NOTE: Thank you my few but appreciated reviewers. You are definitely helping me stay focused and engaged in this story! Sorry for the long wait. A lot has been going on, but I've got another installment on the way as well as Chapter 1 of my new story, Emblazoned. Look forward to it. :)

Chapter 3

Cracks Begin To Show

I thought long and hard that night in the rain. I was impervious to the elements, so it was a bit fantastic to sit on the brick steps and remain completely dry as the thunder roared above me and the cascade of precipitation plummeted down to earth. Strange thing, being dead. I still was unable to whole-heartedly grasp all the concepts of it.

I hated that.

Eventually, the sun came up weakly behind the dark clouds, and the rain continued.

It was mid morning when I finally decided to return to the flat and sit outside the door. Going in seemed wrong. I heard John talking as I went up the steps. He had always had some odd fascination with leaving the window open just a crack whenever it rained. Said he enjoyed the smell. Said the flat felt less stuffy. Said I didn't understand.

I didn't.

I enjoyed listening to him speak. He had always had such a wonderful way of talking. His voice was smooth, meek, but resonant. It was so deliciously human. So resolutely different from my own and my brother's. Mycroft spoke with such authoritarian resolve that it was nearly exhausting to listen to for more than four minutes. I had timed it once.

John was speaking to my brother on the phone that morning. He was saying that maybe he should come to the flat, or vice versa, and they can talk.

"Bridge the gap," he kept saying. "Make things better. Not right, but better."

So absolutely simple, John was. So uncomplicated, so sound and whole in himself. I found the idea repulsive but fascinating. He could make himself and his tiny, lackluster way of life seem so appealing sometimes that I'd stay up for hours on end contemplating the "John Watson Complex, Or Lack Thereof," as I had affectionately entitled the musing in my cortex. John always had questions, always had inquiries, always knew so little, and yet he was enigmatic. He was elusive in his ability to just…be.

I loved him.

"Mycroft," he was saying. "What happened to Sh…no one could have known..."

He wouldn't say my name.

"I know…yes I know you don't blame yourself, though you bloody well should…"

Defending me, as always.

"Just…relax a bit. Come for dinner tonight. Yes. Alright? Alright. Bye."

I heard the phone drop onto the desk followed by the patented John Watson sigh of confusion, and I smiled.

I missed him.

"Damn you, you git," he said. If I didn't know better, I'd think he was addressing me from behind the door. I knew that he wasn't. He talked to himself a lot these days.

"Your brother is worse than you," he said, and I could hear the smile on his lips. "Though I wish just a little that he wasn't so damn demanding. Must have been awful to live with."

"Absolutely," I agreed.

"He wants to feel like he hasn't done anything wrong…that he didn't contribute to your…"

He couldn't say it.

"…but he did. He did. He made a huge mistake and he knew and he tried to make it better but he made it worse. The damn fool. But I can't make myself blame him."

"Of course you can't, John. You're too compassionate."

"You're probably laughing at me right now, aren't you?"

"Not quite."

"Ah, well, you never really laughed, did you? You more so just smirked at my lack of intellect."

I smirked. Silence. Then I heard the door below open. I got up and sat at the top of the steps. I glanced over the banister.

Woman. Tacky red and white raincoat, hood up, rain boots with cherries on them—I've seen that before—skirt that was just slightly too large, no umbrella. Short but not stout, hunched over due to lack of confidence. Can't see the eyes. Thin lips, not much to look at, tiny nose, less-than-defined chin. Jawbone a bit masculine, hands are small but nimble, chipping nail polish. John's got a new girlfr—

"John?" the woman called in a small voice. I recognized it instantly. "John, it's Molly Hooper."

I covered my mouth with my hand.

"I'm coming up."

She hung her rain coat on the hook behind the door and made her way up to our flat, the squeaking rubber of her boots only mildly irritating. She passed through me and stopped.

She looked around.

"John, I think you've got a draft," she said after a beat and continued walking. I sighed heavily, then stood to follow her.

When she reached the door, she knocked. I was about to walk through but I wanted to wait.

"Coming," said John from inside.

The door opened. John smiled half-heartedly.

"Molly," he said, and they embraced. I surged with anger. To watch them embrace there, to want so much for that contact while they simply were able to do it without a second thought, it infuriated me.

