A/N

So this was originally the first chapter to Back To Baker Street the sequel to my first fan fiction ever Surprising Sherlock. However I wasn't enjoying writing the sequel all that much and didn't really know where I wanted to take the story so I trashed it, BUT I really enjoyed this first chapter and decided to publish it on its own as a one shot, but if certain things are different fro the show (i.e. Sherlock's suicide note to John) its because this was originally a sequel.

Love you all,

I-O-U_a_Tardis

***

2 Months After Sherlock's Suicide.

John Watson starred at the wall that Sherlock had painted and shot. No one else was in the flat, just John and Baskerville. He starred at the wall, knowing that it would most likely be the last time he saw it. It was March 22, the day John was scheduled to move into his knew flat on the other side of London. He hated to leave Baker Street but his heart couldn't take the constant reminder that Sherlock was gone.

He had left all of the detective's belongings where they were and had already loaded all of his into the truck he had rented, that was waiting downstairs. John stared at the wall feeling empty and numb. Even though he knew Sherlock was gone, even though he had seen the body, he couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe that Sherlock would be that selfish, that he would leave him alone again. He knew it was true but he couldn't believe it. The only thing that made him hold on to the reality that he would never hear Sherlock's voice again, was the note. The note saying,

"Goodbye" John whispered before heading down the stairs and leaving 221B Baker Street.

4 Months After Sherlock's Suicide

A tall curly haired man sat at a bar in Scotland, looking depressed. He had high cheek bones and was far to skinny. A large, muscular man sat down next to him and order a beer off the tap. "Hey you ok there buddy?" Asked the man in a deep accent. "Not particularly," said the curly haired man "I was looking for someone but I couldn't find them."

"Well who were you looking for? A lady friend perhaps?"

"Actually I was looking for someone by the name of Shamus Tompson," the curly haired man turned his gaze towards the large man and with a flicker in his eye and a smirk on his lips "You know him, right?"

"Ya! That's me!" Said the large man standing up.

"Thought so."

The curly haired man lunged forward landing a hard blow on Shamus's sternum.

Shamus stumbled, taken by surprise at the strangers outburst. The curly haired man came at him again landing two swift punches to him. Shamus grabbed a near by bottle and shattered it.

"So predictable" said the curly haired man rolling his eyes and ducking as the bottle was thrust towards him.

The curly haired man sprung up and grabbed a steak knife of a nearby table, by now everyone had fled the restaurant. Shamus reached for the man and through him against the bar. Coming after him again with the bottle. But before he could, the curly haired man grabbed his arm and snapped it backwards causing Shamus to scream as his bone popped out shattered. The curly haired man spun him around and held the knife to his neck.

"Who are you?" Shamus choked. The knife scraping his throat as he spoke.

"The name is Sherlock Holmes and I need some information." He pushed on Shamus's exposed bone "Now!"

6 Months After Sherlock's Suicide

John had been doing better. He dropped down to only visiting Sherlock's grave four times a week and had returned to work as an ER doctor at Bart's. He had to work on ER because it was the only department in which the doctors worked on the first floor, and he couldn't go into the lift without having flashbacks and panic attacks.

On July 10th, John walked into a patient room expecting to be looking at a broken arm. "Ok let's see what you did," he said looking at the patient for the first time. He was hooked up to wires and had was shaking uncontrollably.

There was a women sitting next to him holding his hand and crying "I found him like this, I called an ambulance they think he overdosed."

John dropped his clipboard and began backing out of the room "I I think I have the ah wr-wrong rrroom" he turned and left the room pushing his way between people to get outside. He burst out into the rain and collapsed crying, having a severe panic attack. He grabbed the closest object to him and chucked it, causing it to shatter on the ground. "God damn it Sherlock! God damn you!" More tears rolled down his face as he became angrier. "You bloody bastard! You selfish bloody bastard!" John's screams dissipated in the brisk air.

7 Months After Sherlock's Suicide

Sherlock Holmes walked through the capital of Switzerland, trying to locate a small shop he had learned about, that was a part of Morairty's network. He was in a crowd and wished who ever owned the mobile that had been ringing for that last five minutes would answer already. When he made his way out of the crowd he realized it was his burner phone he had picked up yesterday.

