John Watson – Part 3 of 'She's Back'

John stood and stared at the polished stone before him. It was a dim day but the light still bounced from the inky black gravestone.

It had been months since he had last been to the resting place of the young woman who had saved him from himself. He felt guilty over that, although he knew that she wouldn't have held it against him. Sherlock never had been one for excess sentimentality – even if she was the most feeling person he knew, she just showed it in different ways, like hunting down serial killers and the like.

"I've met someone Sherlock," he told the stone…he hadn't spoken to the grave since he had begged for a miracle, a miracle that he hadn't received – but then he supposed that there were some things that even Sherlock Holmes couldn't do, "and I think you would like her,"

He stopped and breathed.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

So much had happened since Sherlock had –

John laughed a breathy self-mocking chuckle. Here he was standing in front of a stone with her name on it and he couldn't even think the reason why she was in a box several feet below him.

He had left Baker Street. He had returned to practicing medicine. He had met Mary. He was going to propose to Mary. He loved Mary. And finally, after two long years, Sherlock's name had been cleared. But it was too late.

John had never realised how many people Sherlock had helped during her short life but they had all made themselves known after her fall and had shown no qualms with voicing their opinions.

Sherlock Holmes was a special, gifted young woman who was no fake and the world would know it by the time they were finished. Even two years later a week didn't go by when there wasn't a news story dealing with an update in the court case or giving an interview. Angelo had been the most vocal in his support and the one time John had walked past the restaurant it had been to see a camera crew setting up. Next had been Henry, but thanks to the classified information involved with the BASKERVILLE case he hadn't been able to reveal just how Sherlock had helped him. John had hoped that something would develop between his young friend and their client. But it hadn't, and like all cases Henry had become more water under the bridge…

He saw a figure approach him in the reflection of the stone.

He reached his hand back and Mary took it.

She squeezed.

He squeezed.

They stood and stared.

John stepped into 221 Baker Street, the smile that had been on his lips when he entered fading quickly.

Ghosts.

That's all that waited for him up in the flat, but he hadn't realised they would start as soon as he walked through the door.

"That has got to be the most ridiculous thing I have ever done," John panted, leaning back against the wall and fighting to catch his breath. He felt so alive. Who knew that running around London behind a crazy girl (because she had to be crazy, there was no doubt about it) could be so invigorating.

A little giggle came from beside him where the girl – Sherlock Holmes, funny name for a girl that – was also using the wall as a support and catching her breath.

"Oh, I am sure you have. After all, you invaded Afghanistan," she panted.

He froze for a second or two and then chuckled.

Most avoided the elephants in the room – even if they were squashing you – but not this girl. She climbed on up there and made them do tricks.

"Well, I did have a little help there," he told her.

He looked at her and met her eyes – funny eyes, John was sure he had never seen eyes so pale before – her face crinkled as a smile broke across her lips. They both giggled.

John looked around the flat. Nothing had changed. It was like 221B had been in a bubble for the past two years, dust was the only thing that had effected the place that had once been his home. And it had been his home. He had lived places, he had a flat or a house but this flat had been a home, Sherlock had made it a home… That had been part of the reason why he hadn't been able to face living there anymore. Every time he had stepped out of the door it had become that bit harder to go back, until, one day, he just didn't.

Now he had to explain to Mrs Hudson why after all this time (embarrassingly long really) he had chosen now to return and wasn't it just like her to jump to some of the most outlandish reasons for his reappearance at Baker Street.

"I've met someone,"

John saw the disappointment flash across her face. She was disappointed in him. He knew that Mrs Hudson had hopes, or had actually been under the impression, that there was something going on between himself and Sherlock. It wasn't like he hadn't thought about it. He was only a man after all, and being in the company of an energetic (if a little eccentric) young woman almost 24/7 had naturally led to some internal speculation. But when there had been no signs of attraction from Sherlock towards himself (or anyone else) he had decided it was better for both of them to be friends. Close and a little unorthodox but still friend. And it had been one of the most rewarding relationships of his life.

But now she was gone.

John stood and stared.

He was in his now fiancés favourite restaurant, the very same woman standing at his side, her hand squeezing his with a fierceness that stopped the blood flowing to his fingers. But he didn't notice.

This should be the happiest night of his life.

The woman he loved had accepted his proposal – not the smoothest speech of his life – and the engagement ring he had bought her was now on her hand.

What didn't he have to be happy about?

He studied the slim (almost sickly so) young woman being escorted from the building by several staff members. He knew that face, pale and slim, framed by dark curls. And the eyes… How had he forgotten those eyes?

The eyes of a ghost.

The night was chilly and John could see the clouds of his own breath in the lights from the street lamps.

They had caught up with the young woman. He had actually dragged Mary after him when she had refused to let go of his hand.

The girl looked like a rabbit in the headlights, her eyes – those eyes – wide and glistening, her mouth slightly open as she breathed.

John stared.

"Is this…?" he could hear Mary ask. She sounded far away but she was right beside him, still holding his hand.

He stared.

"Hello John," the ghost whispered to him, a small unsure smile curling the corner of her lips.

John stared.

"Oh no," Mary moaned beside him, "You can't be,"

"I'm back," the ghost spoke softly.

John exploded.

Hi everyone.

I am sitting in my pyjamas as I write this, nursing a nasty bug :(. I haven't had the brain power to do anything original so I have edited these from my tumblr and finally posted them here.

Hope you enjoyed them.

This one comes across a little melodramatic I think but I loved writing it.

Take care.

:)