Thanks so much to everyone who read my last story! Seriously, it means the world to me!

So, like I said before, this is going to differ from the last story and take bits and pieces of season 3… I don't want to follow it exactly, as I had a larger plan before the third season came out… so just roll with it…

I hope you enjoy!

Kylie sighed and ran a forearm over her face, trying to wipe the sweat off her face before it dripped into her eye as she gazed at the skeleton lying her makeshift slab as she stood in the middle of the jungle outside of Buenos Aires.

Her eyes surveyed what was her five hundredth and thirty fourth victim to lay on this table.

She sighed as the obvious signs of torture that were far too repetitive for her liking popped out at her like a sore thumb.

"You can't get hung up on it Doc," Raul, her older assistant said in his typical Argentinian accent, as he brought the victim's other femur into the room, completing the skeleton on the table.

"Hung up?" she asked, bewildered by his question.

"I see the look on your face," he told her with a slight smile, "You hate this."

Kylie didn't answer him for a moment as she looked down at the body in front of her, "I just hate what people do to each other for no reason at all. And we cant even touch the sons of bitches who did this to them."

"Military regime, Doc," Raul told her, "You knew that coming in. We can only identify the victims and lay them to rest with their families. You knew that coming in."

"Yeah, it doesn't mean I still don't think its fair Raul."

"Then why stay here for so long?" Raul asked, "You've been here for two years Doc. No offense, but you more and more miserable each day. Why not go back to your life before?"

"Because there is work to be done here," Kylie told him, "That and I can't go back Raul. I left for a reason."

"I'm sure the reason is much more arbitrary than you believe it to be. Things aren't always as bad as it seems to be, Doc," Raul told her before he gave her one last smile and walked out of her tent.

Kylie looked at the table and leaned on it, sighing.

Two years… it had been two years since she had left London; running away like a frightened child.

She hated herself for running. She hated the fact that she had abandoned her friends. John had called her multiple times, broken into pieces, begging her to call him. She had never picked up, never called back. The calls had stopped nearly six months after she had left. She had only gotten the nerves to call him a few months ago. He hadn't picked up though, nor responded to her heart felt message and apology. She got the picture… he wanted nothing to do with her. She had nothing left in London… nothing to go back to. She really was starting all over once more.

She plopped down on the examination stool as a sense of hopelessness took over her. She had thought that she was finally going to be happy in London. She had had a great job, a great set of friends, a wonderful land lady, and a man who she had felt herself falling for. That all ended when Thomas had shown up out of the woodwork once more. He had murdered and nearly murdered a handful of women before kidnapping her and using her to drive the man she had fallen for to commit suicide.

She had been raped again.

She had lost all of her friends.

She was alone.

And Sherlock Holmes was dead…

Her life had become a whirlwind of hurt once more and instead of trying to get through it with her friends and family, she had isolated herself in the middle of the Argentinian jungle, surrounded by war-torn victims whose deaths couldn't be brought to justice due to the still running dictator.

She knew she was doing good, but she still felt as if she had an empty hole in her body, spiraling in a vortex, sucking every feeling of happiness and joy into it, the feeling lost forever.

It had been two years… and she still couldn't believe it.

Sherlock Holmes had killed himself… jumped off a building after telling John that he was behind her kidnapping.

It didn't make sense. She had run every scenario through her head a thousand times over. None of it made sense.

Why did he jump?

Why did he tell John he was responsible when she knew for a fact he wasn't?

It was eating at her. None of it made sense. She wanted to have hope that this was all a giant prank… that it was some crazed, elaborate plan…

Stop it Kylie… he's gone. You know he's gone.

She shut her eyes and sighed once more.

She had to stop thinking like this… she had to.

She looked over to the corner where her backpack lay. Kylie didn't even realize she was standing until she was kneeling down next to the bag, opening it up, and removing the small brown package she had received nearly a year ago. She removed it from the plastic bag she had been keeping it in, looking it over carefully.

