Sherlock stood at the graveside where the earth had once again been filled in, burying a blank hole. The police had deduced that the coffin was indeed empty when they discovered it in the graveyard, resting beside the headstone. But there was an issue. There was apparently no trace of anyone even being in the coffin. There was no indentation from where the body had been resting and there was no smell of death in the coffin. Sherlock couldn't put his figure on it. He had shot him. Three times, in the chest. That was all it had to take to kill him.

"Strange, isn't it?" a sudden voice spoke beside Sherlock and the consulting detective looked to his left, his eyes piercing down on the woman who was stood next to him. "How one moment…someone is there…and the next they're not."

"Please don't tell me it is some form of magic trick," Sherlock drawled. "Because they don't exist."

"Reawakening the dead isn't possible either," she informed him. "And yet…well…it seems to have happened."

"Who are you?" Sherlock asked her and she finally allowed her green eyes to rise up and meet his, her curly brown hair dangling around her as she pulled her black coat closer around her body.

"That isn't important," she said. "What is important though…well…what happened to dear Jim Moriarty."

"It's clear, isn't it?" Sherlock replied, looking down onto his headstone. "Someone stole his body."

"Tell me Mr Holmes," she coughed lightly once. "Were you with him when his body was taken from your flat? Did you check his pulse to make sure he was dead? Was you there with him when his body was in the morgue?"

"No," Sherlock replied. "But don't even try and tell me he managed to survive and sneak out my flat because that is ludicrous and also impossible."

"Moriarty is all about the impossible," she replied, looking down onto the grave.

"You said is," Sherlock said and the woman looked at him again and a devilish grin took hold of her lips as she sarcastically placed a hand over her mouth.

"Oops," she whispered. "Looks like I used the present and not the past tense."

"Who are you?" Sherlock tried again and she chuckled lightly.

"Let's just say," she began, "that I'm equal to you."

"Don't talk stupid," Sherlock spoke cockily. "What do you know about Moriarty?"

"I know that he is still alive," she said.

"How?"

"Because once you had taken your beloved girlfriend," she hissed, "down to the ambulance, another crew arrived on sight. He informed them he was a Jack Hallam."

"Impossible," Sherlock shook his head. "Jack Hallam…he…John shot him…he worked for Moriarty."

"Ah," the woman raised her eyebrows, "he could hardly tell them that he was Jim Moriarty, could he? The police would have been onto him like a shot."

"So even when he was facing death he managed to lie his way out of trouble." Sherlock shook his head and the woman smiled lightly.

"Anyway," she carried on with the story, "whilst in hospital he managed to survive for one night…avoided the police's questions…and then," she clicked her fingers, "he vanished."

"And you seriously expect me to believe this?" Sherlock asked after a moment.

"You should," she advised him. "The police mistook Jack to be Moriarty and buried him here."

"And no one wondered about why he went missing in hospital? No enquiries were made?" Sherlock asked and she shrugged.

"The police are still on the lookout for Jack…little do they know that he was buried six feet under," she looked down at the ground for a moment. "But, they're not too worried apparently. As long as they think Moriarty is dead then they don't need to panic over some dumb henchman that they will never find."

"And were the bodies checked for ID?" Sherlock smirked a little. "Because the last time I checked that is what happened during post mortems."

"Moriarty made sure his men didn't have ID's Mr Holmes," she chuckled. "None of them ever existed…they were paid under the table…so it was impossible to ID them. The only ID on their bodies was credit cards that had fake names on them….so no one truly knows who they are."

"This isn't even possible," Sherlock replied. "He can't just survive that…he can't…"

"You truly think he was dumb enough to get caught?" she asked Sherlock. "You think Jim Moriarty isn't able to fix multiple situations and avoid trouble?"

"I know he's smart," Sherlock replied. "As much as it pains me to admit it."

"He's out there Mr Holmes," she promised him. "He's just weak at the moment…needs time to rest. But he isn't best pleased that you shot him."

"Can't imagine why," Sherlock snorted. "So where is he?"

"As I said," she spoke. "He's resting."

"And he ordered for the body to be dug up?" Sherlock checked.

"Yes," she replied. "He needed to show you…well…he's back Mr Holmes."