"Can I come in?" Molly asked meekly. She kept looking around, like she knew I was there. My anger was defused and I smiled.

"Of course," John offered, and stepped aside as she walked in. I followed quickly and John shut the door.

"I haven't seen you in a while," he said as Molly sat on the couch. "Up to much?"

John sat in his normal chair, and for a moment, there was silence as they both looked at the boxes in the room, and the empty chair across from John.

My chair.

I walked over and sat in it.

"John, there's something I have to tell you," Molly said. She played with the tiny ring on her finger.

Tarnished silver, much too old of a style for her, given as a gift from a relative, probably an aunt or—

"Stop," I said aloud.

"Anything," John said. "Are you alright?"

"I…I don't know John," she said to him, looking up from the tiny band. "I don't know. Something so strange happened last night. Something…I'm supposed to tell you. He said I was supposed to tell you exactly as I heard him say it."

John looked confused.

"Who?" he asked.

"He said that no matter what you think that you have to take this as truth, that everything I'm about to tell you is 100% true and you must believe it is. Because it is, John."

"Molly, who came to you last night? Are you alright? Is everything ok?"

"John, let her speak," I said. "Continue, Molly."

Idiot. They can't hear you.

I grimaced.

Molly stood and approached me. I stood, and she hesitantly sat down on the edge of the chair. I leaned against the fire place. The rain was coming down harder.

"John," she said. "Sherlock came to me last night."

John took a breath and closed his eyes. He shook his head.

"Molly don't—"

"John, you have to listen to me!" she said angrily. "I hardly believe it myself but it happened and he told me I have to tell you this because your life may depend on it!"

John looked at her. I touched Molly's shoulder.

"It's ok," I said. "He'll listen to you."

She shivered a bit before continuing.

"He told me…last night…that I had to tell you this because your life may depend on it. He said that I had to tell you that he couldn't explain how he came last night, or what was going on, but that M…Mori…"

"Moriarty," John said vehemently. I nodded once.

"Yes," Molly said. "He said that Moriarty had planned for something in the afterlife, that there was some kind of final challenge, and that he didn't know what was going on yet but you had to keep us all safe. Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, yourself…me. He said we need to stay safe because that Moriarty person's got something up his sleeves and he doesn't want us in danger..."

Molly's eyes were welling up with tears, and John ran his hand through his hair. They were stressed. Worried. I felt heaviness in my chest. These people...I took them for granted when I was with them, and now that I was gone, I wanted nothing more than to go back. To be with them.

"He...said that you should stay away from cases, risks, and from his brother-"

John chuckled quietly.

"And...and he said that we just have to wait for him to figure things out...to let us know more...to come back some how. Because he doesn't know what Moriarty knows, he said not to let on that any of this happened. And..."

A tear had broken through and streamed silently down her face.

"He said that I needed to stay here," she said weakly. "To stay safe."

John nodded.

"Of course you can stay here," he said. They were both reserved, quiet, and the minutes passed. John kept rubbing his face with his palms, as if he could wash all the confusion away.

"Molly," he finally said. "You know this is hard for me to believe." Molly swallowed and dabbed at her eyes with a tissue she had retrieved from her pocket.

"I know John," she said with a tiny, strained voice. "I know. I had a hard time believing it too. I really did...but I saw him, John. I saw him. He was there. I had to trust what I saw. I had to trust him."

John sighed heavily.

"Molly, I just don't know if I can believe this."

"John, please! Why won't you believe me?"

"Because Molly! You're telling me you've seen a ghost! How am I supposed to-"

"Dammit John believe her!" I roared.

I punched the mirror and it cracked massively.

Silence froze the living.

"What in God's..." John breathed. He stared, horrified, at the mirror.

"Sherlock, I knew you were here," Molly said quietly, smiling but trembling even so. John stood slowly and touched the mirror.

"Yes John," I said. "You know what you saw."

There was pain in my hand but no wound. No blood. I rubbed my knuckles. Interesting.

Then John recoiled in fear, stumbling backward into the chair again.

"Sherlock!" he yelped.

I cocked my head. He was staring intently at the mirror.

"My God...it's you..." he said horrifically. I turned and looked into the shattered glass...

...and there I was.

"Oh...interesting," I said, touching my face. A reflection. Slightly transparent, but there. I reached out and touched the glass. Why hadn't I noticed this before?

