same to you."

"Deal," Sherlock smiled, giving her a kiss. "Deal."


A.N.: Aww, how sweet. Too bad things won't stay nice and lovely for the Baker Street gang. As always, thanks for all of your reviews! They're wonderful and I appreciate the feedback so much.