"He deserves to know!" Lestrade argued back to Mary. They sat in his office closing up the case together, before she headed off to see Trisha and John at the hospital. It was later in the evening, nearing eight. The last few days have been a flurry of interviews, paperwork and late nights at the hospital with no sleep. In all that time neither Mary nor Lestrade had mentioned the possible impossible return to John.

For the time being, she and John were still moved in together. None of them knew what they'd do when Trisha and John got out of the hospital, the flat being a bit too small for all three of them. It was obvious John had to move out, but to where was the question. He could hardly afford London on an Army pension.

"Look, why upset him with false hope? It doesn't mean anything." She felt guilty for hiding this from him; after all he'd done to help her get Trisha back it was only fair. But she couldn't bear to see him hurt anymore.

"You saw Sherlock! You even-"

"Yes but what good does it do John thinking his long lost love had returned if he didn't return to him? If this Holmes character is back, where is he? Why didn't he fly into John's arms? Wouldn't it hurt John more thinking that he's not interested anymore?" Mary hated the idea, and for John's sake she almost hoped the impossible stayed that way. What good would rejection from a ghost do?

Lestrade sighed and looked down at his desk, unsure how to respond. He saw her point, but still believed it was instinctively wrong to not tell John about this. Sherlock's death had clearly damaged the man and anything Greg could do to help piece his friend back together he felt was more than necessary. John was obviously not getting better any time soon, and moreover it wasn't their place to protect him from the truth.

"I had an idea," Lestrade said after moments of silence. She nodded for him to continue.

"The way I see it, there is only one man who could know where Sherlock is, if he's anywhere other than six feet under. Mycroft Homles is Sherlock's brother, he might be able to help us." Greg hesitantly explained.

Mary perked up in her seat, "could you see him now?" she asked. Lestrade rolled his eyes, never quite used to her spontaneous attitude.

"It's almost eight!" he remarked and it was her turn to roll her eyes.

"So?"

"So he's a hard man to get a hold of as it is, and like most people he's probably retired for the night."

"Look I can't, I have to go to the hospital, I promised Trish. But you on the other hand, you're going to talk to this guy. Even if it means barging in on his supper. That's an order," she said standing up. Lestrade glared, remaining in his seat but didn't respond. There was no use arguing with her. And it wasn't like he was jumping up and down to go home, things being rocky with his wife once more. Plus he wanted to do this, for John. And for himself. He was the only one this mystery person texted, and he couldn't kill the twinge of hope that it was indeed Sherlock.

John lay in the stiff hospital bed alone in his room, stewing in his aggravation. If there was a way to feel any worse then he currently did, it would be to take away his alcohol, give him a constant headache, and tell him he couldn't leave this small room until his bloody colleagues said so. He was better now, honestly, so it was high time the doctors sighed him out. Sitting around feeling terrible wasn't doing anyone- especially himself- any good.

He was stuck there to run the events in his head over and over. Well at least all that Lestrade and Mary had told him, seeing as he couldn't remember much of it himself. He remembered nodding in and out on a hard surface then waking up in an ambulance with loud voices and flashing lights. He remembered seeing Trisha for the first time, strapped in on a stretcher next to him. He was overwhelmed with disorientation. What was she doing there, how did he get there, and where the hell was Mary? He didn't get any of the answers until the next morning, when Mary visited him and filled him in. She only stayed for max ten minutes, not wanting to be away from her fiance for any length of time. John didn't blame her, of course, but still couldn't help but feel a growing sense of loneliness as well. He was more than delighted for Mary to get Trisha back, but that left him alone again, something he was desperately trying not to think about. His future had went from black to grey now back to black again, and he wondered where and to what he would move onto. Maybe he should leave the country all together- too many reminders of his past here. Maybe the entire continent. Maybe he should move to New Zealand. Or Hawaii. Or Canada. Anywhere but fucking here.

