Author's Note: I guess this is kind of becoming a short story of sorts, but I hesitate to call it that. Again, I tried to use British expressions I remember as much as possible. Although, this has not been Britpicked, so please forgive my American errors. I hope you enjoy!

Thank you for reading. Reviews are welcome.

Sherlock: Lazarus Rises

Chapter 4

(Extended & New Scenes for "The Empty Hearse")

John awoke the next morning with a raging headache and realized he was lying in a hospital bed. "What happened?" He thought to himself as his left hand flew to his forehead as he tried to remember what had happened the evening before. He blinked his eyes, trying to adjust to the light level in the room, and looked over to his right. He saw Mary asleep in the visitor's chair next to his bed; and, even in her sleep, he could see the worry lines in her brow. "Mary?" John said in a hoarse voice, trying to get her attention. When she didn't rouse, he tried again. "Mary."

At his second attempt to wake her, Mary's eyes fluttered open and gazed back at him with a look of relief on her face. Still half-awake herself, she smiled at him sleepily before stretching as she sat up. "How are you feeling? Do you remember what happened last night?" She asked her future husband to determine if his ordeal had any lasting effects on his memory.

John shook his head. "No. What happened? I feel hungover and smell like I spent the night sleeping next to a campfire."

Mary paused, not knowing how he would react to what she was about to tell him. "You were drugged and put into a bonfire." She informed him. "You were going to see Sherlock, but you never made it there. You don't remember any of it? Who took you…anything?"

John's eyes became wide at the mention of Sherlock's name just as hazy images of Sherlock and Mary hovering over him, calling his name, entered his mind, reminding him of Sherlock being alive and back in London. A feeling of relief and happiness washed over him as he answered her. "Barely." He paused as he searched his memories. "I remember standing in front of 221B Baker Street and there were these two guys…" He started to explain and then stopped, looking at Mary with uncertainty. "Was Sherlock with you last night?" He asked, hoping to confirm that his vague memories had some truth to them.

Mary smiled and nodded before becoming serious again. "Yes, I went to Sherlock for help after receiving a disturbing anonymous text with your name in it. It was a skip code. Sherlock deciphered the warning in the message, and we were able to find you in time. From what you told me about him, I knew he would be able to figure out what the message meant."

John face scrunched up in bewilderment. "A skip code?"

"Yes." Mary replied. "He said the message was every third word. Anyway, you have no idea how happy I am that I decided to seek Sherlock out. I tried phoning you and only got your voicemail. When I didn't get you, I went directly to Baker Street."

"Does Sherlock know who it was from?" John asked with concern.

Mary shook her head. "No, if he does know, he didn't tell me."

John then became silent as he took in everything he heard from Mary about what happened the night before. He smiled to himself, thinking about how good it was to know that Sherlock was alive and grateful that Mary had the foresight to reach out to him when she thought John was in trouble. Sherlock seemed to like Mary, which was surprising. He never liked any of his other girlfriends. Although, Mary seemed to like Sherlock too, which was probably part of the reason why.

"Are you alright?" Mary asked, noticing John's pensiveness.

This brought John out of his reflective state, bringing his attention fully back to her. "Yes, I was just thinking…how great it is to have Sherlock back." Mary smiled as John paused, returning her smile. John then became saddened as a thought occurred to him. "I'm surprised Sherlock isn't here."

Mary then became quiet as she contemplated whether she should tell John of Sherlock's fears but decided it was for the best that John knew. She then reached out to take John's right hand in her's. "He's afraid you will blame him for this. That you will hate him for it."

"What?!" John exclaimed, not quite believing his ears.

"I tried to assure him that wasn't the case." Mary continued. "But I think he needs that assurance from you."

John sighed as he looked up at the ceiling, shaking his head in disbelief as he did. But then thought better of it as he gazed over at Mary again. "Well, I did attack him three times after he surprised us at the Landmark. I guess I can't really blame him for believing that." He paused and then smiled, squeezing Mary's hand. "I'll go see him after I get out of here."

Mary beamed. "Good! They told me they were just going to keep you overnight for observation. Now that you're awake, I can't imagine them keeping you for much longer." She then got to her feet and released her hand from John's. "I'll go find a doctor and see what we can do to make that happen sooner than later."

John smiled brilliantly. "Thank you, Mary."

