AUTHORS NOTES: Looks like I lied and actually finished this chapter a day ahead of schedule. Don't know if I'll be able to keep up this kind of momentum, but here's hoping. I apologize for some of the names being blank on the last chapters. For some reason, Fanfiction doesn't like when you don't place a space between Mr./Mrs./Miss and a persons last name. I also added just a tiny thing to the summary cause...well, that's what it will become eventually. As always, if you could please give me a review on this story, I would be greatly appreciative. Thanks for reading!

Summary: After The Fall, John seemingly disappears without a trace only to be found three years later. Sherlock knows the capabilities of the mind better than any man, but can he save a man from his own mind? Sherlock/John

Triggers

Chapter 2

The silence after the statement seemed to last forever. The spectacle doctors' face had twisted into an expression of anger and he clenched his hand into a tight fist along his side.

"You have 2 minutes before I turn off the loop on your brothers surveillance. I'd suggest running."

With this the man angrily placed the the receiver on the hook, quickly put the covers back on John and made his way towards the door. Molly followed after.

And with that the two walked out the exit, passing by two homeless individuals being driven apart by angry police officers. Molly let out a sigh.

"You did fine." the man next to her said. She smiled at his comment, but he didn't pay it any mind. "Go to the coffee shop. if anyone asks, tell them that you checked in on John and went out to lunch after. If they ask about me, which I doubt they will, tell them I received a call and departed before entering Johns room. Do you understand?"

"Yes...Yes, I got it."

The man hurried his pace and left Molly to go to the coffee shop alone, worry plastered across her face. The man had a similar look at times, but it was covered with extreme anger. He couldn't risk being exposed, not just yet, not when he was so close. The man on the other end of the phone; he had a clue about who he was. He had been following his trail for some time. This man hands were not nearly so clean as Moriarty's had been. In fact, he was fairly certain this man WAS Moriarty's hands.

After the shooting incident at the hospital, which happened between two homeless men and both had fled the scene before the cop cars could arrive, the days were quiet at St. Barts.

Two weeks later, on a very normal day, the P.A system sprung to life as the nearby church bells sounded the time as 3:15pm.

"Miss Pink, you have a call at the front desk. Miss Pink, you have a call at the front desk."

The phone beside his bed rang as Johns eyes, for the first time in many weeks, opened lazily.

Without a word, he rose himself into a sitting position and took the phone off it's receiver. John said nothing, but a voice rang from the other end of the line.

"Lazybones, sleepin' in the sun. How you 'spect to get your day's work done? You can't get your day's work done. Sleepin' in the noon day sun..."

5:15pm

"Where the hell did you say he was?!" Lestrade barked into his phone as he was pulling into the parking lot of St. Bart's. He rushed into a parking space and threw the door open, walking hastily to the door.

"No need for tones, Lestrade." Mycroft said pointedly from the other end of the receiver. "I thought my text was clear enough."

"John awoke. Found on St. Bart roof. Do come when you have a moment. Is not NEARLY enough information!"

"But it did answer your question." Lestrade could practically taste the smugness

"You want to be cute? Fine, I'll be cute too. WHY was he on the roof? After the gun incident, you had some of YOUR guys on guard duty and he ends up on the roof!?"

"Are you close?" Mycroft ask in a placid tone.

"I'm walking in the door now." he walked through and made his way to the elevator.

"Then I'll tell you when you arrive." there was a click and the line went dead.

Lestrade angrily shoved the phone back into his pocket as he stepped into he elevator and made his way up. Once the elevator door opened to his floor, he flew out and made his way through the halls, trying his best to not push any one out of the way as he walked. It had been weeks since John had been brought in, years since they had last spoken. Questions flooded him and then one very important question popped into his mind, had anyone called Mrs. Hudson? She would probably become hysterically angry if she wasn't informed as soon as possible.

As he thought about calling her and then a cab to pick her up, he arrived the door. He took a deep breathe and entered.

"John please..."

"I don't...I just can't believe you."

Lestrade came into the room and saw Mycroft standing next to John. Lestrade felt his shoulders give just a bit. It had been three years of worrying. Three years of assuming the worst. Three years of regretting for not doing more for John when he needed a friend the most. Then renewed hope after John had been found, only to be met with dred as John had fallen into a comatose like state. Now sitting in the bed, looking as alive as ever, John was speaking with Mycroft, looking as annoyed as he always did when speaking with the elder Holmes. He couldn't save Sherlock, but John was here, alive, and Lestrade couldn't help but feel he was being giving a second chance to be a better friend.

