A.N: Hello, how are you guys doing? It's been a while!

As you guys have all guessed, I haven't updated any stories in a while.. I made a post on a few stories telling everyone that i am not a very constant poster. I have a sick mom, and a very demanding job at this time, and as much as i would love to post regularly, it more than likely won't happen for a while.

I am very sorry, and hope to make it up to you all by posting updates on Rache, Harry Potter and the patients of Arkham, and a few others in the next week... I am truly sorry, and i hope you can all understand and forgive me.

ENJOY! ~Chibi-Chan.

Chapter 2; Revenge and Conversations.

Harry, Continued

Harry and Draco sat down warily at the request of the woman in black... who was Death herself, Apparently.. keeping their eyes trained on her. Her eyes stayed mostly on Harry, with a look that couldn't be read as pain, disgusted or anger. Maybe a mix of the three. But the stiffness of her back and the stillness of her jaw didn't lend any clue to them to help figure out what she actually was feeling at all.

Both Draco and Harry couldn't help but to squirm a little under her gaze but Harry noticed Draco's shoulders relax a bit next to him. Apparently Draco felt better knowing that Harry seemed to be the focus of Death's ill will. She lightly picked up the bone china cup with her delicate fingers, and took a sip. Her intense gaze still on Harry. Harry took that light moment to look at Death over in full. most of her body was covered neck to toes with the black dress... But as he looked closer he noticed it was a very intricate dress.

It was entirely black lace, bundled so close together in seemed to be the fabric itself. The tight neck collar looked to be Edwardian, but the waist looked more like it was from an Empire dress. But the skirt and train he could see from her sitting Harry knew was Victorian.. French Bussel if what his Selfish, over indulgent stepmother used to rant on about was true. She was always trying to replicate historical fashions into her robes, to make herself more Regal. Harry though it was ridiculous, but it kept her face in the papers and magazines and made James and The Jerk look good, so Harry was alone in his options.

It was after looking over the dress and looked up that Harry noticed that Death was now openly glaring at him. Harry eyes immediately went wide as he realized what Death must have though he was looking at her dress... She must have thought he was checking her out... OH BLOODY HELL, he was going to fry!

"As I was Saying..." Death said in a voice that was above a whisper, but might as well have been a scream for all the impact the words held. Harry froze himself stock-straight and didn't move at all. Like a Zebra when a loin was near. Death raised her cup and took a sip as her vulture eyes stayed locked on Harry.

"As i have said, you both have died. What you may not know, is that your deaths have caused some... Major problems for my brothers and sisters. For all of us, actually... And so I have decided to act. Intervene on your behalf you could say. That's why I brought you here, to see what we can do to try to reverse or lessen the damage already done."

"What Damage?" Harry asked, try to keep his voice as even and non-insulting as he could. Death craned her neck at him and looked, as if to see if there was even a hint of an insulence in those words, so she could pounce on him. For some reason he didn't know death seemed intent on hating him and making this meeting as difficult and uncomfortable as possible... Wait, maybe he did know. Not dying twice, and becoming the 'Master of death', Ect. Ect... She was obviously not to pleased with him before he even got here.

"As you many have guessed, Your brother was NOT supposed to be 'The chosen one'... But nor was he supposed to become the new leader of light, or the heir to the house of Potter..." Both Draco and Harry could only nod weakly to that. They actually didn't know that last two, but if they followed the logic, it seemed to fit.

"Because he was made so, by your father and the headmaster, Things were changed and changed for the worse. The series of events that were supposed to happen where warped, and things that were supposed to come to pass ether didn't happen at all or didn't turn out the way there were supposed to... All of these outcomes all added up to a point we call 'A crossroad of destiny...' A single moment that can ether change things forever; by righting them as they should be, or ruining them forever.. This moment being your executions."

"Our deaths, that were at the same time..." Harry whispered in realization, seeming to catch on quickly.

"So, I take it things were ruined forever?" Draco asked.

"Yes!" Death snapped, as her eyes sharpened even more at the two, as if it was their fault. Harry had to wonder just how much of their fault it really was... Maybe it was a little, of their fault, but not all of it! They weren't reasonable for the actions of the other people involved in this mess. Harry refused to say anything to that effect, though... Death seemed angry enough at him for the moment.

"Your deaths, more pointedly Harry's last words, started to make people question Albus and the Potter family.. And in turn, the new risen Weasley family that had joined the Potter family by marriage." Harry winced at that, as a cold, heartbroken chill ran through his heart at those words. Ginny actually married him... Ginny married my twin..