She patted his hand. "I'll be back in a tick." She informed him as she turned and left the room, leaving John to his thoughts once again.

He smiled warmly to himself as he remembered how worried Sherlock looked last night. "Sherlock really does care about me. He was genuinely worried about me and risked his life to pull me from the bonfire. He truly considers me to be his best friend." John realized. "I will never doubt that again."

ooOoo

John couldn't wait to be released from hospital so he could go to Baker Street to visit Sherlock. It should be within the hour as John was now sitting on his bed back in his own clothes waiting with Mary for the discharge papers to arrive.

He yearned for their friendship to be as it was before Sherlock disappeared from his life, for what John once thought was going to be forever. But he got his miracle. Sherlock stopped being dead, and he wanted him by his side helping him to solve this terrorist plot he mentioned to John on the night of his return. The thought of working side by side with Sherlock again, just the two of them against the rest of the world, got his adrenaline pumping again. "Sherlock was right. I really have missed this, the thrill of the chase."

Mary looked over at John thoughtfully, knowing exactly what was on his mind. "You're going right over to see Sherlock after you're released from hospital, aren't you?" She asked.

John smiled over at her. "Yes." He then became concerned. "You're not going to ask me not to, are you?"

Mary rolled her eyes playfully as she grinned at him. "I would never do that, John." She reached over and squeezed his arm affectionately. "You've missed Sherlock, and it's time you let him know you've truly forgiven him."

John looked down and then up at Mary, smiling warmly at her. "Thank you for understanding." He paused as he looked at her with curiosity. "Why do you like Sherlock? None of my other girlfriends ever liked him. Well, Sarah was an exception. They didn't seem to mind each other too much." John said with a chuckle.

Mary beamed. "Because I know how much he means to you, John. And I see what you see in him because of what you told me about him." She paused. "You're his best friend and he's yours. I would never stand in the way of that. I know how much you've missed him, and it's like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders since Sherlock showed up at the restaurant the other night."

John chuckled again as he glanced at Mary with love. "I don't know how you could tell all that from me shouting abuse at him and physically attacking him the entire night."

Mary smiled at him. "You were angry because you felt he betrayed you, which is understandable. But he tried to protect you the best way he knew how." She paused. "It may have not been the right way…but it was the only way he knew how to protect you."

John became serious. "Yeah, I understand that now. But at the time…I was just furious with him." He sighed. "I really have missed him."

"I know you have, John. And I do like him…a lot." She chuckled. "And surprising enough, I think he might like me too."

John couldn't help but agree with that. "Yeah…I think he does. You accept him as he is and see his heart for what it is."

"I do." Mary replied with a smile just as a nurse walked in with the discharge papers to sign and a wheelchair.

"Here you are Dr. Watson. As soon as you sign these, I will take you downstairs in this wheelchair so you can go home." The nurse informed him as John eagerly took the papers to sign on the bedside table as he looked at the wheelchair with distain.

He sighed with exasperation. "I'm not a bloody invalid. I can walk myself."

The nurse only smiled. "You know why it's necessary, Dr. Watson, being a doctor yourself."

"I know." John retorted as he reluctantly stood up from the bed, handed the signed paperwork to the nurse, and then sat in the wheelchair. "But it doesn't mean I have to like it."

Mary chuckled. "John, oh hush. Or are you trying to prove that doctors do make the worst patients?"

John simply glared up at Mary. "'Funny.'"

Mary and the nurse shared a look of amusement as the nurse wheeled John out of his hospital room with Mary not far behind them.

ooOoo

Sherlock was deep in his mind palace trying to figure out how a man could disappear from an underground railway carriage with no stations in between when he heard a knock on his door, bringing his mind back to reality. "Go away!" He bellowed. "I'm working!"

"It's your parents, silly boy!" Sherlock heard his mother yell back through the door to Sherlock's surprise.

"I wondered when they would show up." Sherlock thought to himself as he got up from his chair. "Coming!" He shouted back and then crossed over to the door, opening it so his parents could enter.

"Oh, Sherlock. We're so happy you're finally home." Violet Holmes exclaimed as she entered the flat and immediately wrapped her arms around her son, much to Sherlock's discomfort.

Despite his uneasiness, Sherlock returned his mother's embrace as he glanced up at his father over his mother's shoulder. His father was smiling at him teary eyed.