He heard a soft knock at the door and looked up. Mary, with another stuffed animal, stood in the frame. He smiled at her, but tried to look disapprovingly at the stuffed bear. Honestly between Trisha and John she must have spent a fortune on these silly toys. They were a comfort and all, but what was he supposed to do with 20 stuffed animals once he was out?

"Hey," she said quietly as she walked into the small room. She handed him a tan bear in a knitted jumper.

"Thanks," he said, looking down appreciatively at him. He had to admit it was cute. He glanced back up at her; she looked as tired as he did, maybe even more so.

"How you feeling?" He asked her, trying not to guess how many nights she'd spent curled up in the chair next to Trisha's bed.

She snorted, siting down next to him, "I should be asking you that."

"Oh I'm fine. I don't know why they're insisting I stay." He grumbled, wanting to get out as soon as possible. Seeing as he worked a few floors up, he wanted to climb out of bed and escape into the numbing distraction of work.

"Hey, they said tomorrow. You can wait a day, love. You deserve it." She soothed. He rolled his eyes.

"How exactly? By getting knocked in the head and waking up being rescued? Not exactly hero status."

"We got Trisha back, took down a bloody gang, and no one was killed. That's what matters."

"Yes but how exactly did that happen? I thought the leads on the Funding went cold. And we accidentally stumbled upon them. More like they stumbled upon us. really. All the sudden we won?" he asked. Mary 's heart sunk, hating having to keep the truth from him, but being an expert in body language she knew how to hide her discomfort.

"Lestrade said he got an anonymous tip," she shrugged.

It was quite then, John not feeling totally satisfied but didn't push it. It wasn't really his concern anyway, not that he cared too much how the police dealt with criminals.

"You never answered my question," he began but was interrupted but another timid knock on the door.

They both turned to see Molly Hooper's tiny frame standing in the doorway.

"Molly!" John said surprised, sitting up in his seat. Lovely, another person to see him laying like a crippled old man in a hospital gown. It had been a long time since he'd seen her. Though they worked in the same building, he hardly made trips to the mortuary. Of course seeing her brought a wave of unwanted memories. All the times he stood around in Bart's lab staring at the walls while Sherlock obsessed. Molly was almost always there, popping in for this or that. She looked at Sherlock like he was everything, and it only took his death for John to realize he was. He spent many nights trying to remember how he himself had looked at Sherlock, if it was with the same adoration, the same amazement and longing that Molly had. He hoped he had.

John crushed those memories as they leaked into his already tense heart and smiled at Molly. She grinned nervously and looked around the room, as if expecting someone to be there. She looked back at John.

"Hello Dr. Watson, I heard what happened. I wanted to stop by," she started, "If this is a bad time..?"

"No. No, Molly its fine, come in. Please. And you can call me John, by the way," he said sweetly, feeling a bit uncomfortable sitting with no trousers on as a blast from the past fidgeted next to him.

"Thanks...John," she said.

"Oh yes, Molly this is my good friend Mary. Mary, this is Molly." he said. They both smiled at each other and offered their 'how do you do's.

"Oh, fiance Mary?" Molly asked conversationally, looking to John. His face fell slightly. Neither of them had talked about the obviously broken deal.

"Uh, not so much. No, actually. Not anymore," he tried to sound causal about it, but it came out sounding as strangled as he felt.

"Oh! Oh I'm sorry." Her face reddened and she flustered for words, "I didn't know. I didn't realize. Is it...Is it because someone's...back?" she asked carefully. Mary's eyes suddenly narrowed at that. Molly wasn't aware of just how unsubtle she was being, but luckily John assumed she was referring to Trisha's return and nodded. Mary, however, picked up on different body language. Expectation, familiarity, even hope. Molly wouldn't show that for Trish.

"Yeah. Mary has Trisha back so, we uh, we're not gunna-"

"Oh, yeah! Yes. Of course, you're a lesbian." Molly nodded with a falling smile to to Mary, who raised her eyebrows, amused at Molly's blunt wording. Her brow crinkled in realization of her social faux pas.

