Molly and Sherlock climbed the exterior stairs to the room above the pie shop. Sherlock hesitated. Too many thoughts, whispers, that would not be quiet. This place was haunted for him.

Molly turned back to look at him, "Come along..." She continued up the staircase as Sherlock carefully followed.

The room appeared as more of a dusty spider's liar. He must shudder at the memories. The furniture paraded as ghosts under the thick, white cotton sheets and the broken mirror contained demons.

The door creaked and groaned as Molly entered, "Not to worry, a touch of oil will put that right…" Sherlock had not dared to enter the room, Molly noticed as she looked back over her shoulder, "Nothing to be afraid of, love, come in."

Molly knelt on the grimy floor and tore up a loose floor board. Underneath there was a small compartment; something covered with a velvet cloth. She removed it and carefully unwrapped it with a particularly gentle and respectful touch.

It was a fine leather case. She turned to Sherlock, dusting it off. Sherlock entered the room, "I don't believe it..." he gasped. Surly they wouldn't still be here after all these years?

"When they came for the girl, I hid 'em. I thought, who knows? Maybe the silly blighter'll be back again. Cracked in the head, wasn't I?" A small smile quickly tugged at one corner of her mouth, but quickly dispersed.

Sherlock opened the box to reveal a beautiful set of razors. He stood for a long moment, gazing down at his beloved razors.

"Those handles is chased silver, ain't they?" Molly gasped.

"Silver, yes..." Sherlock confirmed.

These are my friends,

See how they glisten.

He picks up a small razor, flicking the blade open.

See this one shine,

How he smiles in the light.

My friend, my faithful friend.

He held it to his ear, feeling the edge with his thumb. Just as sharp as when he left.

Speak to me friend,

Whisper, I'll listen.

I know, I know –

You've been locked out of sight

All these years –

Like me, my friend.

Well, I've come home

To find you waiting.

Home,

And we're together,

And we'll do wonders,

Won't we?

Molly leaned over him, in her own kind of trance as well. Sherlock picked up a larger razor, opening it with a metallic flash. They harmonised in a slightly demented balled.

You there, my friend,

Come, let me hold you.

Now, with a sigh

You grow warm

In my hand,

My friend,

My clever friend.

He put it back.

Rest now, my friends.

Soon I'll unfold you.

Soon you'll know splendors

You never have dreamed

All your days –

I'm your friend too, Mr. Holmes.

If you only knew, Mr. Holmes-

Ooh, Mr. Holmes,

You're warm

In my hand.

You've come home.

Always had a fondness for you,

I did.

– My lucky friends.

Till now your shine

Was merely silver.

Friends,

You shall drip rubies,

You'll soon drip precious

Rubies...

Never you fear, Mr. Holmes,

You can move in here, Mr. Holmes.

Splendours you never have dreamed

All your days

Will be yours.

I'm your friend.

And you're mine.

Don't they shine beautiful?

Silver's good enough for me,

Mr. Holmes...

Sherlock stared at one of his razors, "Leave me now..."

Molly did as she was told, unquestioning.

Sherlock held the largest razor open, stood proudly, "At last my arm is complete again."

The small bed in the corner caught his eye. He slowly walked over to it. He lifted the sheet, a cloud of dust rose into the stale air. An old umbrella lay discarded across the mattress. The judge didn't even let Mycroft come back for his beloved umbrella… He stood alone, staring at the rotted handle, holding his razor.