The envelope was plain. It arrived one morning at his practice with the rest of the mail. The address was handwritten but there was no mention of the sender's name.

Dr John Watson,

5 Kensington Pl,

London W8 7PT

John considered it for a moment. The handwriting was clearly feminine but it wasn't a familiar one. Probably an invitation card for another wedding, maybe one of his army buddies.

He had kept this old habit. Guessing, no, deducing. Paying attention to the little details. It had been three years. Three long years since his flatmate and best friend Sherlock Holmes had taken his own life.

The void he had left in his life was immense, the first year had been terrible. His limp was back and his nightmares were worse than ever. So many times he woke up sweating, the memory of Sherlock's bloodied face pursuing him even in his sleep. And that question that remained eternally unanswered: why?

He had tried so hard to understand. He couldn't bring himself to believe the official version. Sherlock being a fraud, a mythomaniac or maybe even a criminal? It was ridiculous. Moriarty was real, and John knew it too well. But it didn't explain why Sherlock had chosen to commit suicide. Could John have prevented it? Maybe there are been some signs that he had missed? He knew that his friend could suffer from bouts of depression between cases but… he never imagined things could end so tragically. Sometimes he was wondering if ever knew him at all. And sometimes he couldn't help feeling terribly angry at him.

Time passed and somehow healed his pain. Of course there was always a little something to bring back a flash from the past. That man in the street wearing a blue scarf or that silly deerstalker hat. But life was going on, more or less.

John took a paper knife and carefully opened the envelope. It looked like an invitation indeed, except it wasn't for a wedding, or a baptism or even a funeral. Actually there was nothing on it, nothing but an address:

The Three Gables,

Billingshurst Road, Wisborough Green,

West Sussex RH14 0DX

He had no idea of what this could possibly mean. And since the fatal game Sherlock and he had played against Moriarty, he wasn't so fond of puzzles anymore. He put the letter into his pocket but the though bothered him all day. He had received a lot of letters after Sherlock's death. Fans, people that claimed they believed in Sherlock but also all sorts of insults and even threats.

This one was different though, and he read it over and over. The Three Gables? It could be the name of restaurant or a bed&breakfast ? But he googled the name and address and found no trace of the place. Also there was no time or date mentioned on the card. Was he just supposed to show up?

The envelope remained on his bedside table for many days. His girlfriend Mary saw it and asked him what he planned to do about it. He had known Mary for only three months, but they had understood each other instantly. She knew he had those moments of melancholy when he needed her silent comfort. But she was also aware that John Watson was a lion that couldn't be caged. When she saw the letter she got worried. She told him it could be a trap and he should at best ignore it or contact the police. But she also knew that, eventually, he would go.

^/^

On the following Sunday, John was on a train to Sussex. At the station, he took a cab which left him a bit outside the village of Wisborough Green. He looked one more time at the invitation card, the address was correct. The Three Gables was a beautiful stone house, almost a manor. The rain was pouring and he didn't bring his umbrella so he hurried towards the door.

There was a name on the doorbell, Vernet. He didn't know any Vernet. Maybe Mary was right, it was a bit reckless to answer such an invitation and walk into a stranger's house. I say dangerous… and here you are, though John. But he was carrying his faithful Browning in his left pocket. It was the closest thing to adventure he had had in ages.

He took a deep breath and rang the bell. He never expected the face he saw when the door opened.

^/^

Molly Hooper

He hadn't seen the woman in years. She had resigned from her job a few weeks after Sherlock's death and moved away from London. John couldn't even remember where. Was it Brighton? Or maybe Exeter? He hadn't been surprised by her departure. Bart's Hospital carried too many memories. Until today, he would carefully avoid the building, as the sight of this roof was enough to make him shiver.

"Hello John", greeted Molly, "please come in, you must be freezing."

He entered the corridor, happy to take shelter from the rain. Molly took away his drenched coat to hang it up. John took a look around him. The house was ancient, probably 16th or 17th century, but the decoration had been recently updated. The atmosphere was warm and welcoming but he was more puzzled than ever. What on earth was he doing here? And what about Molly? She had changed, he noticed. Her hair was a bit shorter and delicate make up enhanced her features. But the transformation was not only physical. She looked more self-assured, healthier, happier. The hesitant mortician who used to dress like a little girl had turned into a beautiful, confident woman.

"It's good to see you", she said with a smile, "we're glad you could make it".

"Molly I… I don't understand. Why… all this mystery? And what is this place?"