"Welcome back, son." Siger Holmes stated as he also entered the flat and pulled Sherlock into a hug as Violet released her son. "We've been really worried about you."

"I'm fine. It's good to be home." Sherlock told them honestly with a smile as father and son released each other. They all stood in the entry way staring at each other until it started to become awkward. Sherlock gulped. "So, how long are you in London?" He asked as he stepped back to let his parents enter the flat.

"Just for a few days." Violet replied as she and her husband proceeded to sit down on the sofa as Sherlock shut the door. "Mycroft has promised to take us to a matinee of 'Le Miserables' while we're here."

Sherlock smirked to himself, knowing Mycroft was most definitely horrified with the idea. "Oh, did he? That was very…nice of him."

"I know it's really not Mycroft's type of entertainment." Siger began. "But your mother has been wanting to see it for a very long time, so he agreed to it."

"I see." Sherlock replied as he returned to his leather chair, crossing one leg over the other as he sat. He began staring straight ahead as he partially returned to his mind palace to work on solving the terrorist plot. Despite the distraction, he really didn't mind his parents being there as he knew how much they had missed and worried about him while he was 'dead' to the world and away on his undercover missions. So he was determined to humor them at least.

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes, are you even listening to me?" Violet scolded him, bringing Sherlock's attention back to his parents.

"Um, yes, sorry. I'm listening." He tried to assure them. "Please do continue."

"Well, I have to tell you, Sherlock…" Violet began. "…I told your father that we should buy a lottery ticket this week. As you know, we don't always like to play the lottery. But the jackpot was 2,000,000 pounds this time, so I thought we would give it go. So your father went to the shop in town and purchased the ticket a couple of nights ago. When the winning numbers were announced on the telly, we found out we had won 500 pounds."

"That sounds…exciting." Sherlock interjected, trying to sound interested.

"Yes, your father and I were so excited. We never win, you see." Violet continued. "Well, your father said we would stop on our way to the train station to claim our winnings so we could spend it on our London holiday. But he must have moved it because when I went to get it, it was gone. We searched and searched but couldn't find it anywhere. But your father insisted on claiming the 500 pounds before we left, and we almost missed the coach because of it. I had put it on the table in the kitchen last night where I had been putting together a scrap book of pictures from our holiday to Oklahoma last month." She paused. "Your cousin, Lizzie, says 'Hello', by the way."

"Hmm." Sherlock replied. "That's nice." "Funny…I've never met cousin, Lizzie." Sherlock thought to himself as his mother continued.

"Well, I went into the kitchen and noticed that pictures from our Oklahoma holiday in 2011 were mixed in with pictures from our holiday last month...which wasn't the way I'd put it at all. Silly woman. Anyway, it was then that I first noticed it was missing. I said, 'Have you checked down the back of the sofa?'"

Sherlock grimaced and tilted his head forward a little, almost nodding off to sleep. He jerked his head back up again, steepling his fingers in front of his face as Violet looked at her husband with disapproval. "He's always losing things down the back of the sofa, aren't you, dear?"

"'Fraid so." Siger replied while Sherlock glared into the kitchen. "How can these people be my parents?" He thought to himself as his once comfortable feeling became one of annoyance.

"Keys, small change, sweeties. Especially his glasses." She continued.

"Glasses." Siger agreed.

"Blooming things. I said, 'Why don't you get a chain…wear 'em round your neck?' And he says, 'What…like Larry Grayson?'"

"Larry Grayson." Siger said as the same time as his wife.

Sherlock quickly got to his feet, buttoning his jacket, and then proceeded to walk towards his parents. "So did you find it eventually, your lottery ticket?" He asked as he stepped onto the coffee table and then onto the sofa between them.

Violet leaned to the side to give him room while Siger stared up at his son with exasperation. Sherlock started looking over the paperwork and photos on the wall as his mother continued. "Well, yes, thank goodness." Violet replied. "We caught the coach on time after all. We managed to see, er, St Paul's, the Tower…but they weren't letting anyone in to Parliament." Sherlock frowned as he looked down at her. "Some big debate going on."

