You're laying in bed with your back against the headboard with a book in hand as the muffled voices and shuffling happen on the floor below you. A knock sounds at your door, and before you can utter a word, Sherlock makes his way into your room.

"Why aren't you downstairs?" he asks, referring to the little get together that's happening.

"Those are your friends, Sherlock. Plus, parties and socializing aren't really my thing," you reply, marking your page and tossing the book on the nightstand.

"(Y/N), they're both of our friends. You know most of them anyway," Sherlock says, walking over and sitting on the edge of your bed.

"I know three and they're either my associate, my landlady, or your best friend," you point out.

"Come on. You're an important part of all the cases we've solved and we have to talk to the press."

"This whole thing is for you, Sherlock. Enjoy it. I know how much you love it," you say with a smile.

"None of it matters if you're not there. You're my partner, meaning partial credit. Quite frankly, you're the best partner I've ever had. John is more of an assistant." Sherlock jumps up and holds his hand out for you. "Now, no more arguments. Let's go."

You sigh and reach up to take his hand, thankfully yours are fully healed up. Your hand fits perfectly into his as he drags you from your room and down the staircase to the living room. You reluctantly let go and put on a smile once you walk through the doorway.

"Hey, (Y/N)! We didn't even know you were here," John says.

"I tried to keep it that way, but I have a persistent flatmate," you reply, shooting an accusing grin to Sherlock who just smiles.

"This is my fiance, Mary," John introduces the blonde sitting on the couch.

"It's so lovely to finally meet you officially," she says as you shake hands.

"Likewise. Congratulations on the engagement. I know how Sherlock ruined the first attempt," you chuckle.

"Wait. You knew and didn't tell me?" Sherlock says.

"Hush now. I thought it would've been funny and I was right when you came back with blood all over you," you tease, walking by his side.

At that moment, something unrecognizable flashes through the man's eyes that you can't quite pinpoint. But you don't have time as a perky woman walks in with a tall man by her side who you realize is dressed... exactly like Sherlock. Obviously she likes a certain type of man.

Sherlock approaches the two with you slightly behind him and it takes you everything to hold back your laughter as you share knowing glances with John.

"We have to get to the press," John says and the three of you rush out of the room.

"Did you, um..." John trails off as Sherlock grabs his scarf and starts tying it.

"I'm not saying a word," Sherlock replies.

"Best not," you chuckle.

Sherlock throws on his coat and leads the way down the stairs with you and John in tow.

"Unlike the nicely embellished fictions on your blog, John, real life is rarely so neat. I don't know who was behind all of this, but we will find out, I promise you," Sherlock says, popping up his collar.

"Don't pretend you're not enjoying this. Being back. Being the hero again," John says.

"Don't be stupid," Sherlock mumbles.

"You'd have to be an idiot not to see it. You love it."

"Love what?" Sherlock questions, his eyes briefly shifting to you but neither you nor John notices.

"Being Sherlock Holmes."

"I sure did," you mutter.

"I don't even know what that's supposed to mean," Sherlock says.

"Sherlock, are you going to tell me how you did it? How you jumped off that building and survived?" John asks seriously.

"You know my methods, John, I am known to be indestructible."

"No, but seriously. When you were dead, I went to your grave."

"I should hope so."

"I made a little speech. I actually spoke to you," John says, acting somewhat embarrassed.

"I know. I was there."

"I asked you for one more miracle. I asked you to stop being dead."

"I heard you," Sherlock gently replies before turning around. "Anyway, time to go and be Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock waltzes toward the door, but stops and grabs the hat from the rack and slides it on his head. You smile at him as he leads the trio out the door where cameras begin flashing and taking pictures of the new team of detectives.

♖♖♖

Darkness engulfs the entire flat as midnight stealthily approaches. You sleepily drag yourself from your bed after being awakened with an overly dry throat.

You quietly walk down the steps and into the living room where you're surprised to see Sherlock sitting at his laptop with nothing but the light from the screen illuminating his face.

"Do you ever sleep?" you question, making your way to the kitchen.

"Einstein only slept-"

"-three hours a day. I know. But you're not Einstein," you say.

"Close enough," he replies, switching on a lamp and you turn on the kitchen light.

You notice that he seems to have finally unpacked all of the boxes as books now line the once empty shelves in the living room. You go to grab a glass of water when you suddenly hear one of the most beautiful sounds ever to exist.

You slowly turn around to see Sherlock with his back to you as he plays the violin facing the window. You begin to walk over and sit in John's chair as if mesmerized by each perfectly melodic note being played.

You prop your elbow up on the arm of the chair and rest your chin in the palm of your hand as Sherlock rhythmically shifts his body toward you to where each light reflects perfectly off of his face, making his whole pajama-covered form look enchanting.

Everything about this moment is tranquil and it's as if only the two of you exist in the world. You listen closely and realize the underlying sadness in the tone that makes your heart ache.

All too soon, Sherlock ends the song and slowly lowers his violin back onto the desk.

"That was... spectacular," you compliment while rising from your seat and taking small steps toward the man.

"Thank you," he says, not meeting your gaze.

"Why did it sound so sad?"

Sherlock looks up when the two of you are merely a foot away from each other. "Well, like most musicians, I play what I feel."

"Why are you sad, Sherlock?" you whisper.

"Because I'm alone. You were right."

You lightly shake your head. "All the people that were here yesterday are your friends, and you have your parents and Mycroft. You're anything but alone."

"That's not what I mean. Of course I'm not alone, I just feel lonely," he clarifies sorrowfully and you finally understand.

"Sherlock," you whisper, your voice nearly cracking.

You reach up and bring him into a hug before he knows what's happening and he visibly stiffens. It takes a few seconds for him to relax and wrap his arms around your frame.

"You have such a brilliant mind, Sherlock. Even though you're sometimes harsh, you're still such a great person. No one deserves to be alone, especially you. I'll always be here for you. I promise."

You and Sherlock pull away only enough for your eyes to lock and your noses are almost touching. Agonizingly slow, Sherlock starts leaning in and you find yourself seeking the touch of his lips on yours, and when they finally meet, it's as if the meaning to your two worlds has finally been fulfilled.

You savor the cold touch of his lips for every moment he does until you both pull away and your eyes flutter open to see his dilated pupils gazing into yours.

"Thank you."