"After the news of the Potters arranging the death of their innocent son was put out for all to see the 'cleansing' the Wizarding world had basked in was tarnished. Ruined and shamed... But still, the Potter Regime pressed on. The Bulgarians wasted no time in attacking them, both politically and in earnest.. Before long, France and others were called in to help... Only to be rebuked, excluded, or even completely ignored by the Light side.."

"Eventually, France and the others became to see what the 'Cleansing' had truly been about... A mad old man, a spoiled brat and his do-anything-to-meet-his-own-ends father slowing ruining their own culture only to further their own goals... They did a in-depth investigation, into everything that had happened from the last battle on.. at the worse time possible, exposed what would known as the "Lost Potter" scandal... They released all of it to the press. James, the minister of magic, were arrested. As well as your brother, Stepmother, and Albus... Though he was, as you many guess, Freed quite quickly..."

Harry and Draco both gulped... They could only start imagining the fall out from all that.

"So then there was an invasion, An usurpation, and open rebellion all coinciding at the same time... All in what few areas magical England had left. France and the other allies had left beforehand after learning of Lucius's betrayal of his OWN son, which added on top of the Potter betrayal, made England the most shameful place to be... and the near-death of his wife after childbirth didn't help.. The child that turned out to girl, and Lucius's rage overcame him. If he hadn't been stopped by the Healers and midwife, I'm sure he would have finished Narcissa off then turned on the baby..."

"Needless to say... These things cannot come to pass. There was little to nothing left for Bulgarian to conquer after it was said and done..." Death said, as she narrowed her eyes at the two.

"Magical England as we know it was gone.. more than half of the population they had before the first war was dead or abandoned its shore.. It no longer had its own government, but was ruled by foreign power for over 10 ten years until ANOTHER rebellion started and they were removed.. and yet another ten years for the Bulgarian influence in their society and Schooling to dissipate."

Harry and Draco both paled and looked at one another it shock. That was HORRIBLE... Just Horrid. If it wasn't coming from Death herself, neither of them would have believed it. But they had no choice but to expect it as fact. And the fact, once Harry thought about it, it actually seemed much more plausible than it first seemed... Bulgaria was darker, more forceful, and had always had a rivalry with England. Death it seemed, did not want to give him time to mull it over, as she nearly slammed her tea-cup down, and gave a judge-like deceleration.

"And since it was BOTH your deaths that did it... I'm sending you BOTH back to fix it. Understood?"

Both Harry and Draco's eyes went wide. "Wait... What?! You're RETURNING us to the Veil?!" Draco burst, disbelieving. She was sending them BACK THERE?! Back to where they were just about to be executed?! After she just told them what was going to happened next!? SERIOUSLY!?

"No, You fool, I will not be sending you back to that particular point.. I will be sending you back to a earlier time and you two you two to UN-do this mess before it becomes one... You will fix most or ALL of the small mistakes that lead to the crossroads of destiny to begin with. It order for you to do that you will need to put into play earlier.. MUCH earlier."

She said the last words more bluntly then the others, and both Harry and Draco found themselves sitting up straighter and feeling colder and colder chills run down their spines.

"So... Do you Agree to do it?"

Neither of them knew what to do or what to say. Harry just nodded dumbly. Death gave yet another spine tingling smirk... This one being even more creepy than the others... Because this smirk made her look downright pleased with herself.

"Very good.. Then shall I introduce you to you to your new caretakers..."

Sherlock, The year 2045

He was turning 60 today. 60!

Sherlock gave a grand sigh as he tossed himself into his desk chair. His black hair now showing grey on the sides and in the back, leaving only the top of his head un-touched by age. At least his cheekbones and chin where still the same. but he knew his eyes and the area around them where wrinkled and worn. And his hands! He lifted them into view, only to sneer in disgust.

He had never taken note of them before... And hand care had never been apart of his life. Nail files, hand lotions, and those other things repelled him. Even though he used his hands constantly, with harsh chemicals none the less he despised them. Now, at age 60, his hands looked like they belonged on a 90-year-old. They were dry, cracked, and disgusting. His knuckles where swollen and his fingers were discolored into nasty shades that shouldn't belong on human skin. He now regretted the years of just plastering them and leaving them to heal on their own.

It was hard to believe that these were the same hands that had solved some of the most complex cases in modern history. The hands that had run his website and written his books... The hands that had opened the door to 221b, day after day, in his younger years... Now they were just withered aging repulsive pieces of flesh.

What in the hell had he become?...

Old.. his mind whispered back to him. You've become old.

He sighed and leap to his feet again. It was not as easily as it used to be, but he still managed it fair enough.