"Hello?" He answered wearily.

"Hello brother, how are you enjoying the life of a spy?"

"I'm not a spy Mycroft! How did you even get this number?"

"I have my ways."

"What do you want?"

"I just want a progress report."

"Well your not getting one!"

"Why not?!"

"Have you told John that I'm alive?"

"Sherlock we talked about this, it will put him in danger!"

"Call back when he no longer has to grieve."

Sherlock chucked his burner against the sidewalk, smashing it. Then proceeded to look for the shop.

9 Months After Sherlock's Suicide

John had finally gotten used to working as an ER doctor and his panic attack had decreased considerably.

On October 17 John was pulled away from his usual routine at the hospital. "John we've got a VIP patent who has requested you specifically" the floor manager told him. "Um ok. Ah what room?"

"Floor 8 room 8163"

"Can't you get anyone else I'd prefer to stay in the ER."

"Go John." said the floor manager walking away.

John turned and walked to the lift. As he moved to hit the button to call it, his hands shook excessively. He decided to take the stairs.

As he walked into room 8163 he didn't know wether to be pleased or angry.

"Hello Dr.Watson, how's the dog?" said Mycroft who was sitting in a chair watching the news. "Um he's fine Mycroft, what are you doing here, what's wrong?"

"With me? Nothing I was just in the area and decided to stop by. By the way, I would suggest making your therapy appointments closer together, you look like hell."

"How often I see my therapist is none of your business!" John spat.

"Calm down John only trying to be helpful." Mycroft rolled his eyes and John staggered backwards trying to prevent a flashback. "Please don't tell my to calm down Mycroft, you told me that the day he...the day Sherlock...the day...."

"The day he killed himself" Mycroft said finishing John's thought so he didn't have to listen to his stumbling anymore.

"Ah Ya that." John said his eyes tearing up. "Look Mycroft, if there isn't anything else I think you should go."

"Very well John." and with that the elder Holmes left.

10 Months After Sherlock's Suicide

"You have five seconds to tell me who you answer to before I kill you." said Sherlock in a monotone voice. He was holding a German man at gunpoint.

"Five"

"Four"

"Three"

He cocked the gun.

"Two"

"Wait! Wait! I will tell you! Please! I will tell you!"

"Go on then" Sherlock said shoving the gun into his temple.

"His name is James Morairty!"

"James Morairty is dead! Who do you answer to?!" Sherlock barked

"That is it he is the only one I take orders from I swear!"

"Are there any others you know of that answer to him?!"

"Not that I have meet but I heard his largest organization is in Russia!"

"Anything else!?"

"No no that's all I know!"

"Thank you, you have been very helpful."

Sherlock pulled the trigger and the man collapsed on the floor with a bullet in his brain.

In the last few months something had changed in Sherlock. He had no more remorse, he had no companions, he had no home. All he had was a job, to take down Moarity's empire. Every lead he had so far had lead him here, but know he was off to Russia to finish the job.

11 Months After Sherlock's Suicide

John Watson sat in front of his friends grave with a present. "Happy Birthday Sherlock." he said laying down the gift. "Did you know it was exactly a year ago today that I told you I loved you." he was crying but still managing to keep from falling apart completely. "And you said it back remember, and then I kissed you. You said it was the best moment of your life. I didn't tell you but it was the best moment of mine too." John put his forehead against Sherlock's gravestone and sobbed quietly. "I would give anything to hear you tell me that you love me again" he whispered. John sat with Sherlock's empty grave and just cried, until the sun went down.

12 Months After Sherlock's Suicide

"I was so alone and I owe you so much but I can't live another day without you. You were my best friend. Everything reminds me of you and I can't do it anymore. I thought I was in love with you but then you died and I realized that love doesn't even begin to describe how I felt... feel about you." John spoke to an empty room as his entire being shook as he lifted the gun to his head.

"Life without you is meaningless, you gave me excitement and adventure, help and comfort, friendship and," his voice trailed off as his hand shook violently. His finger was on the trigger, all he had to do was pull back. Just one little movement.