Suddenly the living room door opened and John walked in, causing Sherlock to turn and look at him with surprise. "John!"

ooOoo

When the police bomb disposal unit finally arrived to take over the crime scene, John followed Sherlock out of the underground carriage and back down the tracks to the abandoned underground station with a feeling of relief. He was not only relieved that they were both still alive; but that he was working alongside Sherlock again. It felt amazing and surreal at the same time. Over the past two years when he thought his best friend was dead, he dreamed of doing this again but never believed it would ever happen.

Watching Sherlock's tall, slender frame in the long, black coat and that unruly head of black curls walking ahead of him was a sight for sore eyes. He felt tears forming in his eyes but he reached up with his left hand to brush them away before Sherlock could notice them.

Although, he should know better than to try to hide something like that from Sherlock Holmes. He watched as Sherlock pulled himself back up onto the underground station platform and then turned to help John up as well. He reached his gloved hand out to take John's hand and proceeded to help him up onto the platform. But he studied his face closely as he did so.

"Why are you crying?" Sherlock asked him as John glanced away in embarrassment and Sherlock looked on with concern.

"I'm not crying." John denied as Sherlock continued to stare at him, not believing it for a second. "I'm not." John tried to assure him.

Instead of pressuring John or embarrassing him, as Sherlock always had done in the past, to John's surprise, Sherlock just let the matter drop. "So what now?"

"What do you mean, 'what now?'" John asked with confusion.

"Look, John…" Sherlock began as he clasped his hands behind his back. "I know I kind of forced you back there to forgive me by making you believe we were both going to die." He paused as John grimaced. "I am sorry, John…I truly am for hurting you. I hope you believe that."

John shook his head in disbelief and chuckled. "Yeah…well…I still say you're a cock, Sherlock." He told him with a serious look on his face and he then sincerely smiled at him. "But I understand why you did it."

Sherlock was the one confused now. "You do?"

John sighed as he gazed as his friend fondly. "I'm your best friend, Sherlock; and you wanted me to admit out loud that I have actually forgiven you. I can understand why you would want that assurance from me." He paused, letting that sink in for a moment. "I know I was angry when you first turned up at the Landmark Restaurant…interrupting my marriage proposal to Mary…" Sherlock glanced down at the pavement and then back up at John. "…but…" He paused, trying to form the words in his mind. …"but…I'm really glad you are alive, Sherlock. You have no idea how much."

"I think I have an idea." Sherlock told him with a weak smile. "I missed you too, you know. I did almost contact you so many times." He paused. "I wanted to. I could hear you in my mind telling me when things were a bit not good, when to eat, when to sleep, etc., etc." He explained as he waved his right hand around and then returned it to his back and clasped his hands together again. "But the only thing that kept me from contacting you was the thought of you dying because I was too selfish to want you back by my side, solving crimes with me again."

John sighed and then smiled at his friend again. "I know. You told me that the other night."

"So you understand now? That I did it to keep you safe?" Sherlock asked with hope in his voice.

John nodded his head. "Yes, I do, Sherlock." He paused as he smiled wide and held his right hand out to Sherlock to shake his hand. "Friends protect friends."

Sherlock smiled back at him and shook his hand. "Yes, friends protect friends." He paused as they released their hands and now stood with their arms at their sides. "So we're good then?"

John laughed. "Yes, we're good." He replied as he opened his arms wide. "Now come here you idiot. I can't let Greg and Mrs. Hudson be the only ones who give you a hug."

Sherlock's face scrunched up into a grimace just as John wrapped his arms around him. "Greg?"

"You know who he is." John retorted as Sherlock also chuckled and decided to return the sentiment by hugging John back, smirking over his shoulder.

They finished their hug by patting each other on the back and stepped back to look at one another again. "So, hungry?" Sherlock asked as he clapped his hands together in front of him.

John smiled. "Yeah…I am actually." He replied as both men started walking side by side towards the tunnel that leads to the surface. "Take away or dine in?"

"Dine in." Sherlock replied and then paused. "What about Mary?"

John smiled as they walked back into the tunnel, taken aback by Sherlock's thoughtfulness. "I'll call her. You don't mind if she joins us?"

"No, why would I mind?" Sherlock defended himself.

"Well, you never usually liked my girlfriends. I didn't know if you'd want her tagging along." John informed him.

"Well, I think I can make an exception for Mary." Sherlock replied with a smile.

"You like her, don't you?" John asked with a smirk.

"Perhaps." Sherlock responded cryptically.

"Admit it…you do like her." John insisted as they continued walking.