He walked over to the large full-length window, and looked out onto the back yard. He hadn't chosen to move to the Sussex downs for his retirement, but Mycroft had left him this house in his will.. And for some reason, maybe a small bit of sentiment, Sherlock had taken it.. He had to grudgingly admit, it was a wonderful house. He had made it his own, even added a basement lab and rows and rows of beehives and bee boxes in the backyard.. It had become a home to him, a place that only 221b had ever been before.

But the grand view still wasn't enough to stop Sherlock's thoughts from trailing back.. It only seemed to loop them back. Because even Mycroft was gone. Dead and gone, for many years. As was Lestrade, Molly, Dimmock, Anderson, and even Donovan.. Even Irene had perished by now, he assumed...

Almost everyone he had known was gone. All the goals he had set for himself had been achieved. And this was what he had retired too.. Watching his bees with the same fever he had once watched the criminals of London. A nicely stacked manuscript that read "Practical Handbook of Bee Culture; with some Observations upon the Segregation of the Queen." sat at the end of the desk... His latest and last book, laying, more than likely never to see a printing press. He sighed heavily as he gave a few tugs of his hair.

He had lived a successful life. His name would be remembered for generations.. He had completed everything he had set out to do... But still, looking at how his life was now... it seemed so awfully hollow. Unfulfilled... Alone.

He sighed as he walked over and sat with his normal Drama and Grace onto his desk chair, the daily news being read in a monotone voice in the background. Well, at least he still had John... Sherlock said with a smile. His dear Watson. His only friend, his constant companion, and if he where to admit, probably the only person he ever could have loved.. It he hadn't been so much of the 'I'm not gay, I'm marrying Mary, oh, look I've even got a dog and a baby now' man who Sherlock knew he was..

Sherlock knew that he felt deeply for John, but also knew that it would have been a long, hard, dangerous road to get the man to feel anything romantic towards him.. Not completely out of the picture, but enough to make Sherlock worry. With the added possibly of losing John forever, to Sherlock's calculating mind, it just wasn't worth the risk.. Now, it was just another regret and added to the loneliness and emptiness he already felt.

But... He still had him. He still had John... Who would be arriving later today, in fact, to celebrate his birthday with him. That was more than Sherlock ever could have asked for. Sherlock leaned back in his desk chair. He forced himself to push his thoughts and emotions aside, locking them in another wing in his mind place for later, and rested his head. He was suddenly feeling very worn and tired...

But he still had one last time to look forward, even in his old age... He would still get to see his John.

Sherlock then closed his eyes and smiled softly. He allowed himself rest as he had many, many times before. Only this time, His eyes wouldn't open again.

-John-

As soon as John's taxi pulled up to the annoying large house in the Sussex downs, he knew something was wrong. The house maid was standing alone outside crying her eyes out, and there where two police cars and an ambulance already in the drive.

John jumped out of the vehicle even before it had fully stopped, as rushed over the scene. A black and purple wrapped gift with thin silver ribbon was left forgotten in the backseat.

John didn't get further than the ambulance before he realized what had happened, And it wasn't more than a moment after that when he grabbed at his chest, and fell the ground. The news announced that night, met with grief from almost all of England left no room for doubt what had happened...

Both Sherlock Holmes and his Blogger, Dr. John Watson had both passed away the same day.

Cause of death in both cases; Heart failure.

"Very good.. Then shall I introduce you to you to your new caretakers."

Sherlock blinked repeatedly as he suddenly found himself in a pure white room. The room seemed to have no beginning and no end. He took a quick moment to look at the other three people in the room all sitting at a table. A woman, black hair and dress, exceptional in a few ways and almost unreadable. A table setting with odd but nice china. Two boys; one blonde and one black haired, interesting enough, with odd and conflicting deductions to them. Having taking a few moments for the people, he then turned to the room.

Large, White, no noticeable ceiling.. All the same shade. Curved edges on floor and walls? Rounded overhang roof with paint? no, there would still be a sense of dept.. No sign if this was the size of a normal room or football field.. no edges, no windows, No... Doors. No doors at all. No windows, lamps, or any other source of lighting at all...

Sherlock's eyes went wide as he took in the other information that he could gather. Floor seemed solid, if it was a floor at all.. because like the wall and the roof it seemed to be that the same white matter, that not really there! If he wasn't standing on it, he wouldn't believe that it was a floor at all.

"Wait a Minute.. new caretakers?..." Sherlock's head snapped to he left as he looked at his best friend, and former blogger, John Watson. He blinked again, and then looked forward. Wait.. John had a point. Sherlock turned his attention to the two teens at the table.

"New caretakers? Hum... Interesting..."