"And he sent you to tell me this, did he?" Sherlock cocked a brow at her and she ran a hand through her hair.

"He wanted to come himself," she shrugged. "But he's still weak and unwell."

"So what is his plan now?"

"Well," she began pacing slowly. "When he's fit enough and recovered…he plans to finish you off Mr Holmes…you and Scarlett, is it? That boring and droll secretary you seem to be doting upon."

"I am not doting upon her," Sherlock denied any affection.

"Of course not," she said sarcastically. "That's why you took her to watch some stupid movie where the good guy will always get the girl and the bad guy loses…"

"And how do you possibly know that?" Sherlock asked her and she grinned.

"We know everything Mr Holmes," she replied.

"Oh I'm sure," Sherlock ironically said.

"Anyway," she rested a hand onto Sherlock's arm and Sherlock looked down at the contact which she was making, "I have to be off…things to do and people to see."

"Where is he?" Sherlock asked her again.

"Time shall tell," she stood on her toes, her mouth close to Sherlock's ear. "But if I were you, I'd keep an eye on little Scarlett…wouldn't want the silly girl to get hurt."

"You still haven't told me your name," Sherlock stated and she giggled lightly into his ear.

"Irene." She stated. "Irene Adler."

Quickly, she kissed Sherlock on the cheek and left him stood at the graveside, not without throwing a knowing glance at a tree hidden in the background.

….

Scarlett twirled quickly and rested her back against the wood of the great oak. Her hands rested on the wood and she breathed deeply and quickly, her breath apparent in the mist. Slowly she closed her eyes and waited for a moment, taking in what she had seen. Sherlock…with a woman in a cemetery. She recalled everything she had seen. The deep conversation…the touch on the arm…the whispering into his ear…and then kissing him on the cheek. Surely if he was going to have an affair he would choose somewhere more private than a cemetery? But this was Sherlock…he wasn't normal. And then she remembered. Who was at the door? Something had gotten him twitchy earlier on and made him rush out the flat. Was it her? Was that why he didn't want her to follow? Because he was meeting with her? Scarlett didn't know what to think. But what she had seen was enough to make her want answers.

….

"You imbecile!" Sherlock snapped as soon as he walked into Scotland Yard and Lestrade's office.

"Excuse me?" he asked and Sherlock snorted.

"I said!" he snapped. "You imbecile! The man you buried wasn't Moriarty! It was his henchman!"

"His henchman went walkabouts Sherlock," Lestrade replied. "He left hospital and we don't know where he is."

"That's Moriarty! He stole Hallam's identity to stop you from arresting him!" Sherlock snapped.

"What?" Lestrade asked. "But you said the one nearest the fireplace was Moriarty!"

"And Hallam's body was also not far from it," Sherlock shook his head.

"The body's couldn't be identified Sherlock," Lestrade said. "There was no record of any of them. No fingerprints…dental records…nothing…"

"And why aren't you looking for Hallam who is in fact Moriarty?" Sherlock asked. "And why didn't you tell me?"

"We are looking for him," Lestrade said. "But when you don't have a photo of someone then it's hard to find them. And not all the police business is to do with you…you helped solve the case and that's all the involvement we need from you."

"Clearly not," Sherlock responded. "Because he's still out there…"

"And how do you know that?"

"Irene Adler."

….

Scarlett paced up and down the living room that night, her hands running through her hair as she did so. She had no other explanation for it. Sherlock's jumpiness…his secret meeting…the extremely good looking woman he met with. He was having an affair. It all made sense. Sherlock was high maintenance…Scarlett knew that. And she was dull. She was too dull for him…and he wanted more. But she couldn't be more. She suddenly heard the slamming of 221B Baker Street and then Sherlock entered the living room as he looked at her, the two of them saying nothing but just staring at each other.

"Where have you been?" Scarlett asked him, knowing full well where he had been.

"Out," he said simply, not wanting to worry her. Scarlett closed her eyes for a moment.

"Out where?"

"Just out," Sherlock huffed, removing his coat.

"Oh right," Scarlett said. "Visiting a dead relative were you?"

"Ah," Sherlock said simply.

"If…if you don't want me…you could have just said…" Scarlett began to cry slightly and Sherlock simply just looked confused.

"Pardon?"