But he couldn't do it. He dropped the gun and sank to the ground sobbing.

"I hate you." he muttered to the air "I hate that I hate you." He was still shaking horribly. "I hate that I love you."

14 After Sherlock's Suicide

"You are a psychopath!"

"High functioning sociopath, do your research."

The Russian spat at Sherlock. He sighed and rolled up his dirty sleeves.

"We have two options here, either you tell me where Sebastian Monroe is now and I let you live or you tell me where he is later and I leave you here, chained to this chair, to starve."

"Your insane!"

"No I'm desperate, and believe me that is much worse."

18 Months After Sherlock's Suicide

"So your friends with Molly?"

"Ya ya, I meet her a few months ago! So what do you do for a living John?"

"Well I'm a doctor, currently working in the ER,"

"Oh! I bet that's exciting!"

"Ya it is. Not as exciting as my last job though."

"Oh what did you do?"

"Solved crimes" John looked up from his food and laughed with his blind date that Molly had forced him on.

"So what do you do Mary?"

22 Months After Sherlock's Suicide

"Sherlock."

"Sebastian."

"I figured you would find me eventually, so I toke so precautions."

A red dot hovered over Sherlock's chest.

"Do you think I'm afraid of death? I already have a gravestone, why would I be afraid?"

"Human error." Seb laughed.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and quickly scanned the old house looking for where the sniper could be.

"You have no need for precautions Sebastian, I have no intention of killing you."

"Why not? You've left a trail of bodies behind you."

Sherlock's entire body tensed

"Three. I have left three bodies and one of them was my own! You are the killer, you are the monster!"

"Do you even know your victim's names or did you delete them?"

Aldrich Lexicon: international weapon smuggler, responsible for 18 deaths, married with 3 children

Dimitri Zavragin: important member of the Russian mob based in Moscow, responsible for 34 deaths, married with 4 children, 13 grandchildren and a brother with stage two brain cancer

Sherlock thought to himself, as his stomach twisted with acidic guilt.

"Deleted, but I'm sure yours were as well."

"I'm sure I have a list somewhere, so Mr.Holmes if you don't want to kill me why go to all of this trouble to find me?"

"I never said I didn't want to kill you, I said I wasn't going to be the one to kill you."

Several windows smashed and people came swarming in, in waves, all armed and all surrounding Sebastian.

"Apparently you have no shortage of enemies."

A man fell from the rafters and the dot on Sherlock disappeared.

"Have a nice life Sebastian, or at least the few minutes you have left."

Sherlock spun around and walked away, turning up his coat collar. Even if it wasn't his coat, it worked just as well.

24 Months After Sherlock's Suicide

"You know, I don't have to leave." John said in between kisses.

"Yes you do, you have a meeting" Mary laughed pushing him back.

"So what?" He laughed back, not letting Mary out of his embrace. "What's so important about work?"

"Considering you work in the Emergency Room, Dr.Watson, I believe you know the answer".

"Pssh" he laughed as he leaned in for another kiss, as they both moved towards the door of their flat, until John was on the other side of it.

"Love you, Mary"

"I love you too." Mary Mortasen smiled as she slowly closed the door, in her boyfriend's face.

"I'm hoping we can pick up from here when I get home tonight" John said through the door, starting to laugh due to Mary's laughter on the other side.

John zipped up his coat and tied his scarf around his neck. It wasn't actually his scarf, it was Sherlock's. Mycroft had let him keep it and now it was his signature. Even though John had finally excepted that his detective was gone, he still liked to feel close to him, and the scarf did just that.

It was nice for a winter day in London. It wasn't to cold or to windy, and the sun was shining above. John decided to walk, that way he could enjoy the day and gather his thoughts before his meeting. It was just a regular data meeting that each department had once a month, but John always liked to be prepared for things. He had his phone out and was looking through his list when 'BAM', someone bumped into John and knocked his phone out of his hands and onto the pavement. "Bloody hell watch were your going." John said grabbing his phone. He stood up to yell at the stranger a bit more but he was already halfway down the street. John muttered angrily to himself as he walked.