"No! Not that that's a bad thing. No I mean-" As she squeezed her eyes shut she was cut off.

"It's fine," Mary said lightheartedly, "and yes, I am." Molly nodded, trying to play it cool.

Another silence took over the room, tenser than the earlier one.

"So...John, have you had many visitors?" Molly asked. Mary couldn't help reading her like a book.

"Just Mary, really. Lestrade stopped by once or twice. My sister hasn't answered her phone and then there's you." He tried to make it sound causal. To not sound as alone as he felt, as tired.

"Just them, huh?" her awkward laugh rang quietly disappointed.

"Well, John you look like you need rest, love," Mary took charge of yet another awkward silence as she stood, "We ought to let you be."

"No its fine," he halfheartedly offered, but the two brushed it off. There was no hiding the tiredness in his eyes. Not from them, and not from himself.

"No, you rest," Molly insisted, obviously wanting to get out of there, "get better," she offered, patting stiffly on the arm. She then turned to give Mary a smile and was off.

"Alright, I'll be back later, I promise. Feel better." Mary said. She kissed him on the check and then stalked out of the room, anxious to follow Molly.

She arrived to the lift just in time to slide in and join Molly alone.

"What floor?" Molly asked sweetly, after she pressed for the basement.

"Doesn't matter," Mary said quickly, "Who were you expecting to have visited John?" she interrogated without preamble. Molly shot her eyes to Mary's alarmed, her small mouse-like face looking as if she'd been caught in a trap. A trap set by a tall, athletic, blonde lady.

"I-I wasn't," she stuttered out.

"Look, Molly. You're a sweet girl, I can tell. But I can also tell you're lying. Please don't lie to me." Mary wasn't intimidating per-say, but she definitely didn't look the sweetheart best friend she just had only five minutes ago.

"I only went to see John," Molly said. Everything was fine until the last word. The way said said 'John' was off. She only went to see...someone else. Mary couldn't help but get excited. This was almost too easy, but she was fearful of where it would lead. It was easy enough to figure out Molly was associated to John through Sherlock. Mary practically had John's facial expressions memorized, and anything to do with Sherlock she could tell instantly. The way he had looked at her, it screamed out the pain of being reminded of his past.

"You went to see Sherlock, didn't you?" Mary spoke softly, not in accusation but in realization.

Molly gasped and looked away. "No." It was no use for her to say anything. Molly was easier to read than a child's book.

"Why were you expecting to see a dead man, Molly?" The tone of Mary's voice demanded Molly to look at her. It was hard, but she did.

"I wasn't," there was a tinge of heat in her soft voice, almost as if she was annoyed. It esd a little misplaced against her gentle features. The lift's doors slide open but Mary moved to block Molly's exist.

"Defending your friend, I get that. I really do. But, Molly, if you care for John at all you will tell me where I can find Sherlock Holmes right now. Please."

Molly looked side ways, tension squeezing her forehead. She wanted to tell Mary, she really did. For John and for Sherlock. She rubbed her newly lipsticked lips together, and rose her eyes to meet Mary's.

"Do you realize it's considered rude to call people past business hours, Detective Inspector?"

"Yes, um. Hallo Mr. Holmes. I'm really sorry to bother you, but I was hoping you'd be willing to help me out."

"I'm afraid I'm not nearly as inclined to preform circus acts for the police as my brother was."

"Ha, no. That's not what I'm asking. Please just a moment of your time,"

"...very well."

"I-uh...I have reason to believe that Sherlock has um...returned."

"..."

"Hallo?"

"My brother didn't just step out for some groceries, detective, he jumped off a roof. One doesn't simply return from that."

"Yes, I know. But I think he texted me. And someone I work with saw him. Look I know-"

" *sigh* I've been cleaning after my younger brother's messes for far too long. You will have to deal with whatever you think might be happening on your own. Good evening." -click-

"Mr. Holmes? …damn."