Slightly AU, and I took a little bit of liberty with the timeline. Inspired by 'Ghosts that We Knew' by Mumford and Sons. There are some mentions of drug use, but not a lot of it. I want to thank loveadoodle, sherlolly-is-jolly, and liathwen for reading over this and for being awesome betas. Thanks guys!

Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing.

Floating…he was floating. No, that's not the right word. Falling?

He couldn't be bothered with that right now. There was something he had to do, something important. Something to do with snipers, rooftops…Moriarty. Maybe falling was the right word.

Sherlock looked around. There was nothing to be seen. Only darkness. He tried to call out, but no sound came out. It was as if he was stuck in space.

"Mycroft, we need help now! It's gone wrong. Sherlock, open your eyes! Sherlock!"

That voice…so familiar. It sounded like home, why could he not place it? He could feel something soft touching his face, never lingering in one spot for too long. Hand, it must be a hand. Pain shot though his body when it touched the back of his head. His own hand went to the back of his head, but when he brought it back to his face there was nothing on it. It didn't even hurt when he touched it. So why was there so much pain? He couldn't think for long, and he soon drifted into nothingness.

The next time he awoke, he was in Baker Street, in his favorite chair. The flat was as it should be. His experiments were left untouched, the fire going and Mrs. Hudson's television could be heard from the flat below him. There was a stillness to the flat though, one Sherlock couldn't quite place. He called out for John, but got no response. He got up and moved towards the stairwell that led to John's room, but something stopped him. Well, two things actually. One, he wasn't in Baker Street. Everything in his peripheral line of sight faded into nothing, the sharp line of reality were missing. He was in his Mind Palace then. Two, someone was crying. Soft sobs that were begging not to be heard. Where was it coming from? He looked around again. Maybe he overlooked a client in the room. Unlikely, but possible. But no, he was alone in the flat.

"Sherlock, please, just open your eyes."

There was that voice again. Who was she? What did she want from him? The sobs got louder and he felt like he had a vice-like grip around his chest. He felt tears form in his eyes. Why were these sobs affecting him like this? Why should he care about the sobs of some sentimental woman? There was mumbling toward the stairwell, but Sherlock couldn't make out what was being said. The mumbles got closer and the sobs got louder. He grabbed his head hoping to stop the voices. He needed to think. But they just got louder and louder until a shout was ripped from his throat.

Sherlock was not in Baker Street when he opened his eyes. He was surrounded by fading green. The grass was soft beneath his body. He could lie there all day and be content; he felt like he had before. He looked around him and saw walls of made up of bushes and vines. He got up and walked through the opening in front of him. His only options were to go left or right. He was in a maze. He tried to think of why he knew this place and why his mind had brought him here. A giggle broke his reverie. He looked to his left and saw the back of a light blue dress disappear behind the next wall.

"Wait, stop!" he yelled to the figure, but it disappeared behind the next wall.

"No, you have to catch me! Those are the rules Sherlock. Even you know that!" the voice told him. It was that same voice, the voice that pleaded with him. It was so much happier now. He preferred it this way. He chased after the girl until he was stopped in his tracks. They had reached a dead end, but she was with another. They couldn't be more than eighteen. He was only able to see the back of the boy with her. He was tall and lanky with a head full of curly dark hair, but he engulfed her. Sherlock could barely see her.

"Now that you've caught me, what are you going to do with me?" she asked

The boy answered, but Sherlock couldn't hear his reply, but guessed it had something to do with snogging because after his reply, the girl's hands found their way into his curls and he wrapped his arms around her as tight as he could. Sherlock backed up until he was up again the wall of the maze. He could feel the girl's hands in his own hair and the warmth of her lips on his.

Of course, he was the boy. He remembered this day. His parents had forced him and his brother to go with them to a dinner party. He remembered the girl in the light blue dress. She was different than any other girl he had ever met. He couldn't stay away from her. He had followed her into the maze when she had looked at him with a smirk and taken off. He had chased her without a second thought.

"Look I know you're still in there mate, running around in that bloody mind palace of yours but you can't leave her. She-she told us Sherlock. Its ok, it is. I understand why you wouldn't tell us, especially with Moriarty popping up, but you have to come back. She's strong, but I don't know if she can handle this."

John. John Watson. That was John's voice. Where was he? Sherlock looked around. He was still in the maze, but the couple was gone. Who was he talking about? Was he talking about the girl in the blue dress? What had he done? What could she not handle? He could hear the sobs again. God, why did they hurt so much?

He was floating again, but this time he was grounded. Well, grounded was a relative term. He knew where he was, in a way at least. Wait, where was he? Oh, yes, Heroin. That's where he was. He looked at the addicts around him. He wasn't as bad as they were; he could handle his addiction. Suddenly, the door was kicked open and policemen poured in. Oh hell, it was a drugs bust. He couldn't talk his way out of this. Maybe Mycroft…

"Sherlock Holmes," Oh, speak of the devil.

A man with salt and pepper hair walked towards him and grabbed him by the hood of his jacket.

"This him, Mr. Holmes?"

"Yes, unfortunately, thank you Lestrade. Come, brother mine. Do you have any explanation for your relapse this time?" Mycroft asked him.

Sherlock stood up and turned toward the man called Lestrade. "Your wife is cheating on you, and she's been forcing you to sleep on the couch for the past week, and you've got a sick child at home" Lestrade gave him a look of wonder. Mycroft stepped forward, grabbed his brother's arm, and dragged him away from the dumbfounded policeman.

