Hey folks I'm back! As you read this is the sequel you've all been waiting for. It hasn't been very long I know but I got bored one day and wanted to start writing this. Um… there are things I need to tell you. Do you remember in my last story how it alternated between Sherlock and John? Yeah well that isn't going to start out like that. It's going to alternate between John and Sarah for only a bit then it's off to our two favorite crime solvers. Nothing really is different except…well you'll find out. I really don't know what else to tell you, well maybe that I don't know. Um, I do hope you like this chapter and this story of course, I hope you've all been enjoying your time off from this and that you will stick around to the end of this one. Well yeah that's it, also I don't own Sherlock in any way and yes this is a disclaimer. See ya.

John Watson was staring at the empty bowl in front of him. It was five o'clock in the morning; he woke up at three from a nightmare again. Ever since he was shipped home from Afghanistan for the last time he's been having them. Dreams of the war never haunted him before, maybe because he knew he could go back, but when he was injured his life was never the same.

He felt slender hands wrap around his shoulders. He wished he could slip away from them but he couldn't. "Hey Sarah," he mumbled.

John met Sarah when he was at the hospital recovering from his bullet wound. He could tell she harbored a giant crush on him but didn't have the guts to ask him out. John figured she was pretty and he did like her a little. He thought she could be interesting and fun to hang around with, maybe she could fill a void in his life that used to hold the yearning for action.

He had a plan, he was going to date Sarah and no longer be an adrenaline junkie as some of his friends called him. They would move in together and get married, or maybe the other way around whichever happened first. Then maybe have a few kids that they would name Nick and Jane. They would move to the country when they got old and visit their grandkids every so often. Eventually he would feel fine just sitting down and reading the newspaper without the need to go out and do something.

Sarah kissed the top of his hair. "What are you doing up, you don't have work today," she told him.

John didn't want to tell her that he had another nightmare. "I just woke up," he lied to her, unless you call waking up in a cold sweat afraid that you were dead just waking up. "I couldn't go back to sleep after that so I decided I would get ready for the day."

Sarah sighed; she dropped her hands from his shoulders and walked to the fridge. "I know you had a nightmare John, why don't you talk about it?" she asked. She really wished that he would talk to her about these things. She only wanted to help; she didn't mean any harm by it.

John clenched his teeth shut and shook his head. "If you already knew why I was up why did you ask?" he inquired. She opened her mouth to say something but John put up his hand to stop her. "Never mind, it's just I don't need two people trying to pry open my dreams." He was referring to the therapist that he was seeing. She told him he should try to talk about his dreams with someone and that he should start a blog. The blog thing threw him off. He didn't know what he should put in a blog, his therapist said all the things that happened to him but nothing happened to him anymore. There was once a time where everything could be happening around him but now he was Mr. Nothing.

Sarah looked down a little ashamed. "I'm sorry," she sighed. "I'll be in the shower if you need me."

John nodded; he listened to her leave still staring at his empty bowl.

-

John left the flat before Sarah got out of the shower. He left her a note stating that he would be out for the rest of the day and shouldn't wait up for him if he's gone past nine. He knew he should have waited for her to get before he left but he really wanted to get going.

He walked all the way to the train station, even though his leg was throbbing in pain the whole walk. He bought himself a cheap train ticket with the money in his pocket and waited for the two hour ride to start.

The whole ride there he was jittery. It's been ten years since he's been back to the school, he wasn't sure what he was going to find there. He was hoping to just be able to see it again and that he would feel the same way he did back when he was attending it, back when he was just a teenager without a care in the world, when he had someone great by his side.

John had to shake himself out of those thoughts quickly. He didn't want to think about something that happened so long ago and that didn't even matter. He sighed and reached in his back pocket, it was instinct to look at that photo whenever he thought about that man. He didn't have his wallet with him. 'How could I forget that?' he thought to himself.

He checked his other pocket just to make sure it wasn't there. He grabbed his cell phone out of his pocket and quickly dialed Sarah's number. She should still be home and could see if his wallet is there. He hoped it was because if it wasn't then he probably dropped it somewhere between where he was now and London.

"Hello?" Sarah answered.