She bit her lip. "John, I know this looks weird but… you have nothing to worry about. There is someone who wants to see you."

"Who?"

"I can't tell you, it's… a surprise. Look it might be a bit of a shock but I promise you won't regret it."

John pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to make some sense out of the situation. Could it be Mycroft? The older Holmes did like dramatic entrances but they weren't in touch anymore. The last time they met was when John had moved out of Baker Street and the atmosphere had been frosty. John couldn't help holding him partly responsible for his brother's suicide. Who else then? He would find out soon.

"Alright, where is he?", he inquired.

"Over here", said Molly showing him the way. "It's this door, he's been waiting for you."

"You're not coming?"

"Not yet."

He slowly opened the door. It was a big room, probably a library, lighted by a fireplace only. At first he couldn't see anyone. Then, he saw the silhouette of a man seated by the window. He was looking outside so John couldn't see his face. He coughed to signal his presence and took a few steps ahead. This is when he noticed that the man wasn't seated on a chair. It was a wheelchair. So definitely not Mycroft. However, something was strangely familiar about him.

"Hello…", started John. "You made come here so… apparently you wanted to talk to me?"

There was no answer. Only the sound of the wood cracking in the fire. John was feeling increasingly irritated by this silent treatment.

"Excuse me, but who are you?"

After a minute which seemed like an eternity, the man finally answered:

"My dear John… I am disappointed. You don't recognize an old friend?"

John's blood froze, he could recognize that voice amongst millions. When the man took a turn and revealed his face, he felt his knees giving up on him.

^/^

John could feel a bottle being pressed against his lips, and the taste of alcohol filling his mouth. The Scotch caused him to regain consciousness but everything around him was still blurry.

"I told you it wasn't a good idea", said a feminine voice. It sounded both distant and close at the same time. "John are you alright?"

He blinked a few times and saw Molly perched over him. Her soft brown eyes were filled with concern.

"He will be fine", said another voice. THAT voice. Suddenly John remembered. He just had a dream, in which he saw Sherlock. It happened to him quite often, but this one was so… vivid. And how could he still hear that voice if he was awake? What if it hadn't been a dream?

He suddenly stood up, and saw him. Sherlock

"I'm sorry my friend, I didn't imagine you would faint", said the detective with a smirk.

"No…" whispered John shaking his head, "this… this is impossible". He turned to Molly with a mix of fear and pain on his face: "Is this some kind of sick joke?"

She smiled to him softly. "No John, this is not a joke. Sherlock… is alive. I'm so sorry we had to keep this from you, but it was necessary."

He turned to Sherlock and pointed a shaking finger at him. "YOU… ARE DEAD!"

"John…"

"NO I SAW IT, I SAW IT !"

Sherlock tried again, his voice calm and steady. "John, I know you are a rational man and you don't believe in ghosts. So why don't you take a seat so that we can talk about it."

Molly settled a chair for John. Then, she went to sit right next to Sherlock.

John remained still. As the initial shock of the revelation faded, his mind was being hit by a cocktail of contradictory emotions. The exceptional joy of being reunited with his friend, but also a cold anger. All this time Sherlock had been alive, but didn't bother to inform him? He felt the urge to punch the man in the face. A multitude of scenarios started to cross his mind. Could Sherlock have survived the fall? It was highly improbable, but not… impossible. However he had witnessed the whole scene. He had checked his pulse and seen the blood. A head wound of this type would certainly cause irreversible damages…

A familiar voice interrupted his train of thoughts.

"The blood was fake", said Sherlock. "I told you before, you see but you do not observe."

"I don't understand… How did you do it? I saw you falling!"

Sherlock sighed. "Why don't you sit down? It disturbs me… you being taller than I."

John finally took the chair and looked at Sherlock in the eyes, waiting for an explanation.

"You saw me jumping from that building so you deduced that I had crashed on the pavement. But you are drawing conclusions without data. You saw me falling, right. But you didn't see me landing. Actually I made sure you didn't."

The events of that fateful day played back in John's mind. "You… you told me not to move… you told me not to move so that I would stay behind that wall. Then what did you land on?"

"There was a truck parked right downstairs, filled with laundry bags. And two men, the driver and an accomplice, both from my homeless network. Right after I fell, they put me on the pavement, covered me with blood and injected me with a drug which makes the pulse temporary undetectable. The timing was short before you arrived… but you were conveniently run over by a solitary cyclist…."

"… another member of you homeless network I presume?"

"Yes."

"And then?"

"Then I was taken into the morgue, where Dr Molly Hooper was assigned to do my autopsy."

