I'm so so sorry the it's taken me so long to publish new chapters. I hope chapter 5 (possibly 6) will come more quickly than this one. Enjoy and make sure to leave comments if you have anything to say on the matter! :) Constructive criticism and/or positive comments are much appreciated.

Sherlock

That felt good. I was always a fan of dramatic exits. As my friend had coined the night of his wedding, I am in fact, a drama queen.

You won't get me to repeat that.

So where did that lead us? I suppose now all I could do was wait, and find out what Mary was hiding so desperately that she thought it was necessary to silence me. Magnussen. It all led back to him. So I suppose that was where I would start.

Mary

Both of you. A collective you. Two of you. As in myself and John. Not just John.

He's scared of losing...me?

Did he expect me to be touched? In a way I suppose I was. After everything that had happened, I guess I'd never expected to be someone he was scared to lose, after he had already lost so much, thanks to me. Lost his life, mostly.

John wasn't my fault though. He closed that door when he jumped off that building. He's lucky John was still alive by the time he'd come back. And I know he partially blames me for this different relationship with his best friend. But I know John Watson is not on me.

John

"Mary?" I asked, somewhat wearily after a busy, monotonous day at work, "What the bloody hell is on the car window?" She sounded confused as she called down the stairs.

"What?"

"Someone traced Redbeard into the fog on my back window. Is that some kind of code threat or something?"

"How am I supposed to know? You're the army man, aren't you?" I shrugged, not really knowing what to expect. I figured I may as well ask. It's not like I have a super sleuth friend who could have figured out the age, sex, and intent of the person who traced it. Well, not anymore. There was a pregnant pause before she added in a lower voice, "Kids…"

I set up my laptop and pulled up my blog, as was my habit, until I realized it didn't do anything for me anymore. I couldn't solve a case. Save a man, sure, but not solve a crime. I gave a small smile to myself, remembering Sherlock's best man speech. That was the closest he'd ever gotten to being sweet. On purpose. God, was that a good day. Perfect, even. And now he was gone, left from my life early in the same way he'd left the wedding. I didn't even notice until we started to go home and I couldn't find him. Jeanine had seen him leave and hadn't said a word until later.

My eyes lazily scanned the cases lined up for the dead detective, and then comments with people sending their condolences towards the bottom of the page.

Sorry to hear about Sherlock, mate. You don't reckon he's coming back again, do you?

We're so sorry, John!

Get the bugger who took him out, John, he didn't deserve that.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and closed the page. I don't need the blog anymore. There's no point, is there? Not anymore. I felt tears rise to my eyes again and cursed in a low voice, "Dammit!"

I jumped when I felt Mary wrap her arms under my shoulders, then melted into her. She hugged me tightly, nuzzling into the top of my head. I turned slightly and buried my head into her shirt. Thank God for Mary.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, kissing the top of my head, "John, I'm so sorry."

"No, not your fault," I said just as softly, "Not your fault." She leaned over and kissed my cheek, before straightening up and saying practically,

"I'll go make dinner. Or we can go out if you like." But we both knew neither of us were in the mood to go out tonight.

"Just warm up the chicken from last night. I'm fine," I said firmly, clearing my throat.

"Okay," she said, in an attempt to be cheerful, before shuffling out into the kitchen. After she was gone, I glanced over my shoulder, shaking myself mentally. I know I was being silly, but I had to find out what this was. Sherlock would. I typed 'Red beard' into the search bar to see what this was all about.

I heard a bump come from the bathroom and a loud swear from Mary, and I smirked slightly in amusement and called,

"Mary, you alright?"

"Yeah," she said in a somewhat shaky voice, "Fine."

"Sure?"

"Yup."

All my search turned up was a pirate, a Japanese film, and computer games. I rubbed my eyes and closed the tab. What did it mean? Was it an anagram?

Bredared

Debarred

No. That wasn't right. Next tactic.

Think John. "Shut up." What does it mean? "I said shut up." THINK "Shut UP!" I yelled, standing and slamming my hand on the desk.

"John?" came a small voice behind me. I turned, still glaring, to see Mary standing there holding my dinner in one hand and a glass of water in another, looking like a deer in the headlights.

"I-Sorry. I was just...frustrated." She seemed to have recovered and raised an eyebrow, setting the plate and glass gently down.

"You're working too hard," she said gently. She reached over me and shut my laptop.

"Come eat with me," she asked softly, "Come on, we should talk. I feel like I haven't seen you all week." I nodded slowly, swallowing before saying,

"Just, hang on...I need to call...Mycroft."

"Mycroft?" Mary asked, looking incredibly surprised, "What for?"

"Question," I said shortly.

"You can call him after dinner. The Queen of England will wait for you."

"What did you say?"

"Queen? England? He's a right diva, John, and you know it." The unspoken words that hung between us were that she'd gotten that opinion straight from Sherlock and she knew it.

"Okay, after dinner," I mumbled. I was starving but would loathe to admit it.

Mary

When John was at the computer, I shuffled into the bathroom to wash my hands, and slammed my knee against the cupboard when I saw the mirror, and I swore loudly. After reassuring John that I was alright, I hissed,

"What the hell are you doing? It would be nice to have a little warning to know when to expect you." Sherlock looked amused, and said nothing at first. And then blurted,

"A. G. R. A." I paled at the initials.