"Ah...stupid stupid," I said. I shook my head. "Obvious. You have noticed before. You saw your reflection in every taxi that passed by. It felt too normal to notice. You're dead you idiot. Something should have seemed wrong. Stupid."

"Sherlock?" John said tentatively. I snapped back into reality...or what little grasp of it I had left. I looked at him in the mirror.

"John," I said. "Can you hear me?"

He nodded, slowly. It seemed that as soon as anyone could see me, they could hear me as well. I was beginning to get the hang of this. I smiled.

"John," I said. "You know what you're seeing is real."

He nodded again, and he began to stand and approach me. I looked back at him.

"Sherlock..." he whispered. He reached out to touch me.

Please be able to touch me, please. Please John. Just touch me. I need to feel real. I need to feel alive. I need to feel you touch me.

His fingers lightly brushed my cheek. I shivered.

"John," I breathed. Rough, calloused fingers, just barely stroking my cheekbone. I surged with life. I reached up for his hand and was able to grasp it. I pressed it against my face.

"Sherlock..." he repeated. He drew close to me. He could see me. He could feel me. I felt a cool tear trickle down and streak my skin with it's moist path. "It's you..."

"Yes John," I said, reaching to put a hand on his shoulder. "It's me."

Molly made a tiny whimper, and I looked at her. I smiled.

"Thank you, Molly," I said. She swallowed and stood.

"Anything for you, Sherlock," she said quietly, eyes shining and glassy. She went to put her small hand on my back.

Touch.

They could touch me.

My habit of curiosity was wracking at my brain, but at that moment I didn't want to analyze why or how this could be.

They could touch me. That was all that mattered.

John gathered me up into his arms and hugged me tightly, and his frame quivered. Molly drew towards me and wrapped her arms around me as well.

"Sherlock what's...what's going on..." John mumbled, his head pressed to my chest. I shook my head and rubbed his back.

"I don't know, John," I said. "I have no idea. But I promise I'll find out. Promise me you'll stay safe."

John nodded and backed away from me, wiping at his face. I turned to Molly and put my hands on her shoulders. I opened my mouth to begin to speak, but she leaned up and kissed me.

I didn't fight it, didn't try to figure it out like I did before. I just let her mouth crush against mine and let my fingers get entangled in her hair as our lips were locked tightly.

I broke first.

"Molly," I said. I stroked her face. "You're so strong. You're so brave. I can't ever thank you enough for what you've done for me."

"I love you, Sherlock," she said quietly. I kissed her gently on the cheek, let my lips graze across her face and lips, and kissed her other cheek. Then I turned to John, who was standing, arms crossed, still a bit shaken.

"I'm sorry I broke the mirror," I said. John scoffed.

"Think that's the least of my problems," he said. "How long do you have before we can't see you or anything?"

"I've no idea. It varies. I've only been able to appear to the living a few times, and never as vividly as now."

John winced at my mention of "the living."

"John," I said gently. "I know this is-"

"You better get on with what you're going to say then before you phase out again."

I smiled.

"Everything Molly told you is all I know," I said. "Moriarty told me that I've got to play his game, but I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing. All I know is that you have to stay cautious."

There was a beat of silence before the room began to nearly shudder. John and Molly braced themselves as I stumbled against the mantle.

"I'm proud of you!"

Moriarty's voice echoing throughout the room.

"Well done, Sherly. Well done indeed. But unfortunately, you aren't quite finished yet are you?"

He laughed.

"Sherlock what's going on?" John cried over the clamour and the sudden swirling noises. The room went dark, the air was cold.

I felt him there. I didn't know how but I knew that he was.

A final whisper.

"The final problem, Sherlock Holmes. Solve the final problem."

Dead silence.

The lights were flickering, the room was amiss, and it was cold. John and Molly stood, terrified. I was confused.

"What..." I began. I didn't even know what questions to ask. I didn't even know where to begin.

"Sherlock what was that?" John said hoarsely.

"Moriarty," I replied angrily.

He obviously knew more about the afterlife than I did. He was beating me but I didn't know what at. I couldn't even begin to understand what was going on and I was getting tired of it.

John chuckled. I cocked an eyebrow and looked at him.

"For Christ's sake," he said. "You've barely been dead for a month and you still can't catch a break."

I sighed through a smile, and with a final good bye, I left them. I had a lot more thinking to do. The game was most certainly on.