"Hey Sarah I was wondering if you could check if my wallet is in the flat?" he asked quickly, "if you're still there of course."

John could hear Sarah sigh on the other end. He rolled his eyes; of course she would get irritated if he asked her to do anything. "Yes it's here," she answered flatly. "Where are you going anyway?"

"Nowhere," he told her. "Thanks, bye." He hung up. He knew it was rude but he could feel a fight coming on and he was not in the mood for a fight.

John sighed loudly and rested his head against the window. He would have to deal with being without that picture for the day.

-

John walked up the hill and saw the school. He smiled feeling better about his day already. He started the long walk up to the entrance. He almost felt like he was back in school, except now he was a little taller and had a cane.

"John," someone yelled. "John Watson."

John turned and saw someone jogging towards him. John smiled politely. He wasn't sure who the man was just yet. "Hi…" he trailed off.

"Mike Stamford," Mike told him. "I know I got fat."

John shook his head and held out his hand. "Of course, Mike hi," he said. "How are you?"

"I'm good, working at the school as a teacher now. I thought I would never even think about doing it but it's fun."

John nodded. "I have a question, do you know if Mycroft still works here?" he asked. He was biting his lip as he waited for Mike to answer.

"Mycroft?" Mike asked.

John sighed; of course Mike wouldn't know him by the first name. "Mr. Holmes, you know he taught politics," he tried to clarify.

Realization hit Mike and he shook his head. "No he left right after we graduated I believe," he told him. "But enough about him, what have you been up to. Last time I heard you were off being shot at, what happened?"

John's grip on his cane tightened. For some reason that irked him, how could someone be so blind and asked such a question. 'Oh nothing much, just got shot, almost died but then was save,' he said angrily in his head. "I was shot," he answered with instead.

Mike looked uncomfortable. He shifted a few times on his feet before beaming. "Would you like to have an old school lunch with me?" he asked.

John thought about it. He used to hate the school lunch, anytime he could eat in town he would. He figured Mike had to stay on campus because he had a class to attend to and couldn't skip like John would if he went to town. He shrugged his shoulders and answered with a yes.

-

The lunch was, just as John had remembered, horrible. He took a few more bites of the "chicken" before looking up. "So anyone from the old days still work here?" he asked to get the conversation going.

Mike went through the list of teachers that they had mentally. "Anderson still works here," he told him. "I think everyone else either died or quit."

John smiled; it grew until he thought he wouldn't be able to fit it on his face anymore. "Anderson still works here?" he asked. "Oh I could have fun with him."

Mike laughed. "Didn't he give you and Holmes a detention for changing his room around?" he asked trying to remember back.

John shook his head. "I was never involved in that and I'm pretty sure Sherlock never was too," he explained. "I think it was the Blaine kid who sat behind me. Anderson had a grudge against Sherlock and would pounce on any chance to get him in trouble."

"Speaking of Sherlock how is he?" Mike asked.

John sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know, I haven't seen him in fifteen years," he told him truthfully.

"Fifteen years?"

John nodded; he looked down at his food sullenly. "We broke up the day we left school," he stated.

Mike nodded. "You two couldn't handle the long distance relationship?" he asked.

John snorted. "Something like that," he said. 'It wasn't the fact that some crazy psychopath was trying to get him,' he thought to himself sarcastically.

Mike understood that John didn't want to talk about it. "Well what are you doing now?" he asked.

"I'm a doctor and work at the hospital where my girlfriend works," he explained.

"Sounds fun," Mike laughed.

"Loads," John said sarcastically. "I'm not used to that kind of work. I'm used to bullets whizzing pass as I try to sew up a man while they're screaming in pain."

Mike nodded understandably. "I would think you get that enough from kids," he joked.

John pointed at him with a smile. "If I wanted to deal with kids I would have had some of my own," he told him. He stood up, making sure to grab his tray and brought it to the trash.

"Where are you going after this?" Mike asked as he followed the blonde.

John formed a mischievous smile. "I'm visiting an old friend of mine," he said. "I'll see you later."

"Yeah, we should keep in touch," Mike told him. "It's nice seeing you John Watson, have a good day."

John nodded in agreement and walked out of the mess hall.