The package had been delivered to her at the hotel she was living in. The label had been typed, and the package wrapped in typical brown paper. There was no postage and no return address… the only clue as to who had sent it was the single name "Phaedrus" in the top right hand corner, where the return address usually lay. The odd part was though, the contents of the package hardly made sense. All that the package contained was a single hard rubber ball, typical of that of being used to play squash.

She held the ball in her hand, staring at it intently for the millionth time.

Why would someone anonymously send it to her? Let alone under the name of an obscure Roman fabulist?

Part of her wanted to believe it was a clue to something… a sign… but the realistic side of her knew it wasn't. Even if it was, she had no idea how it was a sign of hope. It was a squash ball and a guy who wrote fables in the first century…. Nothing made sense anymore.

She shut her eyes and sighed, willing herself to stop this fantasy and come back down to reality as she shoved the box and ball back into the bag.

It was probably a hoax. Some crazed person thinking that they were leading her to case…

With one that doesn't even make any sense?

She rolled her eyes at herself as she turned back to the table and willed the past out of her mind.

One day at a time Kylie… just get through one unbearable day at a time.

*# ()*) ()_

Sherlock Holmes read the headlines of the latest paper before flicking it down and staring at his brother as he mindlessly stared at the file in front of him in his home office.

"You have been busy, haven't you?" Mycroft drawled as the barber carefully shaved Sherlock's scraggly face, giving him the first clean shave he had had in months.

"Quite the busy little bee," he continued as Sherlock tossed the paper aside.

"Moriarty's network," Sherlock told him, "It took me two years to dismember it."

Mycroft looked up at him and smiled, "And yet you still haven't caught Thomas Moore."

Sherlock motioned for the barber to stop, as he sat up, glaring at his brother.

Mycroft just smiled at him even more, "That's why you did it, didn't you? To protect young Miss Gibbs?"

"Moriarty was running a large underground terror group. Being Serbia was the last piece of the puzzle…"

"A group that Mr. Thomas Moore now runs," Mycroft told him.

Sherlock gave his brother a pained smile, "May I remind you that you, nor the British government had found Moore either. You were too busy enjoying watching me be beaten to a pulp to even begin looking…"

"I got you out."

"No, I got me out. Why didn't you intervene sooner?"

"I couldn't risk giving myself away now, could I?"

"You were enjoying it. Admit it."

"I never enjoy, field work," Mycroft said as if the word 'field' were disgusting, "The noise.. the people…"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and leaned back once more, "I didn't know you spoke Serbian."

"It wasn't difficult to learn. Took me an afternoon."

"mm.. you're slipping."

"Middle age," Mycroft told his brother with a smile, "Comes to us all."

The door opened and Anthea, Mycroft's PA held up a suit for him with a smile.

&^#*( ()* )

Sherlock adjusted the suit as he looked in the mirror, taking in his refreshed appearance; one that he had not seen in two years, since adventuring out into the Russian wilderness.

"I think I'll surprise John," he commented as he made small adjustments to his suit, "he'll be delighted!"

"You think so?" Mycroft said as he watched his brother, folding his arms.

"I think I'll go back to Baker Street, and who knows, jump out of a cake!" He said jokingly… well, half jokingly…

"Bake Street?" Mycroft asked, "He hasn't lived there in two years."

Sherlock looked at his brother with slight shock.

"Neither him, nor Miss Gibbs have. Why would they be? Its been two years. They've both got on with their lives."

"I sent Kylie a clue. She must have figured it out, told John."

"A squash ball?" Mycroft laughed, "You know that that is only obvious to us, dear brother, not a typical goldfish like the woman you were infatuated with?"

"You know that Kyleigha is much brighter than you give her credit for, dear brother," Sherlock told him.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at his brother, "Even so, her and John have not spoken in years. Miss Gibbs still remains in the Argentinean rainforest. While John has taken to being a humble general practitioner."

"Where's he going to be tonight?" Sherlock asked.

"How should I know?"

"You always know."

"He has a dinner reservation at the Marron Of Bon Row. Nice little spot. Have a couple bottles of the 2000…"

Sherlock wasn't listening anymore. He knew he had to see his friend.. the same friend who still supposedly believed him to be dead… all because a woman couldn't figure out the simple, blatant clue he had given her to let her and John know that he was still alive…

"I think I'll just drop by," Sherlock muttered as he smirked to himself.