"I really do hope, for your sake, that have a good explanation. I don't think she'll forgive you again."

Sherlock stopped in his tracks, "You didn't bring her did you?"

Mycroft turned to face him, he wore a smirk on his face, "Of course I did. She's the only one who can talk any sense into you."

He looked down and took a deep breath. When he looked up again, he saw her, the girl in the blue dress. Only this time, she was in baggy trousers and a loose fitting sweater. She was leaning against a black government car with her arms crossed over her chest. Her hair blocked her face. She wore an engagement ring on her hand. Sherlock looked back and saw his drug addled-self walking toward her. Mycroft kept his distance. The edges of sight faded out.

"I thought you were past all this?"

"Mol-"

"No, Sherlock. You don't get to talk yourself out of this one. I told you last time you did this that that was your last chance. I love you and you know that, but you have to decide if I'm more important to you than the drugs." She sighed and took the ring off of her finger. "Keep this until then."

She handed him the ring, kissed him on the cheek and got into the car. He watched the car until it was gone. He pocketed the ring and walked in the opposite direction.

"Sherlock, please come back to me. I love you"

Sherlock watched this and the pain in his chest had returned. Why did he hurt her like that? Why could he not even remember her name, or her face for that matter?

He was back in Baker Street, in his bedroom. The light was bleeding in though the curtains. He stretched a bit and felt the figure beside him. He looked down and there she was, the girl in the blue dress, her hair covering her face. He had reached up to move it back when he caught sight of the ring on his left hand. She must have forgiven him. He brushed her hair back and kissed her forehead. He couldn't look at her face.

He got up and put on a pair of discarded pajama bottoms and his blue dressing gown. Why had she forgiven him? He wasn't worth it. He walked through the kitchen and put the kettle on.

He went to the window. He looked at the passersby on the street below and envied their easy lives. He turned back towards the flat and looked around. This wasn't a memory. He was no longer in the pajama bottoms and dressing gown. One of his suits now covered his body. He went to his chair and sat down with a sigh. What was he doing here? He never came here unless he had a case to think about or if he was bored.

"Sherlock?"

He looked up to see the girl padding into the living room. Only this time he could actually, truly see her, from her long chestnut hair, to her big chocolate eyes, to her tiny feet. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever laid his eyes on. She looked tired though. She walked toward him, wearing one of his button up shirts. She came and sat on his lap. Sherlock automatically put his arms around her. He cupped her face with his hand and he lightly stroked her cheek with his thumb.

"Molly."

She smiled as she nodded. She held the wrist of the hand holding her face and leaned into his touch.

"Finally, I was beginning to wonder if you would ever remember me."

"I don't know how I could have forgotten."

"A fall from a rooftop will do that to you. I'll forgive you this time though." She leaned towards him and rested her forehead against his. "Are you ever going to wake up? It's been 8 months, Sherlock. Your body has healed. You just need to let go and wake up."

"Are you waiting for me?"

"Of course I am."

"It seems as though all you do is wait for me. I don't deserve you, Molly. All I do is hurt you. Why do you stay?"

"Simple," she cupped his cheek, lovingly. "Because I love you. Since the first time I saw you in that maze. I always hated the phrase 'love at first sight' but it is the only thing that fits for us. I love you Sherlock Holmes. I always have and always will. Are you perfect? No, but none of us are."

"You are. How else could you accept me after all of the drugs and the Woman?"

"Oh, must you bring her up? We've gotten past that. She was an infatuation. I understand why you took a fancy to her. She is so much like you Sherlock. I would have been surprised if you hadn't been drawn to her"

"You never cease to amaze me Molly Hooper," he said, sighing as he closed his eyes.

"I quit going by that name a long time ago."

He looked at her again. "Molly Holmes."

"That's better." She leaned in and kissed his lips. A gentle kiss that consumed him until…

"His brain waves seem to be picking up. It looks like your husband may be ready to join us, Mrs. Holmes. He might need some coaxing though"

"Ok. Sherlock, can you hear me, of course you can. Wake up. Please. I-I need you. Don't leave me alone anymore."

Sherlock looked Molly in the eye. She stood up and held out her hand.

"Looks like you're ready. Come on, go to your wife. She needs you"

Sherlock took her hand and stood, "Don't you mean you?"

"No silly, I'm made from your memories of her. You know that. Now, go make new ones."

With that, Sherlock kissed her and walked towards the door. He put on his coat and scarf. As he opened the door, he turned toward Molly and winked.

Beep…Beep…Beep

Oh for the love of God, would someone turn that infernal beeping off.

"Sherlock"

Molly, it was Molly. He slowly opened his eyes and was blinded by the whiteness of the room he was around him. He closed his eyes and tried again. When his eyes adjusted he turned his head towards the voice. He tried to speak but found that he couldn't.

"We need to get the tube out of your throat before you can speak."

The tube was soon removed. The doctor was asking him questions, but Sherlock couldn't be bothered to answer. There was only one thing on his mind. His wife.

"Molly"

She rushed forward from behind the doctor. She sat on the side of the bed and ran her hand though his curls, while the other one took hold of his hand. "I'm here."

Sherlock smiled at her. "I love you so much. You will never know how much you mean to me. To say that you count is an understatement. You are my life, Molly Hooper. I would be nothing without you."

Molly laughed through her tears. "Sherlock, are you ever going to stop calling me Molly Hooper? We've been married for six years."

"Molly Holmes, I love you."