Sherlock made his way back up the stairs with a lamp lighting his way, slipping through the door to the apartment and closing it behind him before slumping against it. Tonight, hadn't gone at all as he had had planned. He was aware that all this was going to take some explaining to his nearest and dearest; Sherlock sure that Mycroft would also have something to say about him borrowing his oxygen doohickie, but his brother was the least of his worries. His main concern now, (Y/n).

As he had told Watson and tried to explain to (Y/n) before she had punched him and run from the room, he had done what he had done, faked his own death, to make sure that no one was hurt again by Moriarty's plans. It the best way he could think of to ensure that none of the professor's lackies would know that he would be coming for them. And once it was all over, once the last threat had been dealt with, he had come home; watching (Y/n) in one disguise or another, as she would go in and out of a hotel that she was staying in, or made her way to a few of the places that he knew she would frequent. His heart breaking as he saw how tired and drawn, she appeared; how her usual brighter dress, had been replaced with nothing but widow's black. A dark cloud hanging over her slumped shoulders, as her world seemed to get ever smaller, day after day. The woman that he loved going out less and less; Sherlock knowing that it was all because of him. The consulting detective aware that he needed to show himself to her, and soon; that he had to reveal that he was alive, so that he could once again see her smile. So, when she had made her way back to Baker Street, and it became obvious that she would be staying there for at least the night, it seemed as though the perfect moment had presented itself. Though thinking back, he should have realised that just sitting in the dark and then appearing in the light of a match, might be a slight shock. And the fact that she had fainted, would certainly suggest it had been. That, and when she had awoken from said faint, he really shouldn't have been sat over her on the bed. But as he had carried her back into the bedroom and placed her on the mattress, he had enjoyed the feel of her in his arms too much to just leave her. The scent of her light floral perfume surrounding him, pulling him to her; his lips softly kissing hers, before his fingers had carefully moved through her hair. Sherlock hoping that when John was able to speak to her in the morning, he would be able to explain all this, and she would agree to come and see him. The younger Holmes wanting nothing more than to be with her now the whole, sorry affair with Moriarty was over. Wanting nothing more than to finally be able to ask her the question that he should have asked some time ago. Sherlock, with a heavy sigh pushing himself from the door and making his way to his bedroom; for if he couldn't be with her, at least he could surround himself with the scent of her, as he lay in his bed.

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

Mary rushed out of the sitting room when she heard the sound of the key in the front door. She had, with some persuasion, managed to get (Y/n) to rest, and she had finally fallen asleep in the chair. Mary watching over her, a slight concern filling her, as (Y/n) seemed to be having a nightmare; distraught sounds leaving her lips, as she moved, at some points quite frantically, in the chair. Mary not sure what else to do for her; so, she had never been more relieved to hear John coming into the house.

"John......what..........?"

"He's alive, Mary...........Sherlock is alive..........." John said, as he slowly removed the hat from his head. The doctor still trying to take in the news himself.

"Alive........so, (Y/n) was.........but how......how is he alive........?"

"As always with Sherlock it is rather an elaborate story; and if you don't mind, I think I need something a little stronger than tea, before anything else......." John told her, taking off his coat and hanging it from the stand with his hat, before making his way into the sitting room, his eyes falling on a now, thankfully quiet (Y/n).

"How has she been........?" He asked, as he poured a healthy amount of Scotch in a glass and made his way over to the chair in which she rested.

"She got up when I mentioned that you had gone to check on things and Misses Hudson, and she hurt her feet. That, and she seemed to have been having quite a bad nightmare. But now..........."

"I'll sit and watch her for the rest of the night. I have to think of the best way to break all this to her. After everything she has been though, I don't know how she will take it. But if she wants to go back to Baker Street in the morning and punch him again, I for one, am not going to stop her. Lord knows he needs to understand some of the pain that we have been through, all this time that he has supposedly been dead. But for now, lets go to the kitchen and I'll tell you what Sherlock told me.