Even if he didn't know… this was still going to be fun…

(#() ()(

John Watson walked up nervously to the door of a flat that he had been to many many times.

Come on John, pull yourself together. You have been dating Karen for nearly eight months now… asking her to move in is the next logical step. Its not like you are asking the woman to marry you….

John adjusted his tie and suit jacket, smoothing his mustache down. He had to admit, he'd had it for months now, but he still wasn't quite used to it.

He took a deep breath and raised his hand to knock, just as he was about to rap on the door, it opened.

"OH! Hi!" Karen's best friend Janine said in her Irish drawl as she looked at him in surprise, "Sorry, John. Just helping Karen get ready, you know."

John didn't know her very well, but knew her well enough that she was his girlfriend's best friend and that she was a PA for some corporate big wig.

"Best be off!" Janine told him, "Lovely to see you as always John! Oh, and I have to say, Karen looks drop dead gorgeous. Good luck tonight… you know…"

John frowned at Janine as she looked at him, hinting that she knew something.

"John!" Karen's voice said from behind him.

John turned to his lovely blond girlfriend in a lovely pink cocktail dress that made his stomach flip.

She certainly did look stunning…

"John, I wasn't quite expecting you on time!" Karen said as she put in her last earring, completing the outfit as she stared at her boyfriend at the door.

"You look, um… wow," John stuttered.

Keep it together Watson…

"Bye Janine!" Karen said over John's shoulder.

"Oh! Yeah, right!" Janine said as she walked away, motioning for Karen to call her behind John's back before she walked to her car, getting in.

"Sorry about that," Karen said as she kissed her boyfriend, "You ready for dinner?"

Ready as I'll ever be…

*&#( )* )(

John sat at the table nervously, twitching as Karen stared at him with a smile, sipping her water as they waited for the waiter to come and take their orders.

"You've never taken me out here before," Karen told him, smiling with excitement, "Its quite a nice place."

"Yeah, well. It's a special night," John said looking down as Karen practically bubbled with excitement.

Now or never Watson…

"I um.. wanted to ask you something," John began nervously, trailing off…

"What'd you want to ask me?" Karen asked, practically jumping up and down.

"Look, I know we have been dating for eight months now. And most of that, I haven't been in the best of spots. And you have been there for me, and I can never repay you for that. But I love you. And I wanted to know if you, Karen, will move…"

"Sir, I think you two will quite enjoy this specific wine," A waiter with a horrible French accent interrupted, shoving a bottle in front of John's face, "It is our special of the day, unless the two of you would prefer something else off the menu…"

"We're kind of in the middle of something," John said, looking at Karen, who was sort of frowning, "Will you come back in a minute?"

"Move?" Karen asked.

"Yes, move in with me?" John told her.

"It is exceptional though!" the waiter continued, "The color, the hint of fruit, and blackberry…"

"No, sorry, not now," John inputted once more.

"Move? You aren't proposing?" Karen asked.

"Proposing?" John asked nearly choking, "You thought I was going to propose?"

"Yes, you get me all dressed up…."

"But this is from a private collection and I promise you that when you taste it…" The waiter continued as Karen was nearly crying across the other end of the table.

"… and ask me out to dinner at a very nice place. A girl can only assume…"

"That you will feel that you are meeting a friend from the past…"

"Look," John said snapping as he looked up at the waiter for the first time as he pulled his glasses off his face, "I am trying to deal with my girlfriend, can you please come…."

John trailed off as he couldn't believe the sight before him. He had to be hallucinating… he had to be.

"Interesting thing a tuxedo. Puts a distinction to friends and an anonymity to waiters," the man said.

John gaped as Karen fell silent, seeing John's reaction.

Sherlock Holmes… the man who had jumped off a building, committing suicide two years ago.. the same man who had left John in a million shattered pieces grieving for his friend was standing in front of him, very much alive.

Son of a bitch….

Not quite the third season…

Review? Let me know what you think!