(Y/n) sighed happily, as she felt a hand comb carefully through her hair, presuming that Misses Hudson had perhaps been there all the time; that the last thing she could remember, seeing Sherlock in his old chair, lighting his pipe, had all been a dream. (Y/n) fighting back her urge to cry again at the thought of it; wishing that her mind would not do such awful things to her. That it would not torture her with images of the love that she had lost. But she did have to admit that it had been very real. That the scent of his pipe tobacco; the small smile that she could see thanks to the light of the match, and the sound of his voice, had given her hope in that dreaming moment. Finding herself wishing that she had not woken from it. Wishing that she could just turn over and return to the vision. That, or she could just join him forever.

"I saw him, Misses Hudson......in my dream........" (Y/n) began. The person stroking her hair replying with a simple, soft hum.

"It felt so real. He was sat in his chair lighting his pipe; the smell of that awful black shag tobacco that he always smoked, filling the air.........."

"I thought you liked the smell of my tobacco.........." The sound of the voice making her sit bolt upright. Her eyes growing wide and a shaky whimpering sound leaving her lips, as she looked at the man that sat with her on the bed. Sherlock simply smiling at her.

"Did you miss me, darling...........?"

"Sher.....Sher.....you......you....dead. I saw........I saw you.......Moriarty......oh.........." (Y/n)'s mind racing as she tried to piece together a coherent sentence, but failed abysmally. Not sure whether she was seeing a ghost, or if she had actually died in her sleep from grief, and heaven just happened to look very much like Baker Street.

"Yes......I am sorry about that. I am afraid that that was the only way to stop Moriarty. And I would have come back to you sooner, but I had to take care of all those lose ends that the professor disliked so much. It took me far longer than I thought it might to track down Moran and............." Sherlock began to explain; only to find himself flat on the floor with an aching jaw where (Y/n) had just punched him. Doing his best to catch her from his prone position, as she screamed and jumped up from the bed; bolting for the door to the room, not caring about her lack of shoes or state of clothing as she threw open the main door to the flat. Not hearing a thing that poor Misses Hudson said, as the shocked older woman appeared with a lamp. (Y/n) simply continuing out onto the dimly lit streets of the capital and running to wherever her feet might take her. The housekeeper looking up, as she saw movement out the corner of her eye; her mouth agog as she watched the familiar figure moving towards her. Sherlock, just in time, to catch her and the oil lamp, before Misses Hudson fainted.

                                                          >>-----------------------------------<<

The smog was already thick, making it difficult for her to see; but she didn't care. All she could think about was getting away. Whatever, or whoever that was, it was not her Sherlock, it couldn't have been; she herself had seen him disappear into the darkness, into the mists. Disappearing and taking her every hope, her every dream with him. But what other explanation was there.....? Her hand certainly hurt from punching the spirit, imposter.......thing. Yet how could anyone, even Sherlock Holmes have survived such a fall? (Y/n) looking up as she suddenly realised that she was stood outside a familiar door; the door to the little home come surgery that John and Mary had managed to find. Her hands beginning to beat on the claret coloured ingress. It feeling like a lifetime, until the door was finally opened; a bleary eyed John appearing and looking her up and down.

"(Y/n)........(Y/n).......what..........?"

"I saw.......I saw.......Sherlock........ghost.......real, I don't......punched.....ran.........." (Y/n) doing her best to explain what she had seen through her gasps for air and tears; despite the fact that she wasn't sure what she had seen, herself. John suddenly picking her up and carrying her into the house, when he noticed her bloodied feet. (Y/n) continuing to ramble, as Mary appeared at the top of the stairs.

"John, what........oh.........." She said, quickly making her way to join her husband, as she realised that he was carrying a very pale and dirty looking (Y/n).

"What happened............?"

"I don't know.......but I think I will need your help.........." John replied, as he carried (Y/n) into the sitting room.

                                                          >>------------------------------------<<

"We should never have let her go back there. (Y/n) is a strong woman, but she lost the man she loved. It is a lot even for the strongest to take........." Mary said as she joined her husband. John washing his hands in the small basin after cleaning and binding his unexpected patient's feet. (Y/n) now sat in front of the fire, with a blanket around her shoulders, and a cup of tea in her hands. Neither of the Watson's able to get anything clear out of her, other than she had awoken to find Sherlock's ghost sitting next to her on the bed, and that she had punched it, before making her way out into the night. John aware that the loss of Sherlock had taken quite the toll on her; a part of him not sure that the void his friend had left, would ever be filled. Yet he was not one to believe in ghosts, or that (Y/n) might have lost her mind. The still shivering, wide eyed woman, one of the most level-headed and logical people that he had ever met; more than capable of giving Sherlock a run for his money. And given he was a man of science; the notion of spirits was not on the table either. So, he was left with no other choice.

"You are probably right; but that said, something made her run out into the night with nothing on her feet. So, I think it best that I go and check. That and make sure that Misses Hudson is alright........." The doctor replied, as he and Mary made their way out into the hall. John reaching for his coat and hat; making sure to grab his cane, just in case.

"Do you want me to come with you...........?" Mary asked, as she helped her husband on with his long coat.

"No. You stay here; (Y/n) needs you. As soon as I find out what's going on, I'll be home..........." John promised. Giving her a smile and placing a kiss to her forehead, before he himself headed out into the dark capital.