Victor is pouting, his discontentment permeating the air from the dark corner of the room. Sherlock can feel the uneasiness the moment he strides into his room.

"Problem?" Sherlock asks, as he quietly shuts the door to his room. Victor emerges into the dimmed light and Sherlock can now see the worried lines painted across his face.

"Who is he?"

"No one."

"Are you sure? Because I'm almost positive I haven't seen you this happy since the last time you got high."

Sherlock ignores the comment, slowly undressing for bed, the exhaustion from the day washing over him. "Worried you're being replaced?"

"He killed a man for you, Sherlock."

"Comparing your shared successes with John, already? That's low, even for you."

Victor runs a hand through his hair in frustration, glaring at him.

"I just met him, Vic. He's my flatmate. A necessity. That's all."

"You're lying."

Sherlock rolls his eyes, throwing himself down onto the bed. For next couple of minutes, the room in silent and Sherlock can feel the tension between them. He pushes himself up on his elbows and smile at Victor, "Coming?"

Victor sighs, glaring at Sherlock as he acquiesces. They lay face to face, each man not sure what to say.

"He's a good man," Sherlock finally says quietly.

Victor ignores his comment. "I wish I could feel you," he whispers, placing a pale hand against Sherlock's chest.

"I know."

"That would have been the part where you said, 'me too.'"

"Mm." Sherlock lets his eyes slide shut, swearing he can feel Victor's smile against his skin.

Victor had appeared in Sherlock's bedroom two days after he died.

There were no feelings of fear, just surprise and gratefulness. Both had thought they would never see each other again. Of course, that's what happens after one dies. It was...interesting. Almost felt like another case to be solved. But for whatever reason Victor was here, Sherlock did not want to solve this mystery. He wanted it to last.

Sherlock was close to tears as Victor strode towards him lifting his hand to place it against Sherlock's cheek.

He didn't feel a thing. No pressure, no soft and warm hand. There was only a small gust of cold air that brushed against his cheek. It wasn't fair. Victor appeared to be a solid, living human being, but neither could feel the other and Sherlock wanted to scream in frustration.

"Am I going insane?" Sherlock whispered, afraid that if he spoke too loudly, Victor would dissipate into thin air.

"I don't know, Lock," Victor replied, sadness creasing the corners of his eyes. "But I'm so fucking happy to see you again."

"Will you stay?" The back of Sherlock's eyes pricked at the memory of the last time he had seen Victor. At least the wound was missing from his perfect form.

"For as long as I can, love."

Sherlock only sees him at night. When his body is illuminated by the moonlight shining through his bedroom window. Sherlock doesn't ask him what he does during the day and Victor doesn't tell him.

They always sleep together, lying face to face, just like it used to be.

"What does it feel like?" Sherlock had asked on the second day of Victor's return.

"Dying?"

Sherlock had shivered and pushed himself closer to the chilled air in front of him. "No. Now."

"I feel alive." Victor had turned to lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling. "I feel alive," he repeated.

"That doesn't make any sense."

Victor had turned his head and smiled at him. "I'm with you again."

Thank you so much for reading! Comments are always welcome! 3