-

John was standing outside the door to Anderson's room with a wide grin plastered on his face. He couldn't believe that he was standing outside the room of the teacher he loved to torture so much. He knocked; he only had to wait a second before Anderson looked up. The man's eye grew wide before he stood up.

Anderson crept opened the door and peered at him. "What are you doing here?" he asked. His eyes were darting around like he was expecting someone else to show up.

"I just wanted to see you sir," John said. He could see the twitch of Anderson's eye.

"I'm busy," Anderson snapped.

John smiled smugly to himself. "Doing what?" he asked innocently.

"Nothing," Anderson edged the door closer to the frame.

John tried to look around his head. "Why is there a dinosaur in your room?" he asked puzzled by the fake skeleton.

"Dinosaurs are a part of history Mr. Watson," Anderson told him. "Now if you don't mind…"

"You never taught us about dinosaurs," John told him.

Anderson slammed the door shut and shouted through the glass, "Good day Mr. Watson."

"Good day to you too sir," John stated cheerily. He heard Anderson growl before turning to walk away. He was feeling better already. He left the door and limped down the halls with his eyes shut. It felt nice to be back at the school. It almost felt like he was home again. "Speaking of home," he said. He decided he would want to see one more thing before he got ready to leave.

-

John walked down the familiar hallway and stopped at the door that had his special numbers on it. "221 B," he whispered as he traced his fingers across the number plate. He longed to go inside just to see if it changed.

He knocked on the door but there was no answer. He figured there wouldn't be, it was the middle of the school day. He sighed and leaned against the wooden door.

He began to wonder what happened behind this door. Did its occupants use the room like they were supposed to, as a battleground when things grew under the bed and clothes littered the floor? Or did they follow the rules and kept their rooms clean.

"Who are you," John heard a voice coming down the hall, "and what are you doing by my room?"

John lifted his head off the door and looked at him. The teen was scrawny with brown short hair; he also seemed to be sick judging by the bags under his eyes. John smiled at him and shrugged. "I used to come to this school," he told him. "This was my room for my last year."

The kid nodded, he stepped closer. "Arthur Listling," he introduced himself.

John shook the offered hand. "John Watson," he said.

Arthur's eyes widened and his hand dropped to his side. "You're John Watson?" he asked in awe.

John nodded slowly. "Yeah, why?" he asked.

Arthur waved his hand in front of him eagerly. "You need to come see this," he said. He quickly pushed John out of the way so he could unlock his door. John followed him into the room and the first thing he saw was the map of London still on the wall.

"That's still there?" he asked in disbelief.

Arthur nodded. "Mrs. Hudson, the old head of house, fought to keep it on as a little monument to you and your friend Sherlock Holmes," he explained. He dropped to his knees and reached under his bed. "I found these my first year here." He handed John a box with some old notebooks in it. "I believe they're yours."

John stared down at them not sure what to feel. Inside the notebook were his short adventures with Sherlock. He wrote them down so he would never forget them if he got too old to remember. "I read every one of them," Arthur told him. "I don't know how they were left here all these years."

John laughed quietly. "I knew I forgot something here," he said. He looked up at the eager teen and shook his head. He couldn't believe a trip to his old school would be like this.

"Do you still go on adventures with Holmes?" Arthur asked. "Cause if you did I would love it if you could tell me about them."

John shook his head again. "I haven't seen him in a while," he told him. "Hey do you mind if I take this home?" He would love to read them again.

"No, of course not," Arthur told him.

John gave him another smile. "I should get going," he told him. "Thanks for the notebooks."

"Any time Mr. Watson," Arthur told him.

-

John left the school catching a cab to the train station with the box settled on his lap the whole way. He was looking forward to read over his adventures again. They were just what he needed after the rough week he had.

On the train he picked up the top notebook that was battered and discolored from being stuck under a bed for about fifteen years. He ran his fingers over the frayed edges before he flipped open the first page.

'The first "case" I ever had the pleasure of working with Sherlock Holmes…'

So yeah your thoughts on that would be great. I hope it doesn't seem weird; I might have a hard time with this part. I really don't know what to say anymore. Wait…I do now…welcome back my friends, keep your hands and feet inside the ride and all times and see you when it's over. BYE!