"Perhaps…just a little." Sherlock replied with a wink and a smile.

"Well, that's good. Because I plan on keeping her around for a while." John informed Sherlock.

"Well, I kind of deduced that by the diamond ring you were trying to give her the other night." Sherlock admitted.

"Uh huh." John replied. "I figured you noticed that." He paused. "So what is it about Mary that you like?"

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders. "For some odd reason, she seems to like me."

John laughed. "And that's the only reason?"

"Well…she is rather nice…and she is actually encouraging our friendship rather than asking you to choose her over me, which was usually how it went with the…other ones." Sherlock told him.

"Wow…that's rather…insightful…coming from you." John commented with surprise.

"I'm not a total idiot when it comes to feelings, John." Sherlock retorted fondly.

"Could have fooled me." John teased back as they shared an amused smirk. "So I was thinking we could go to Angelo's."

"I was thinking the same thing." Sherlock admitted.

"I'll call Mary once we get back to the surface. We can meet her there." John suggested.

"Lestrade will probably want a statement." Sherlock reminded him.

"Yeah, I know…but after that." John told him.

"Hmm." Sherlock responded as the friends continued their way back up to the surface.

As John walked along next to Sherlock, he never felt so happy in his life. "How often do people get a second chance with someone who they thought was dead and buried, gone forever?" John asked himself. "Greg, Mrs. Hudson, and I…we're very lucky to have that second chance with Sherlock. And this time I'm not going to muck it up…at least I hope not."

ooOoo

Sherlock couldn't believe he was actually doing this, but he knew he would never hear the end of it from Mrs. Hudson if he didn't at least attempt what he was about to do. He also told himself that he wanted to confront the man about his suspicions regarding the Skeleton Mystery, which was what most people would expect from him; so he tried to tell himself that it was the main reason why he was really there. But that didn't make the upcoming conversation any easier.

It was the morning after John and he had uncovered the terrorist plot to blow up Parliament; and he was now standing outside the door of Phillip Anderson's flat staring at the door, contemplating what he should say to him. He had to admit that of all of his acquaintance, Anderson was the only one to figure out he was still alive. His obsession might have been fueled by guilt, but he was right. "I didn't actually commit suicide." Sherlock admitted to himself as he raised his right, gloved hand and knocked on the door.

"Who is it?" Sherlock heard the muffled voice of Anderson which was followed by footsteps as the flat's occupant came closer to the door.

"It's Sherlock Holmes." He replied as the door, still chained from the inside, abruptly opened just a crack; and Sherlock saw a bearded Anderson peering out suspiciously from between the door and the door frame.

"Sherlock?" He asked in disbelief. "Is it really you?"

"Yes, it's really me, Anderson. May I come in…please?" Sherlock requested politely as the door suddenly slammed shut in response, surprising him; but then he heard the telltale rattling noises of the chain being unhooked. The door then opened abruptly again.

"Of course, c-come in." A shocked Anderson invited him as he opened the door wider so Sherlock could enter the flat.

Sherlock weakly smiled. "Thank you." He responded as he stepped across the threshold.

Anderson proceeded to shut the door behind them and stared at Sherlock with amazement as he walked around him, taking in the sight of him. He beamed. "I knew it! I knew you were alive!" He said as he continued to gape at the man who he had only heard was alive on the telly just the day before. Hearing it on the news was one thing, but to actually see and speak with him was entirely another story. He was in compete awe of the man.

Sherlock clasped his hands behind his back. "Obviously." He replied as he rolled his eyes and then smirked at Anderson. "I was wrong."

Anderson was taken back as his eyebrows flew up. "Wrong about what?"

"Perhaps you aren't an idiot after all." Sherlock replied with another smirk.

Anderson let out a nervous laugh. "W-Why do you think that?"

Sherlock sighed with mock petulance. "Really, Anderson, do I need to spell it out for you?" He paused as he smiled at him. "Of all my acquaintance, you were the only one to figure out that I faked my death."

Anderson's mouth formed an 'O'. "Oh, am I really the only one?"

Sherlock simply nodded. "Yes." He paused.

"Is that why you came here?" Anderson asked with curiosity as Sherlock observed with interest the two walls littered with photos and news articles with pieces of string connecting them in some sort of pattern.

"Yes." Sherlock answered, his attention suddenly being brought back to Anderson. "And to thank you."