"I see…" murmured John. He was trying to process the information but felt like he was still missing so many pieces. «What happened after that? I know that Mycroft came to identify your body. Was he in the loop too?"

This time it was Molly who answered. "Not… initially. But things went wrong. I gave Sherlock the antidote to the drug. His vitals were back quickly but his state was alarming. Obviously the shock had been much more violent than we expected, even absorbed by the bags. He had several fractures and a severe concussion. Sherlock had told me that in case things went out of control, I should contact his brother, so this is what I did. He was transferred to a secret military hospital, but he slipped into a coma during the transport. When he woke up three days later, he said he couldn't move his legs. Initially we thought it could be caused by the head trauma, but the CT scan showed us otherwise."

John's face saddened. So far he had been so shaken by the news of Sherlock's return that he had almost forgotten about the wheelchair.

"Is it… permanent? I mean, there are a lot of progresses in that area, a surgery might be possible?"

"You can imagine my brother already contacted the best specialists in that field. It's a spinal injury, there is nothing to be done about it. And to be honest I have no will to become a guinea pig for experimental protocols. So yes I guess it's permanent."

"I'm sorry…"

Sherlock shrugged. "There's nothing to be sorry about. It's just bad luck and miscalculation on my part. I knew there was a risk and I took it willingly." There was no self-pity in his voice.

"There's still something I don't understand…", continued John. "And I've asked myself this question over and over since that day. Why did you jump? Moriarty was dead and I know you weren't a fake. So why Sherlock?"

"After we met Richard Brook… I understood. It was a clever plan, really clever. I miss that poor Jim sometimes. He wanted to destroy my reputation, and push me to suicide. So I took the lead, I asked him to meet me on that roof. I was decided to stop him once for all, whatever the cost. I hoped I would be able to gain some time. But once he was dead, I didn't have a choice anymore. He had snipers. On Lestrade, Mrs Hudson and… you."

John closed his eyes. So it hadn't been another reckless act on Sherlock's part, it had been a sacrifice.

"If they didn't see me jump, they had the order to shoot the three of you. But he did one mistake. He didn't think of Molly. I met her the night before and we prepared my little magic trick. I wasn't sure it would work, and… when we talked over the phone, I was honestly saying goodbye. But if it did work then I would have a major advantage over Moriarty's men. Everybody would believe me dead and I could work in shadow to dismantle the rest of his network."

John sighed heavily. "Jesus this is… unbelievable!". He took his head between his hands. "Do you realise that I went to your BLOODY FUNERAL!"

"I know, I am sorry. I am so sorry but I had no other options."

This time there was no smirk on Sherlock's face. Only the sincere hope to win his friend's forgiveness. Molly placed her hand on his arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. There was a tenderness about that gesture that caught John's attention.

"Wait… are you two?"

"What?"

"Together?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I leave for three years and your observation skills are almost reduced to zero?"

"I'm just… surprised, that's all."

"And you don't notice anything else? Anything new? I mean except the wheelchair of course."

John took a closer look at his friend. He didn't have changed much in his opinion. He was still wearing one of his usual designer suit and tight shirt. He had put on a bit of weight which was probably due to the lack of exercise and the fact of being more regularly fed by a girlfriend. But he didn't think that was the change Sherlock was talking about.

"No I… I don't know."

Molly giggled. Sherlock was nervously tapping his fingers on his knee, he looked exasperated.

This is when John saw it. The ring, on Sherlock's finger, and the matching one on Molly's right hand. His eyes were going from one to the other in disbelief.

"Finally !", exclaimed Sherlock.

"You… got married?"

"Yes", confirmed Molly with a broad smile.

"Wow… congratulations! That's fantastic, really! I'm… just warning you I might faint again because that's a bit too much shock for a man at the same time!"

Sherlock grinned and whispered something in Molly's ear.

She gave him a wink and stood up. "I'll be right back"

^/^

She left the room, and John and Sherlock found themselves face to face.

The doctor still couldn't believe it. The friend he had missed and mourned was there in front of him, alive. His secret prayers had been answered. And yet something still hurt. He felt… betrayed.

"Sherlock… why didn't you trust me? You asked help to Molly, to your brother but… not to me? Why ?"

"I couldn't. As I said I chose Molly because Moriarty though she didn't matter to me. And my brother wasn't supposed to get involved. With the three accomplices from my homeless network, it was already way too many people. Moriarty still had a lot of men out there, and they were watching you."

"You think I wouldn't have been able to keep a secret?"

