Sorry for the delayed update, I've been really busy and this turned out to be a huge chapter to write, so much so that I've decided to split it in half (or attempt to). I must admit I'm not too keen on this one, it was quite tricky to write.

I've just updated this again after editing it a little, I hope it's OK! No reviews for it so far, reviews = quicker update for Part 2 :)

Confessions Part 1

I had a strange and rather horrible dream last night. I dreamt that I had thrown myself off a bridge in Regent's Park and then a dead man came to save me. It seemed so real but I wake up to find myself at home, in bed, no longer feeling the terrible cold that was in my dreams, although my whole body was aching for no apparent reason. I pull the covers off to see that my clothes are dry, but I'm sure they weren't the ones I was wearing last night.

My head is punding and starts to swim as I slowly sit up, and I'm continuously having flash backs of my weird dream, the feeling of falling and entering the terrible black river. The freezing waters and my burning lungs seem all too real to me. Then I look up and spot a pile of clothes sitting on the radiator. I feel a horrible certainty that those were the clothes I was wearing last night.

I stood up and made my way cautiously over to them, placing a hand upon them. They're still damp. But Why? Why would my clothes be wet? Unless something actually did happen...I'm not liking where this is going.

There is a sudden clatter outside my room, it sounds like it's coming from the kitchen. For some reason I don't think it's Mrs Hudson, but I have no idea who else it might be. There is no one else living here now.

I slowly make my way over to the kitchen, as if I'm terrified of what I might find. I am right to be.

A tall man with short, tight black curls is standing in the kitchen, trying to work the toaster. His back is to me but I know who he is, or who this man is pretending to be, because it can't really be him, it's not possible...

"I should have taken you to the hospital," he says, somehow aware that I was standing behind him. "But I know you wouldn't have liked that."

The man turns around, and I am staring into eyes I have not seen for twelve weeks, and the last time I saw them they were dead, unseeing eyes.

My legs start shaking and I quickly have to sit down at the kitchen table just in case I collapse.

"Who are you?" I hate the way my voice trembles as I speak, as if I'm a coward, but this can't be happening. Perhaps my therapist diagnosed me wrong, I'm not depressed, I'm schizophrenic, and now I've started hallucinating.

The man immediately stepped forward when I said this, with a look of concern on his face. "Don't you remember who I am John?" He asked.

"Yes I remember who you are Sherlock!" I shout suddenly, and with a sudden burst of energy I find myself on my feet again, fists pounding the table. "You're dead! I looked down into your face and you were dead, so you can't possibly be back, so I don't know who you are. You're clearly someone in a disguise to try and prise information about Sherlock from me, or some sort of hallucination because I've gone completely mad!"

There was a pause, the dead man just stared at me with his grey, sympathetic eyes.

"I'm real John." He said in a horribly soft voice. "I'm not a hallucination or a disguise. I'm real and you know it. I never even died, and I'm so, so sorry I had to put you through this."

I had to sit down again at that. This was far too much to take in on a good day. My dead best friend was currently standing in the kitchen claiming that he was alive, and all he could really say is 'sorry'.

I glare up at Sherlock. "I only just started believing you were dead you know. I kept on thinking you were still alive, I kept on expecting to see you around the house, but of course you were never there. And when I finally accept you're not coming back, here you are."

"I'm so sorry John, I can't image what I've put you through..." Sherlock began.

"No you can't," I snap, if I thought about how I would react if the detective came back, I didn't expect to be so angry. "The past twelve weeks have been hell, I wasn't even sure if I could survive any more of it, and then out of the blue you come back as if nothing had ever happened."

"Please John," Sherlock said, I've never heard him sound so regretful or sorrowful or pleading, perhaps I am dead and we are actually having this argument in the afterlife. "You have to understand that I did this for your own good."

My own good? Did he not hear what I just said? Hell is not meant to be for anyone's good, I could have used a friend these past twelve weeks but he thouht it would be better if he left me in mourning. I let out a frustrated groan and put my head on the table, trying to make sense of everything that was happening. I was expecting to wake up any moment but this was feeling so real, and Sherlock was a genius, I'm pretty sure he would be able to fake his own death if he had to.

"John, are you all right?" I could hear his worried voice just above me.

"I'm fine." I growled. "Just...how are you still alive? Why are you not dead? I stared into your dead eyes, I saw you fall to the ground so you tell me how you're still alive."