"Thank me?" Anderson was really confused now as the guilt of the last couple of years came crashing over him as he looked down to the floor, not able to meet Sherlock's eyes for the shame he felt. "I don't deserve any thanks. I accused you of creating Jim Moriarty to cover up your own crimes. You must hate me."

Sherlock shook his head. "No, Anderson. I don't hate you."

Anderson looked up at Sherlock with a start. "You don't?"

"No, I don't." Sherlock assured him. "Jim Moriarty was a master manipulator. He planted very convincing evidence against me."

"But…you jumped from a building. 'Died' because of what Donovan and I accused you of." Anderson tried to reason.

Sherlock shook his head no again. "No, that was all Moriarty's doing. I don't blame you."

Anderson's demeanor changed instantly as relief washed over him. "You don't?"

"No, I don't Anderson." Sherlock replied and then paused. "I'm sorry you lost your job. I would like to do something to make it up to you."

"Y-You do?" Anderson responded with astonishment. "Why would you want to help me? I always hated you."

Sherlock gazed at Anderson with compassion. "Because despite everything that's happened, whether it came from guilt or not, you believed in me…that perhaps I wasn't a fake after all." He looked around the flat. "That what I do is real and only someone as clever as myself could fake his death then continued to solve crimes to help people from 'beyond the grave.'" He smiled at the ex-forensic officer. "You don't hate me now, do you?"

Anderson chuckled and smiled back at Sherlock. "No, I don't hate you now." He admitted quietly.

Sherlock beamed and clapped his hands together. "Good! Now that that's over, may I have a seat?"

"Um…yes...wh-where are my manners?" Anderson stated awkwardly. "Would you like some tea?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No, I won't be staying long."

"Will you at least tell me how you did it?" Anderson asked with anticipation. "I have to know if any of my theories were correct."

Sherlock contemplated his request. "All right."

"Great! Just let me get my camera. I want to get this on video." Anderson exclaimed. "Please take a seat. I'll be right back."

Sherlock wasn't sure what he thought about Anderson recording his version of what happened but decided he owed it to him to humor the man at least. So, still wearing his Belstaff coat and scarf, he proceeded to walk over to sit in the middle of the couch near the window and crossed his legs, making himself comfortable as he waited for Anderson to return.

When Anderson came back from the other room, which Sherlock deduced was the man's bedroom, with a camera and tripod, he waited patiently as Anderson positioned the camera and adjusted the settings. "It will just take a moment to set this up." Anderson told him as he continued to adjust the screen to get Sherlock completely in the frame.

"Would you like me to just start talking or would you like to ask me questions like in an interview?" Sherlock asked him.

"You can just start talking." Anderson answered him. "When you're ready, I'll start recording."

"I'm ready now." Sherlock replied.

Anderson nodded as he turned on the recording function and then sat in a wooden chair he had brought over to sit in while he listened.

Sherlock calmly looked into the camera. "The criminal network Moriarty headed was vast. Its roots were everywhere like a cancer, so we came up with a plan." He stated, beginning his narrative.

ooOoo

When Sherlock had finished his lengthy tale of what had happened two years ago leading up to his 'death', Anderson was staring at him in awe with his arms folded across his chest and his right hand on his chin. Sherlock had just finished explaining how Molly had found a body that looked just like him and that she had faked the records. And then went on to tell how his brother, Mycroft, had persuaded the sniper aiming at John to reconsider.

Anderson gazed at Sherlock with curiosity. "And your homeless network?"

"As I explained, the whole street was closed off…" Sherlock smiled. "…like a scene from a play." Anderson looked at him thoughtfully as Sherlock continued. "Neat, don't you think?" He asked with a smirk.

Anderson glanced off to the side, considering everything Sherlock had just told him. "Hmm."

Sherlock looked at him with confusion. "What?"

Anderson shrugged. "Not the way I'd have done it." He criticized as Sherlock now folded his arms across chest.

"Oh really?" The consulting detective replied defensively.

"No, I'm not saying it's not clever, but…" Anderson started.

Sherlock eyed him sternly. "What?"

Anderson shrugged again and waved his arm around as he searched his mind for the right words. "…Bit…disappointed." He informed him.

Sherlock sighed. "Everyone's a critic. Anyway, that's not why I came."