"The woman Sherlock! The one who you appeared cosy with!"

"Miss Adler," Sherlock said and Scarlett cried even louder and then sniffed before glaring at him.

"Miss Adler?" she snapped.

"Irene then," Sherlock replied. "I don't see why you're all het up."

"You…and her…Sherlock…" Scarlett babbled. "Are you sleeping with her?"

"What?" Sherlock snapped back.

"Are you sleeping with her…that explains why you won't touch me…well?"

"No," Sherlock replied. "You have taken hold of the completely wrong end of the stick."

"Then why don't you set me right?" Scarlett asked him. "Because I'm having a hard time understanding."

"Moriarty's alive."

…

"How can it be?" Scarlett asked half an hour later, the pair of them had calmed down. Sherlock sat on the floor, his and Scarlett's backs resting against the sofa as they sat there. His arm was draped over her shoulders as his body was stiff.

"It's completely ludicrous," Sherlock agreed with her and she snorted.

"It's daft," she said. "How no one knew them…they never existed…he thought of everything, didn't he?"

"Of course," Sherlock replied. "But I'll manage to find him…Miss Adler will let slip soon enough…she seems intelligent, but a little reckless also."

"She was pretty," Scarlett said and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"You're so shallow," he told her. "You base people on looks and then get down if they're remotely better looking than you."

"So you think she's prettier than me?" Scarlett asked and Sherlock simply just chuckled.

"She was attractive…but her nose didn't help her." Sherlock said.

"Her nose?" Scarlett asked.

"Yes…much too big for her face…"

"You're going on her nose?" Scarlett checked and Sherlock shrugged.

"It wasn't that nice up close," Sherlock promised her.

"So what now?" Scarlett asked. "We go back to hiding out again?"

"I'll think of something. Miss Adler is going to be key to this I do believe." Sherlock informed her.

"I don't like it," Scarlett replied.

"You don't like it because you're jealous," Sherlock informed her and bent down to kiss her quickly. "And there's no need to be."

"Hmm," Scarlett mused. "I just worry you'll find someone better…more interesting than some stupid secretary."

"How many times do I need to tell you?" Sherlock asked her with a roll of his eyes. "You're not just some stupid secretary…yes…you have a boring life…and for some reason you enjoy it…but with me in it, I think it makes more exciting."

"More dangerous," Scarlett snorted and Sherlock smiled cockily.

"That is true," he agreed and then looked startled as Scarlett moved her body, placing her legs either side of his body as she settled herself on his lap.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked her, his hand mindlessly moving to hold her waist.

"Nothing," Scarlett replied with a shrug of her shoulders.

"Don't play dumb with me Scarlett Jenson," Sherlock warned her. "I know what you're after."

"I don't want anything," Scarlett said to him. "I love you Sherlock…okay? And I know you can't say it back to me yet because you probably don't feel the same…but…I'm tired of waiting."

"That's because you're impatient," Sherlock said after she had kissed him gently.

"It's another trait of mine," she said. "I'm fed up of being in these life and death situations…and…I don't want to wait any longer…not knowing…"

"And you think now is the time? After I've told you my archenemy is alive still?" Sherlock checked, slowly kissing her neck.

"I can't think of a better time," she whispered.

"Well," Sherlock said against her pale skin, "I don't think I shall reject you then."

One week later

Scarlett began to worry as she paced up and down in the flat. Twenty one days she was told to wait. How could she have been so stupid? How could she have forgotten to take one the morning after? Oh that's right, Mary had called and told her to get her skinny arse into work. She swore that if Mary ruined her life because of that phone call she was going to personally murder her. She only had another two weeks to wait until she would be able to take one. She didn't need it. Not when she had just learned Moriarty was still alive and in hiding. And Sherlock…she couldn't even think of telling him if worst came to the worst. He'd have a fit. Would he throw her out? Would he not want her? She knew how he felt on the matter. Scarlett took a deep breath and sat down. She'd know in another two weeks if she was, indeed, pregnant.

…

Thank you to all the reviews I have received! I love to hear your feedback! So Moriarty is still alive! He's a sneaky one! I actually did read of a case similar to his. He really did think of everything! And Sherlock and Scarlett? Well, time shall tell what will be the outcome of their actions! Please review!