Disclaimer: All characters other than my original character are property of Sherlock BBC. No copyright infringement intended.

Ch.1

"Did you miss me?"

That was enough to awake Sherlock from his slumber. He sat up straight suddenly, his black locks sticking to his forehead with sweat. He was panting like he had just sprinted a marathon.

Those words had haunted his dreams for a week, in the same warped voice that graced every television screen in England last Saturday. He almost wished he had just carried out Mycroft's mission for MI6 instead of returning to the madness that was London.

Alright, that was a lie. He could never leave John and Mary. And Sherlock junior. He was still very intent on having their child named after him, regardless of gender.

It was much too late to go back to sleep. Once his mind woke up, Sherlock couldn't just will it to turn off. He looked at his watch. 5:22. Mrs. Hudson wouldn't be awake yet to make his tea. He'd just have to make it himself.

Ugh.

"Oh, look at that, I've fallen asleep fully clothed in my chair again," Sherlock thought, coming to the realization that he had done this for the third night in a row. In, the usual, too: a dress shirt and slacks. His files were scattered around him on the floor too, per usual when he didn't quite manage to make it to his bed at night. He stood up slowly, hearing his spine creak angrily because he didn't treat it properly by sleeping on a mattress last night. Sherlock often felt like his mind and his body were two separate entities, and he could only hope that one could keep up with the other. An unexpected sigh escaped his lips as he stretched.

Right, tea. English Breakfast would do nicely.

He had a few hours until he and John met with Molly in the morgue at 9. "Down time, lovely." He thought as a smirk crept across his face. "Perhaps I can finish my experiment…" He sipped his tea and made his way to the refrigerator, out of which he pulled a baggie containing a human scalp. He was extracting the scalp from the bag when his phone began buzzing. "Ugh." Slightly disappointed, he put down the flimsy skin and answered the call.

"John."

"Sherl-,"

"Mary's got morning sickness, doesn't she?"

"…How did you-,."

"You have a pregnant wife and you've never called me this early in the morning before."

"Fine. Yes, she does. She's sick as a dog." John sounded manic on the other line.

"Well, you're the doctor. What do you propose?" he heard a muffled 'Sherlock, this isn't funny!' in the background, then the sound of wretching. He was on speaker. Lovely.

"I was going to propose that we go to the hospital early so that someone can see Mary. She needs something stronger than antacids prescribed."

"Fine. Pick me up." Click.

…

"I thought you boys weren't coming until 9?" Molly chirped as she led them down the hall. She was wearing a sweater with a kitten on it, and her high ponytail swung back and forth as she pranced through the hospital.

"We weren't. Mary's got terrible morning sickness so I took her to see someone."

"It's a good thing he gave her a bucket for the car."

"Sherlock, please."

"Now, I have to warn you both," Molly turned around and stopped them in their tracks. "This body has been dead for nearly three years. It's been well kept but there's a good amount of decomposition…"

"Yes yes, I'm aware," If Sherlock could handle Mary spewing her dinner from the night before in the car, he could handle another dead body.

"Is it recognizable? I mean does it still look like Moriarty?" John asked, mentally preparing himself.

"…Not exactly," she said. With that, Molly led the two of them into the morgue. The smell of rot hung in the air, since the body was already prepped on the table. Sherlock ignored the stench. John however, could not.

"I think I'm going to have morning sickness," he gagged. Molly handed him a trashcan.

"Remove the sheet," commanded Sherlock. Molly nodded, approached the table, and did as he asked.

The corpse's skin was the shade of soil, and it clung to its skeleton like it had been glued on for a kindergarten project. Its cheeks were sunken, and the lips and eyelids had long since retreated. In fact, so had the eyeballs. There was a nice big hole in the back of the head where the bullet had blown through that day on the roof.

Jim Moriarty dead on the table. As dead as he had been the day Molly had performed his autopsy.

Or not, apparently.

"So," John managed to choke out. "He is dead then, right?"

"Yes of course he's dead, the question is, who is he?" Sherlock snapped at him. He examined the body with care, looking for anything that suggested this was not Jim Moriarty. A scar he hadn't seen before, a tattoo, a birth mark, anything.

"…Well then?" John finally built up the gag reflex resistance to come alongside Sherlock.

"I can't tell. Too much decomposition."

"Well, I mean, if you hadn't faked your death you could have examined him when he died-."

"I said I was sorry!"

"Shall we just do the DNA test then?" Molly asked meekly from the sidelines.

"DNA test? We don't have anything to compare his DNA to," said John.

"Yes we do." Sherlock said, removing an envelope from his inside coat pocket.

"…What is that?"

"Hair I collected from Moriarty's suit the day he came for tea in my flat." He handed the envelope to Molly.

"…You just kept his hair because you knew it would come in handy someday?"

"Naturally. I have a few strands of your hair lying around somewhere as well. Just in case." Having said that, Sherlock turned on his heel and exited the morgue. John looked up at Molly blankly.

"You know, I shouldn't even be surprised by this sort of thing by now."