The stranger continued to walk to the destination he and his brother had agreed to meet at. But as the stranger strolled along he couldn't help but smile and wonder why John had stolen his scarf.

---

Mycroft stared at the man in front of him. He had long straggly hair, a scruffy beard, bags under his eyes, raggedy clothing and was devouring the plate of pasta in front of him.

But the biggest difference Mycroft had observed about his brother was that there was no light in his eyes. Obviously they had been that way before but not since before he met John Watson. It was strange seeing his brother like this, he felt even more like strangers with him, then he ever had before.

"The beard does not flatter you."

Sherlock looked up from his food for the first time since he had gotten it.

"I don't particularly like it either, but it's rather hard find a barber when your dead and taking down a vast criminal operation."

"Well I can make you an appointment with mine this after noon, he is rather discreet when needed to be."

"Fine." Sherlock said rolling his eyes. He didn't want to waste time auguring with his brother when he could be eating. The last two years he had hardly been able to eat, even when he wanted to, so he had learned to never pass up an opportunity to eat, because he might not get another one for quite sometime.

"So where are my clothes?" Sherlock said between bits "I noticed John has my scarf for some reason but what about everything else?"

Mycroft's eyes had widened "You saw John?"

"Not really, I just bumped him on the street, he hadn't noticed though."

Mycroft breathed a sigh of relief.

"Why did you do that?" Asked Sherlock

"What?"

"Don't play dumb Mycroft is very unbecoming, why did you sigh?"

Mycroft sighed again, not of relief, and rubbed his face with one hand.

"There is something we need to discuss, brother."

"Don't sound so distraught Mycroft, you speaking as if your favorite umbrella has just been broken."

A scowl appeared on the elder Holmes's face but disappeared just as quickly as it had arrived.

"I didn't tell John."

Sherlock put his fork down and glared across the table at his brother.

"Didn't tell John what?"

"Don't play dumb Sher..."

"Didn't tell John what?!!"

"Dr.Watson doesn't know that you are alive."

In a blink of an eye Sherlock was standing, hands on the table, shooting daggers at his brother.

"Why the hell not?"

"I told you it would endanger him."

"You told me that he knew I was alive" Sherlock yelled as he slammed his hand on the table.

"People are staring brother!" Mycroft spat. Sherlock looked around at the others in the restaurant. "Where is he?" He said in a frozen whisper.

"Sherlock..."

"Where?"

"How should I know?"

"Please, you always know."

"He visits the cemetery every Monday."

"Ok. Where's my coat."

---

The data meeting had dragged on forever, and John was ready to go home for the night. But he had to make one more stop first. As the taxi drove down the far to familiar road, and John walked the far to familiar path to his friends grave, he couldn't help the tears that still occasionally formed in his eyes. He sat on the ground next to the gravestone like he had so many times before and began talking.

"Hi Sherlock, sorry I wasn't here last Monday, there was a car crash and the ER was swamped."

"It's ok John I wasn't here either."

The good doctor spun around, looking for the owner of the voice he had just heard. "Hello?" He shouted "Who's there?"

"Have you really already forgot what my voice sounds like?"

The tears that had been in John's eyes pooled over "Who ever is doing this, it's not funny! It's cruel!"

"It's not supposed to be either." Footsteps drew closer "I believe it's supposed to be happy. Many happy returns?"

John starred up at the figure before his eyes. A tall man in a trench coat stood in front of him, freshly shaven, with perfect curls and a smirk spread on his face. John's eyes widened as he stumbled trying to stand.

"Hello John"

"Oh my god."

"Not quite"

John's eyes scanned over the man as tears streaked down his face.

"I've gone insane"

The smirk disappeared from Sherlock face and he tilted his head.

"Excuse me?"

"I've completely lost it." John let out a half hearted laugh "I'm delusional!"

"John, it's me. I'm not in your mind, I'm right here." He toke a step closer to his friend. John jumped back, "No, no, you stay away from me!" John began backing up slowly, then burst into a sprint. Sherlock rolled his eyes and started after him "John!"