"How do you know that?"

"Interesting name, Mary, truly. But to be completely honest with you, that's all I found out about you."

"How?" I demanded.

"Simple, really."

"Sherlock, I don't have time for this."

"Well, I started with Magnussen, but unfortunately I found out something worse than your identity. So then I went through your belongings and found a flash drive that read A.G.R.A. Guessing your name was easy enough after that. I was hoping to have found out what possible danger you posed, and I still haven't been able to find it. So tell me, Mary, what does he have on you?"

I swallowed, unwanted memories surfacing in my mind as he spoke. "It's none of your business," I whispered.

Sherlock hissed in discontent, "It is my business: it's what I do, and I was shot because of it." His eyes burned through me and for the first time, I was scared of Sherlock Holmes.

"You don't understand, I can't. I left all of that behind me to start a new life, and John was a godsend. And so were you because you made him better. I can't just bring this all up again - I've worked so hard to keep it down. Please don't ask me." I noticed tears had sprung to my eyes, and I impatiently wiped them away. He shook his head, still obviously upset, but less angry.

"So be it." And he disappeared again. I stamped my foot on the ground petulantly.

"Dammit, Sherlock."

John

"Hello, John," came a bored voice at the end of the line.

"Mycroft," I said stiffly. The pause was uncomfortable and I was about to start when Mycroft asked as if he cared,

"How are you and Mary getting on?"

"Fine. I...had a question actually." This was weird. What was I doing again? Before I knew it, I blurted, "Does the name Redbeard mean anything to you?" There was another awkward pause so I rambled quickly trying to regain my dignity, "I know it sounds silly, but I swear I keep seeing it places - I saw it on the window of my car in the fog, thought it was some kid, but maybe it means something…?" Well, now I sound stupid. This was a stupid idea.

"Why do you think it means anything to me?" Mycroft asked, hiding the curiosity in his voice, but not enough. I knew he knew something and that helped me keep my nerve.

"I just...with Sherlock and everything."

"It means nothing to me, John. I've never heard that name in my life." That did it. I knew he was lying - Mycroft was being unhelpful on purpose.

"Please. Don't make me beg. I know you know something, I could hear it. I've heard the name before in reference to Sherlock, and you're his brother." I heard a heavy sigh at the other end and I rolled my eyes. Both Holmes were so melodramatic.

"A dog. Redbeard was just a dog, Sherlock's dog. Our parents had to put the dog down when he was a boy. He never really got over it, though he would be loathe to admit it."

"What? A dog?" I asked, confused. Sherlock had...a pet? And loved it? I felt ashamed that I was so surprised.

"A dog. Is that all you wanted to know?" Mycroft asked, sounding extremely bored.

"Yeah, one more thing. Why would the name of his dog show up on my car window?"

"I don't know, John, figure it out. I don't have time for this." A flare of anger rose up inside of me, just briefly, as I spat,

"He was your brother, Mycroft, yours. When you act like you don't care, I know you're lying. Don't act like you never cared about him because I know you did. You're a lonely man, and lonelier for Sherlock's absence, because I'm absolutely sure that friends aren't exactly your forte, nor were they your brother's, but at least he tried."

"John-" But I'd already hung up. I somewhat regretted hanging up on him, but he deserved it. Prat.

I saw Mary out of the corner of my eye peeking her head through the door.

"What was that all about?" I waved my hand dismissively.

"Nothing. Just a stupid dog. That's all that Redbeard meant. A dog."

"Who's dog?"

"Sherlock's." I breezed past her, not thinking about anything but what the significance of Redbeard really was. Because it had to be more than that.

Sherlock

A stupid dog? Who did he think he was? I crushed my feelings of annoyance to think clearly. What's the next move? Talking to John? No, not yet. I won't pull that card until I have to. That's my last resort.

The danger still comes from Magnussen. Solution? Get rid of Magnussen. But I'm not allowed to hurt anyone. Doesn't matter if that's all I was meant to do here, does it? But I have to keep my vow and stay here. He won't need you after that, will they? But I want to stay…

The battle raged on within my head, bouncing back and forth. I wanted to watch them grow old, even if I couldn't grow old with them. I wanted to watch their legacy grow up. I felt a lump in my throat and let out a frustrated cough. I was dead, how was I on the verge of tears? More importantly, why was I?

Maybe because I never realized how much I wanted to live? To live and watch my friend and his children grow up. Maybe babysit once and a while. That would have been interesting, and I was missing it.

Well now there was nothing to be done. I was dead, that was it. Now I could only do what I could to keep my promise.

Magnussen was the root of the problem - not Mary. I couldn't blame her anymore, how could I? She acted to protect herself and John, not in malice towards me. I was just in the way - it could have been anyone. But that didn't mean I wasn't annoyed.

Travelling as a ghost had gotten easier over the past week and a half. I'd learned mostly by myself, through trial and error. Focus on a place, you could go there. If you couldn't picture it, you couldn't go. Luckily I'd seen Appledore online before, even if I'd never been. And then I'd gone once and discovered Mary's name, and now I'd go again. And this time, I likely wouldn't be leaving.