Just as he felt himself start to get a bit misty eyed, John turned to him.

"Evening Greg." John said with a smile, like no time at all had passed since they had last clapped eyes with each other.

Lestrades smile was big and genuine as he walked across the room and grabbed his hand, shaking it hard as he used his other hand to pat the same arm he grabbed "Good to have you back, John"

John tilted his head the way he always did before he was going to ask a question. "Back?"

"John please you've been..."

"Mycroft, this isn't funny anymore. Just tell me what's going on."

"Oh for Gods sake, where is a newspaper when I need one!" Mycroft cried with a roll of his eyes

Lestrade held up his hands "Whoah! Whoah! What's the matter?"

"Go on, John, tell him. Better yet, tell him how long Sherlock has been dead."

"Mycroft, what the hell?" Lestrade surprised by the curt way the oldest Holmes spoke "He just woke up!"

Mycroft tried go be gentle "You're in shock, John. You've experienced trauma and..."

"And three years of my life just up and vanished?! Is that what your trying to say?!"

Lestrade felt his mouth open, but when Johns words fully registered in his mind, he paused, his mouth hanging open for a moment. He closed his mouth and turned his head to John, giving him his fully attention.

"John...how long do you think you were out?"

John looked at Lestrade now. Look through his eyes searching for the answer. When nothing gave way in his eyes. Johns expression dropped and his voice grew still, the next words sounding very scared.

"Greg...you saw me last night, remember? We went to the pub. You showed me that video of Sherlock after Irene had drugged him. We shared old war and cop stories...right Greg?"

2 Hours Earlier

He hated wearing the shades. The hat wasn't nearly so bad, but the shades made it difficult to take in all the sites around him which made it hard to recall perfectly all the information he was gathering with his eyes.

He sat at a tiny coffee shop a few blocks from St. Bart's. He had grown bored of waiting for another message from the Russian accented smoker and had decided to do some recon work. A nearby church bell rang, sounding off that it was 3:15. People were, for the most part, at their day jobs, but the streets were still fairly crowded and he sat, sipping on his coffee, planning his next move.

Not too long after the bells chimmed, his phone rang.

He looked at the phone. The number read as Unlisted.

Very, very few had this number. Even fewer dared to actually call. None of them were Unlisted.

He picked up call and placed the phone next to his ear, speaking not a word.

"You've been hovering." Same man as before. Choice of words meant to sound as if irritated, tone suggest otherwise. Voice slightly echoed. Inside a building with high ceilings.

"Hello again" he spoke quickly and in a soft voice.

"You've been hovering, but I really don't mind." the man ignored his false pleasantries and continued on. "In fact, I have something to show you. Make your way to St. Bart's."

"And if I refuse?" the man dared to question

"Then I kill John from 200 yards away and you never know how I did it."

He quickly placed money down on the table and began walking. He began to calculate as he walked. 200 yards away, high ceilings, what was the wind velocity for today? Sun is currently slightly past the mid way point, meaning no glare on certain buildings. Where was Johns room located? Using this information he could deduce that a sniper could be set up to shot at...

"Did I say yards?" the voice on the phone broke through his thoughts "I meant miles."

"So you have someone to do the job for you then?" the man rounded a corner and St. Bart's came into view.

"Don't need...well, that would be spoiling things. Ah, there you are." the man looked around for any indication that he was being watched, but then pressed his voice to his ear when he heard a little click. He had been muted. A few seconds later, the voice returned.

"Someone else is about to make your famous fall."

The man then knew exactly where to look though the terror in his heart had pleaded against it, fearing what he might see. He turned his head quickly and looked, his eyes confirming what his heart didn't want to see.

John looked so calmed standing on the edge of the roof of St. Barts.

The voice on the other end of the line sounded like it was dripping in sadistic delight. "Feels a little like a role reversal, doesn't it?"

AUTHORS NOTES: I promise I'll try to make these chapters longer in the future. For now, this just felt like a great place to cap it. Thanks for reading and please consider reviewing!