John was sweating, and his heart was pounding out of his chest. He was having a full on panic attack, but couldn't help but laugh at himself for running from a hallucination.

He turned down an unfamiliar road, to upset to think about where he was going. Footsteps still following behind. He turned another corner into an alleyway, that ended at a brick wall. He ran all the way to the wall desperately searching for a way out. He turned around, seeing Sherlock no more then a meter way.

"John."

"Your not real, go away."

"I'm am real, take a deep breath, John."

Sherlock walked closer to John, until he was less then an arms length away.

"Your a delusion, a hallucination!"

Sherlock reached for the quivering doctor's hand, and held it to his carotid artery. "I can assure you, hallucinations don't have a pulse."

John could feel the steady pulse, and the warmth of the skin beneath his fingers, more tears spilled down his face and anger started bubbling in his stomach.

"Your dead."

"No I'm not."

"I saw your corpse Sherlock! I went to your funeral."

"It was a ruse, Mycroft arranged most of it."

"You let me grieve."

"No! John, I thought you knew. Mycroft was supposed to tell you."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I couldn't come home, it wasn't safe, for anyone."

"You let me grieve and your alive."

"John"

"You put me through hell, and your alive! I watched them carry you out of the hospital, I watched them bury you!"

"John I'm so sorry, you were supposed to know."

"I thought you killed yourself because of me, Sherlock!"

"I told you it wasn't your fault in the note."

"The note! The bloody note!"

John dug around in his pockets before pulling out a folded up piece of paper and holding it up.

"You mean this bloody note! This note destroyed me Sherlock! This note, your suicide, you broke me!"

Sherlock looked questionably at the paper in John's hand.

"Why do you still have it?"

"Because it's the only thing I had left of you!" John had stopped crying, purely because he had run out of tears.

"Well obviously you have my scarf, so it's not the only thing you had left."

John's eyes enlarged, angry and hurt. He reached out and grabbed Sherlock's collar, and pulled back his other hand into a fist. Sherlock clenched his eyes shut and jerked back, ready to be hit. John pulled his fist back, but then something softened. He opened his hand and grabbed the back of Sherlock's head, pulling his lips into his own. Sherlock's eyes shot open in surprise but then closed again as he melted into John. The warmth and familiarity of the kiss, sent a current running through Sherlock's body.

The smell of Sherlock's aftershave, and the feeling of his smooth lips crashing against his, intoxicated John. Sherlock's tongue slid across Jobn's bottom lip and he willingly opened his mouth to deepen the kiss. The taste of Sherlock was one John had longed for, for so long. His clenched Sherlock's curls in his hand and tugged slightly, causing a small moan to escape from his lips and him to slam John against the wall behind him, leaving no space between them. One of Sherlock's hand went to steady himself on the wall and the other cupped John's face. The doctors hand had left Sherlock's collar and was moving slowly down his back, taking in all of Sherlock, that he had missed so much. The kiss was rapid and sloppy, with noses bumping each other, and tongues clashing as both parties tried to catch their breath. But as it went on it slowed and became more romantic as they remembered each other and began working together, moving their lips in perfect unison, slow and steady. Sherlock was the one to pull back, when he did John noticed a light behind his eyes.

"Your here. I can't believe your here." John whispered to Sherlock.

"I'm so sorry John."

"You better be." Both smiled as the linked their fingers through each others.

"Promise you'll never leave me again."

Silence filled the alleyway as did a brisk winter wind.

"Sherlock? Promise me you'll never leave again."

"John."

"Sherlock?"

"I can't make promises that I can't keep."

John's eyebrows furrowed together and his hands went to Sherlock's chest pushing him back.

"What are you talking about?"

"I can't promise you I'll never have to leave you again, I can't predict the future."

"Yes you can! You can predict that you will never leave me in the dark again, that I'll never have to say goodbye to you again."

"No I can't John."

This time when John pulled back his fist he finished the punch, jabbing Sherlock in his nose, mostly likely breaking it. As Sherlock stumbled backwards, holding his face, John walked off into the cold London night. Leaving the scarf he had been wearing on the ground behind him.