Hey guys! I'm sorry but my new fanfiction chapters may be uploaded erratically rather than by any particular schedule. I am terribly sorry, you have no idea but I have to go back to school. (It's been the six week holidays.) URGH! Again, so sorry!

Thanks to my newest reviewers Sue and Ernil i Pheriannath!

Thanks to the four favourites and ten followers :D

" Sherlock?" John whispered, completely at a loss.

The man swayed a little on the balls of his feet as if adjusting to his new non-corporeal body. Ghost Sherlock, for indeed it was him, looked around bemusedly. John felt veins straining his forehead, his eyes were bulging so much that he believed they'd pop. Brushing off his also translucent coat Sherlock regarded his corpse cooly, smiling at it like it was an old friend.

" Thank you body. You never failed me."

He even sounds the same! But... Sherlock's dead. He's lying right there on the floor! How is this even possible?

Approaching his own corpse without fear in his eyes, Sherlock placed a transparent hand on the left side of his chest. Suddenly, his hand sunk into it and groped around as if searching for his heart. After a moment, Sherlock averted his gaze from his corpse and sighted John. John felt a rising heat flush his cheeks. An intense stare passed between them which nearly reduced John to tears.

" How are you even here?" John stuttered, stunned to immobility.

"You're dead! Your heart stopped! You're dead on the floor! Your hand is in your own chest for God's sake! I don't..." He gestured weakly in direction of the slightly disturbing scene before him.

"...understand."

Ghost Sherlock rose to his feet and took long, purposeful strides straight towards John. Meekly, John tried to inch away. He didn't wish to alarm the apparition Sherlock just in case rejection could turn it vile or demonic. John forced a feeble smile but it wobbled nervously across his lips.

Is this thing even Sherlock? Should I run? Should I be scared? Surely this isn't natural... This can't possibly be real! Can it?

" Even now my heart still beats for you." Sherlock said in a voice that was both saddening and bold. As he neared, John took a step back. Sherlock wouldn't take the hint and moved to meet him.

"It's just too quiet for you to hear..." John's eyes flitted up as Sherlock planted a deep kiss onto his lips. Or rather Sherlock leant in, passion flaming in his eyes but abruptly stopped short. John watched him visibly strain against an invisible barrier, despair welled up in both their eyes. Sherlock got within an inch of cupping John's cheek before once again, he was forced away. The barrier prohibited the simple action and to devastating effect... Sherlock began to cry and John rushed to console him. And for a third time they were prised apart. Realisation dawned.

Withdrawing tearily, Sherlock bit his lip as if unsure of whether to share his revelation. Upon seeing no visible opposition on John's face he murmured,

" Whilst you're still alive we'll forever be barred from each other. Never allowed to touch. Never able to fulfil either of our dreams or passions. Living a half life. Helpless without the other." Earnestly he caught John's eye and they shared a look,

" Is that what you want John?"

John offered no reply. Only silence.

" I mean life has many great things in store for you. I'm sure of it. You have Molly... Lestrade and Mrs Hudson. And I - well, I only had you. Sure, they were my friends but you John, were something more."

Revealing how much he really relied on John was surprisingly freeing but he sagged nevertheless. Sherlock felt his throat tightening as if a noose were wrapping itself lovingly around his neck,

" But now I don't even have you."

A glistening sheen of sweat broke out across John's forehead as he began to understand what Sherlock was asking.

Sherlock is scared. He doesn't want a life without me, nor do I want to carry on without him, but do I want to kill myself to join him? Do I even have the courage?

I didn't ask for this, he thought, I just wanted my friend back!

John stared imploringly up at the stars, willing an answer to form in the constellations,

What should I do? God, have I brought this upon myself by asking for Sherlock's return?

Lowering his gaze he recalled what he'd actually said,

" Oh please God bring him back. He's a great man. Don't let Death seperate us, this isn't fair... Please!"

Damn you! He thought, Damn you God.

" I'm going to do it." he stated loudly as if hoping to provoke a reaction from the Heavens. Nothing. A wave of relief overcame Sherlock,

" Thank you John. You know I'd be lost without my blogger."

John hurried over to the garden fork protruding from a hay bale. The one thing that had stopped him from helping Sherlock would now stop his heart.

How poetic...

He positioned himself directly in front of the three trident like prongs. If he did not hurry his foolish courage would desert him. Taking a deep breath that he knew was to be his last, John stole a glance back to the Sherlock apparition. He looked so lonely.

Not for long...

Sherlock proffered a ghostly hand. John wanted to take it. He wanted to join him so badly, it hurt. A sharp wind whipped up around him, a helicopter spotlight shone down through the rafters. Mycroft was here. It was now or never. Gritting his teeth John grasped the handle and with one swift motion jerked it towards him. It came free. Planting itself into his chest. A small smile flickered across his features then froze into place.

Your blogger is on the way Sherlock. He thought, I'll be with you soon.