Hey guys! Apologies for the length of time between updates - I am a very busy bee. Also, since there were some POV problems in the last two chapters, every time you see a name in bold, that's who's talking in the first person. Enjoy this chapter! Please review if you can. :)

John

I'd fallen asleep where I'd sat down without noticing, until Mary presumably got worried and came downstairs to look for me. I heard her cooing gently to wake me up and help me upstairs. I didn't seem to have any power to move myself at all, and she was struggling to help me.

"John, you're not even trying," she said, attempting to sound mocking but her voice was weak. It was the sound of pity, and I wasn't nearly in the mood to be pitied. But I also wasn't entirely worried about working my own body, so I tried a little harder, but leaned heavily on her the rest of the way.

I went into the bathroom to splash water on my face and snap out of my daze and jumped nearly a foot in the air when I saw a shadow behind me in the mirror. I only caught a glimpse out of the corner of my eye, but I could've sworn he was standing there, his hand outstretched towards the mirror as if he had just been touching it with his finger. And then he was gone, surprised by my appearance and presumably hiding out of my line of view. I turned around, scrutinizing the room, but I saw nothing. I closed my mouth, which I hadn't realized was open. What was he doing here? He wasn't. My imagination. Stupid, really. He was gone for good and there was nothing I could do.

And yet as I searched the mirror for an answer, regardless of a nagging voice in my head telling me I was wasting my time, I could've sworn I saw the outline of a word in the dust.

The day had been too long for my liking. It was time to go back to reality.

Sherlock

Mirrors! He'd seen me, in the mirror! He looked for me. He saw the word, but he didn't understand it. The dust was too thin to read it.

"You can't directly speak to him, Sherlock," said a voice behind me, "It's against the rules." I set my jaw and turned around quickly. Moriarty, or I suppose my mind palace version of him, was standing there, not nearly as insane as last time I'd seen him. He cocked his head to taunt me, to get me to come closer. I walked towards him, as close to him as I could get.

"You don't tell me what to do," I hissed at him, "You're not in charge of me."

"But it's the rules, Sherlock," he whined, "You can't break the rules."

"What happens if I do, then?" I asked curiously, "Whose rules are these anyway?"

Moriarty smiled in his slightly unhinged way. "Don't break the rules, Sherlock, or you'll lose your second chance." I widened my eyes slightly.

"My what?" Moriarty smiled again.

"Your second chance. Don't you know that's why you're here?"

"Well...who gave me a second chance?" Moriarty shrugged.

"Doesn't matter."

I considered for a moment. "What's the point of being here if I can't communicate with him, then?"

Moriarty leaned casually against the bathroom door. "Do you want to know the rules?"

I gritted my teeth again. Rules. What rules could there possibly be? Why do I need them in the first place? "Fine. Tell me."

"We-ell," Moriarty tilted his head to the side a bit, "Rule one, is you can't talk to John directly. Two, you can't hurt anyone. And three, you'll go back to being dead and whatnot once you've fulfilled your vow. No taksie-baksies. No breaking the rules or you go back to being dead before you let John live."

"Stop it," I spit at him, turning my back. If I imagined him going away, he would. He was only in my mind, really.

I heard a low chuckle from behind me. Still there. Concentrate, Sherlock, come on. When I turned back around, all he did was wave and then disappear of his own accord. Trapped inside my own mind where it ran itself. Wonderful.

Can't talk to John, can't hurt Magnussen. So how on earth was I supposed to fulfill my vow?

I always prided myself on my own personal theory about improbability and it is through that that I came to the conclusion that the only way I could help anyone at all was to speak through Mary. Or rather, to Mary. Or at least start with her because she's the only logical person to start with. And she deserves a good telling off.

Mary

It was driving me insane. A whole week had gone by since...Sherlock.

What was I thinking? I shot him, and there were ten other places I could have shot him that wouldn't have killed him. But perhaps not incapacitate either. I'd shot out of fear for several reasons, and I suppose partly to protect myself. But he'd offered to help you. He couldn't help me, not without telling John. But now it was worse - so much worse.

