"Enjoying the view?"

I stood at the window, my hands in my pockets. I smiled softly at his voice. He hung up his coat and scarf before walking up beside me.

"Very much." I glanced at him and then back to the street. My face fell after I thought a moment. "Sherlock, where were you last night?"

"I just had some business to take care of."

"What kind of business?"

"Just some stuff at Bart's. Molly wanted me to have a look at some things."

Molly. He went home with Molly. I pushed my jealousy away. I shouldn't expect him to stay with me all the time. "Oh… I missed you," I mumbled.

He nodded and cleared his throat. "Anything good recently?"

I know he heard me. He always does, but he never says it back. He never says anything.

"Lestrade phoned me the other day. Just a robbery."

"Did you take it?"

I stared at him.

"What?" he asked.

"Why should I?" I shrugged. "It was only a two. A three at most."

"Oh, I see. You're becoming picky like me," he grinned.

I smiled at him before looking back out the window. "Yes. I suppose."

I heard the door and looked over as Lestrade came in. I looked around, looking for Sherlock but he had left.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Murder."

"Not very specific. Sounds rather dull to me," I sighed.

"You'll want it."

"Why?"

"A whole family, three people, dead."

"You can't figure it out yourself?"

He sighed. "Will you come?"

I turned back to the window, thinking.

"Why me?"

I could hear the pain in his voice. "You're the next best thing, John."

"Greg, I'm not him." I turned to face him. "I can't promise I'll be able to help you."

"I understand that."

I looked back out the window and smiled as I thought it could be at least a seven. "Not in a police car. I'll be right behind."

I arrived at a large house just outside the city. I looked around outside as Anderson was complaining about something that would probably lower my IQ if I had bothered to listen.

I went inside and saw three people dead in the living room. Two adults and a child. A man, a woman, and a baby. I walked around the house, trying to see everything. I went back to the man and crouched next to him. He smelled faintly of alcohol but he was shaved, his hair neatly combed and he wore a suit with a red tie. Not a drunk. A politician of sorts. There was a gun in his hand. The woman wore a nice dress and pearls, but she wore little make-up, most of it running down her face, her hair slightly messy. Obviously not working. Not with the baby. The baby…

Not yet a year old. She was wrapped up in a pink blanket, now stained red. It was painful to see, and I'm still not as unfeeling as Sherlock was. I looked back at the woman and hoped, for her sake, she was shot before her child.

"Why are you here anyway?" Anderson's obnoxious voice interrupted my thoughts.

"I was invited."

"Why? We can handle this ourselves."

"Can you?" I tilted my head.

"Yes."

"Then why did Lestrade ask me to come?"

"Excellent question," he said, smiling bitterly.

"Alright then. Explain it to me if you're so clever."

"The man was obviously drunk, perhaps his wife said something that upset him so he killed her and the baby, then himself."

"Brilliant."

"Really?"

"No."

He sighed and stared at me with his wretched eyes. "What happened then, Mr. Holmes?"

It hurt. Badly. Like a knife in my chest being twisted and pushed deeper. I had no idea people could be such heartless bastards. "Why don't you get a ballistics report, you arrogant cock. Or maybe open your eyes and look around a bit." I shoved past him and stormed outside to get a cab back home.

I sat in my chair watching telly when Sherlock came in and scoffed as he hung up his coat.

"Problem?"

"What are you watching?

I reached for the remote and clicked it off. "Nothing of importance."

"Hmph…" He sat in his chair across from me and stared. "So… anything new?"

"Yeah, actually. It was around a seven but I think it may have gone up to an eight. Maybe."

He perked up and leaned forward. "Oh, do tell."

I told him everything I saw and everything I made of it. I told him about Anderson, too.

"Ballistics report?"

I nodded. "The man didn't shoot his wife or the baby."

He folded his hands in front of him, right under his chin. "Who then?"

"I don't know," I teased.

"John! Tell me!" he whined.

"The woman was nicely dressed, but her hair and makeup were a complete mess. Most likely from the shock of the murderer and an attempt at running away. The baby wasn't dressed, implying that she was still getting ready and didn't expect anyone for at least thirty minutes."

"So what happened?"

A smile grew on my face. "The door opened."

"The husband?"

"The baby sitter."

"Baby sitter…" he paused. "How-?"

"There was a notepad in the kitchen. 'Emergency contacts' it said. The woman was going to dinner with her husband. The sitter came early. Really quite obvious if you look around a bit."

Sherlock laughed slightly. "What of the husband?"

"Well, his wife didn't come to dinner, he went home, found them both dead, and committed suicide."

"Why?"

"Alcohol. I imagine he had a few extra drinks waiting for her. Not much but enough to mess with his head. And sentiment, obviously."

"Well, John, I umm…" He cleared his throat. "Why would the baby sitter want to kill them?"

"That's the big question, isn't it? It's a bit difficult to know why when you don't know who.

"Yes, I suppose it can be." He grinned. "Occasionally."

"Occasionally?"

"John, why would anyone want to kill another person?"

I shrugged. "There are tons of reasons. It could be anything. Fun, revenge, jealousy…"

"Precisely."

"But why? I still don't understand."

"I don't know, John. But I trust that you will find out. I must say, that was quite impressive."

"It was quite obvious. I just looked around."

"Scotland Yard couldn't do that."

"But your deductions were always so clever."

"You'll get there one day. I don't doubt that. You're doing very well."

"You wouldn't say that if you were really here."

He got up and kneeled in front of me. "I am here, John." He took my hand in his. "I'm always here."

"I miss you," I said weakly.

He nodded softly. "It'll be okay. I promise."

I swallowed hard and looked down at our hands. His fingers fit perfectly with mine as if they were made that way.

"I don't want to go on without you, Sherlock."

"I'm sorry, John. I'm so sorry."

"You said you wouldn't ever leave me," I whispered as I closed my eyes.

He squeezed my hand gently and lifted my chin, looking into my eyes. "I didn't want to. I had no choice."

"I know." I nodded as a tear rolled down my cheek. "I love you, Sherlock."

He wrapped his arms around me and hugged me, whispering into my ear, "I love you, too, John."

I didn't expect him to answer. He never does. He held my shoulders and looked over my face. He wiped away my tears with his thumb and whispered, "I always have… and I always will."

I closed my eyes tightly as more tears came. As I felt him let go of my shoulders, I opened my eyes and looked around our flat. He was gone. His coat was gone. There was no trace of him. The flat was empty.

It was only a dream.

In visions of the dark night

I have dreamed of joy departed-

But a waking dream of life and light

Hath left me broken-hearted.

~A Dream (Edgar Allan Poe)