"Because I wasn't the one on the ground." Sherlock explains.

"I was hoping for a little more than that," I snap.

"It's not the fall that kills you," Sherlock explained, sounding like he was about to go on one of his highly intelligent speeches about how something works or how he solved a case. Some things don't change much. "But hitting the ground, and I knew that Moriarty wanted me dead, that he probably wanted me to end my own life, so I had to find a way to fake my own death, to make sure I wasn't the one on the ground."

Well that didn't really make any sense, and didn't explain how, in my mind's eye, I was staring down at the dead body of Sherlock and for real have him standing right in front of me. I just want to go to bed and sleep for age, and then wake up and pretend the last three months didn't happen, but I made the decision to hear Sherlock out. "What do you mean, you knew Moriarty was going to kill you?"

Sherlock shrugged, as if it was obvious. "He wanted something from me, and it didn't take me long to realise he wanted my life, or someone else's life, or I was probably going to be killed fighting against him, because I was his biggest challenge. At first I was in a panic, wondering how I was going to defeat him and yet stay alive, for a few days I thought that I really was going to die. Even Molly noticed there was something wrong."

Sherlock had panicked? I had never known him to do that, and I felt a wave of guilt thinking that Molly could tell that there was something wrong with him, yet I was ignorant. Perhaps that's why she looked so uncomfortable at the funeral, she knew it wasn't his body in that coffin...I said nothing though, and let Sherlock continue.

"I was at a loss of what to do until Molly offered her help, and I realised I could find a way to successfully fake my death. I decided the best way to do it would be a fall from a great height, nothing close up, no weapons involved, I felt it would be an easy way to pretend to die. A plan started to form in my mind when the kidnapped girl took one look at me in the police station and started screaming. Clearly she was screaming because she thought I was the kidnapper, and seeming as the kidnapped children were probably Moriarty's doing to try and get everyone to turn against me, I knew he must have someone who looked very similar to me, and possibly wearing a mask. If I found this mask it would help me fake my death, make people believe that I was dead if they saw my body."

I involuntary shivered at this. Sherlock hesitated when he noticed and looked at me closely. I ignored his concerned gaze (I wasn't used to the consulting detective looking so worried and it unnerved me) and just waited for him to carry on.

"Well, to cut a long story short, it only took me a couple of hours to work out who might have made the mask and where it might be from the knowledge I had from the case and Moriarty. It was an impressive make, almost as if I was looking in the mirror. After that I went to Molly and explained my plan - if we had a dead body I would be able to disguise it with this mask and my clothes, and I might just be able to trick Moriarty and his people into thinking that I was dead. The good thing about Molly's place of work was that she had plenty of dead bodies at her disposal, and after meeting Irene Adler I had a pretty good idea of how to fake a good death. We worked together to find a body that would be of a very similar shape and size to me, and once again we found one quickly, a very good match, the man even had the same eyes as me. It wouldn't surprise me if it was the same man who pretended to be me when he kidnapped the children, people probably don't stay alive very long under Moriarty's employment..."

I ran my hands through my hair, trying to think everything through. There were so many questions running across my mind I didn't know what to say or how to react to all of this, I was just trying to be patient and hearing Sherlock out before I have a breakdown. It felt just as surreal as when I saw Sherlock's coffin being lowered into the ground. But now it turns out that didn't really happen after all, and as far as I can tell, this is. Sherlock is alive. I take the opportunity to pick a particular question that was bothering when Sherlock took a short pause.

"But I saw you jump, I saw you fall, if that wasn't your body on the ground, who was it falling through the air?"

Sherlock almost looked excited at this point, I suppose from his point of view it was just another case, another game to solve and play. "But you didn't see me fall. Not really. Your brain just filled in the gaps that were missing."

It was either lack of food that was making my head spin, or getting too confused over what Sherlock was saying. I'm not sure how long I had been asleep for but it wasn't long enough, I felt absolutely exhausted and wanted nothing else but to sleep for an age. I groaned and put my head on the table again, which made Sherlock pause.

"Are you sure you're all right John? I think it's too early for this conversation, perhaps another day..."

"No." I snap suddenly, the anger suddenly clear in my voice. "I need these answers, I deserve these answers, I'm just tired. Tell me now and keep things simple."