No matter what Magnussen says, I never wanted him dead.

I should tell him, I thought, I should tell John. But how on earth could I tell him that I'd killed his best friend? What good would that do? It would open doors I never wanted open which is why I was at Magnussen's in the first place.

Damn that man. If he and John hadn't been there at all, it would be over by now.

Don't blame him taunted a voice in my head You shot him, if I recall correctly. The voice took that of Magnussen's, messing with my head. It wasn't fair.

John was out at work, after asking about a million times if I'd be alright by myself. I suppose I wasn't as discreet with my discomfort as I thought I was. At least he didn't seem to suspect, or at least not yet. What am I going to do?

I shuffled to the bathroom, still dressed in my bathrobe from this morning, as well as my slippers. I leaned heavily on the bathroom counter, feeling like I was about to be sick, and I knew it wasn't the baby. My breathing was heavy, and my body felt like it was weighed down by lead. I felt lightheaded and dizzy, and then suddenly cold. I looked up into the mirror, trying to pull myself together, but the face I saw was not my own.

"Hello, Mary," drawled the deep, achingly familiar voice. I let out a loud, but short yelp and jumped about a foot backward.

"You're not here. You can't be here, you're dead. How are you here? Oh my God, I'm hallucinating," I said frantically, my shock mingling with the rest of my discomfort.

"You're not hallucinating," he said shortly. I frowned.

"'Course I am," I argued. Arguing with the mirror, apparently. Perfect.

"You're not. I'm basically standing in front of you. Step forward, step back." I did as I was told, finding that when I stepped forward it was ice cold, like I'd been plunged into an ice bath. So I stepped back, and it was back to normal. "Now, you see. I'm here, just invisible to you. Moving on. I-"

"Don't." He looked annoyed that I'd interrupted.

"Don't what?"

"Don't scold me. The past week's been a living hell for me, I don't need you adding on to it." The minute the words left my mouth I regretted them, and wished I could take them back. His face dropped into a cold mask, no longer familiar, as he replied curtly,

"At least your hell has been living, meanwhile, mine isn't even that. I've had the pleasure of spending the past week watching my best friend and his wife break down over little old me and I couldn't do anything to help. And all because of you. So do not assume my suffering has been any less than yours, Mary Watson." He spit the last two words out like they were poison.

"Please," I asked, my voice steady for now, "I never meant for this to happen." He raised his eyebrows, in a comical way if the situation had been funny.

"Oh, so you shot me in a major artery for fun, did you? Right after threatening to kill me? I'd say you did a nice job, really. The one time the liar didn't lie."

"I did what I had to do," I said, attempting to be as cold as he was, "You shouldn't have even been there."

"I wanted to help you," he hissed, narrowing his eyes at me, "I gave you my blessing and I offered to help you and you said no."

"John would know. You would tell him and I didn't want him to know. He can't...he can't know."

He narrowed his eyes again. "Are you a danger to John Watson?" And there we go. The real question. I shook my head no, but he persisted, punctuating every word.

"Are. You. A. Danger. To. John. Watson? Really think about it, you're smarter than you're letting on. I know you are," he added with a sly smirk.

I thought about it and slowly started to nod my head, staring ahead at nothing. I was. I put him in danger by being with him, as long as Magnussen owned me. Sherlock seemed to have come to the same conclusion.

"I don't know what you are, but I can find out easily now that I don't have a body, and I will. But what I know is that as long as you're with John Watson, you put him and your child in terrible, terrible danger. I leave you to make your own conclusions." He'd been leaning close to the mirror, his nose almost touching it on the other side. He leaned back with an air of finality, as if he were about to leave. He turned, and started to dissolve, before I protested,

"Wait!" He turned back to me, his eyes cold, his face annoyed.

"One question: why didn't you just tell John all of this? If you can communicate through mirrors and whatnot, why not just tell John yourself? Why confront me?" His façade faltered for a second, but per usual he brought it back quickly. But I caught it when his walls came tumbling down. I could always see it.

"Because there are rules and I risk losing both of you if I don't follow them."

And with that he whisked away, his black coat flapping behind him as he disappeared.