"No. I said it was crucial that you believed it so that the world would believe it. I've read your blog, that article you wrote after my death. You wouldn't have been so convincing if you had known I was alive. There were… some many times when I wanted to call you. I even did on some occasions, just to hear your voice and then I hanged up. I stopped because you thought you were being threatened."

"The newspapers wrote so many horrible things about you… How could you let that happen?"

"I knew you didn't believe them. It was all that mattered to me."

"I never doubted you."

"I know", said Sherlock with a smile.

John couldn't help smiling back to him. He stood up and walked toward his friend. He wanted to pull him into a hug but didn't know how. Finally he placed his hand on the back of Sherlock's neck and leaned forward, so that their foreheads would touch.

"I bloody missed you. You stupid, stupid man!", he whispered.

"Me too John. Now stop that, people might talk."

John started to laugh, soon joined by Sherlock. Like two kids, like in the good old times.

"So, you got married and… I wasn't even your best man?"

"It was Mycroft. You can imagine the ceremony."

"No… God! Actually I can't. Are you happy? You look happy."

"Funny for someone who liked to sneer at domestic life, right?"

"Right. So women were you area after all?"

"At least this one", said Sherlock, "you know, I wouldn't be here without her".

Suddenly he was serious again. "When I realised that I would never walk again, I couldn't see the point in going on. I considered suicide, for real this time. I spent three months in the hospital and then four more in convalescence. She came to see me every single day, even when I told her the most horrible things. And I don't know how it happened but she healed me. From my dark thoughts and from other wounds I had had for years. When I was finally released I asked her to come and live with me. We moved into this house, which belongs to my family, and we got married two years ago."

"She's perfect for you. I'm glad you finally realised it…."

"I know."

John smiled then fell silent.

"Oh you can ask it", said Sherlock.

"What?"

"The question you're not daring to ask. Can we have sex? Yes. It's not as easy as for other couples but… it's working. Quite good actually."

"Good"

"I've heard there is a Mary Morstan is your life?"

"You've been well informed."

"Is it serious? Or is she just another name on your impressive list of feminine conquests?"

"We haven't known each other for long but she's… special. So you'd better remember her name."

"Here we are!" said Molly reentering the room.

John turned around, wondering who the "we" was referring to. For the third time on that day, he received a shock that almost gave him a mini heart attack. Molly was carrying a baby.

"Was he sleeping?", inquired Sherlock.

"No he just woke up from his nap."

She sat, holding the little boy in her lap. He looked a lot like Molly, but his blue eyes were clearly Sherlock's.

"You… have a child?"

"This is our son, Thomas", said Molly.

"Thomas Hamish", added Sherlock.

Molly took his little hand and pointed it at John.

"Thomas, this is John, a very good friend of daddy."

"How old is he?"

"Eight Months."

"He's adorable."

Molly was beaming. "We were not really… expecting him. Even the doctors were surprised. He's our little miracle."

"Give him to me", said Sherlock.

He took his son in his arms.

"So tell me Thomas, do you think John would make a good godfather? Because we really can't let Uncle Mycroft be your godfather, that would be a terrible start in life."

The baby babbled cheerfully.

"I think that's a yes", said Sherlock. "Well only If you agree?" he added, looking at John.

"I'd love to."

He looked at the two of them. There was something odd about imagining his friend with a child. But he also seemed to be very at ease in his father's role. This was definitely a new Sherlock and he was as surprising as the old one.

"John, I asked you to come today because I have some important news. It didn't make the headlines, but Moran has been arrested last week. He was the last one on the list. My brother made sure he'll never be out."

"So you'll be able to come back?"

"Yes, we're moving back to London. I've got all the proofs, everything I need to clear my name. I'm thinking about contacting our old friend Kitty Riley to give her the interview she's been wanting for so long. Sherlock Holmes is alive! It would make a good scoop. What do you think?"

"I can't wait for it."

"I want to start consulting again. My brain is rotting but it still works. And the Yard's elucidation rate is ridiculously low since I left. But I need someone you can be my eyes where I can't go. Someone who knows my methods and who I can trust entirely. I know only one man who fits that description, and he's right in front of me."

"Alright. But I have one condition", said John.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"No more secrets."

"Fine, no more secrets."

THE END ?

So this is the first fic I wrote since the end of "Coming back". I had something like this in mind for a long time and of course I loved the Sherlock/Molly interaction in season 2 .

It was meant as one shot but I might write a little bit more if you liked it. Reviews are love ;-)