Anderson gawped at him with a start. "No?"

Sherlock then looked at Anderson suspiciously. "No. I think you know why I'm here, Phillip." He said with emphasis on the 'p'. 'How I Did It' by Jack the Ripper?"

Anderson stared at him wide-eyed, his mouth opened but no words came out before lowering his head. "Didn't you think it was intriguing?" He asked with a hopeful expression on his face.

Sherlock stood and put his hands in the pockets of his coat. "Lurid. A case so sensational, you hoped I'd be interested." He paused. "But you overdid it, Phillip…you and your little 'fan club.'" He stated as he started to circle Anderson who was still sitting in the chair.

A feeling of guilt washed over Anderson again. "I just couldn't live with myself, knowing that I'd driven you to…"

"But you didn't." Sherlock interjected as he came around the chair. "You were always right. I wasn't dead."

Anderson continued to stare up at Sherlock as he continued to pace. "No. No, and everything's okay now, isn't it?"

"Yeah." He replied as Anderson laughed in relief. Sherlock stopped and looked down at him. "Of course you've wasted police time, perverted the course of justice, risked distracting me from a massive terrorist assault that could have both destroyed Parliament and caused the death of hundreds of people."

"Oh, God." Anderson exclaimed tearfully as he broke down in tears, grabbing Sherlock's coat and pulling him closer to him. "Oh, God, I'm sorry, Sherlock. I'm so sorry." He apologized desperately as he continued to cling to him and wept against his coat. Sherlock, looking completely uncomfortable with the situation, hesitantly patted Anderson on the shoulder a couple of times in an attempt to comfort him. Anderson then abruptly stopped crying and looked round. "Hang on." He uttered as he stood and walked over to the paper covered wall. "That doesn't make sense." Sherlock rolled his eyes behind Anderson's back and sighed with exasperation. "How could you be sure John would stand on that exact spot? I mean, what if he'd moved?"

Sherlock then turned and quietly left Anderson's flat as the ex-forensics officer continued with his deductions, completely oblivious that he was now alone.

"Hey…how did you do it all so quickly? What if the bike hadn't hit him?" He continued suspiciously. "And anyway, why are you telling me all this?" He chuckled. "If you'd pulled that off, I'm the last person you'd tell the truth…" He started to say as he turned around, trailing off as he realized Sherlock was no longer in the room with him. He stared a moment at the spot where Sherlock had been, wondering if he had imagined the entire thing. He chuckled as he glanced between looking at the paper covered wall and where Sherlock had just been standing again. He became amused. "Sherlock Holmes!" He exclaimed as he laughed, pointing at the empty spot. He continued to the chuckle with continued amusement and exasperation. "Sherlock!" His laughing then became hysterics as he began ripping and tearing at the papers on the wall as he collapsed in the corner, crawling on his knees, clawing at the wall again as his insane laughter ended and he slumped in the corner, completely drained.

ooOoo

Just outside Anderson's flat, Sherlock listened to Anderson through the door from the hallway. He had been told by Lestrade that Anderson had gone mad trying to prove that Sherlock was alive, but he hadn't totally believed it until this very moment.

Sighing, he pulled out his phone. He knew it was cruel to leave Anderson wondering if their conversation ever really happened. Of course, Anderson had the video recording of his account of the events of two years ago as proof of his existence. But he thought it was best to give the man more immediate tangible evidence of their conversation before he went into a total state of hysterics.

He pulled out his phone from his coat pocket; found Anderson's mobile number, which he had obtained from Lestrade's mobile when he wasn't looking; and typed out a text.

I have asked my brother, Mycroft, to find you a job. He has a 'minor position' in the British government, so I'm sure he can find something for you to do that will fit your skill set. He will be in contact soon.

SH

Back inside the flat, Anderson heard his mobile phone beep notifying him that he received a text. He slowly got to his feet, using the wall for support, and stumbled to the table where he left it. When he unlocked his phone and saw who had sent it, he grinned ear to ear as he read the message Sherlock had sent him. "I knew it!" He exclaimed with glee as he put his mobile phone down and then walked over to the camera to retrieve the memory chip from it. He eagerly walked over to his laptop and inserted it, determined to watch the video of what he had just witnessed in person.

Sherlock's face came into view as he clicked on play. "The criminal network Moriarty headed was vast." "I knew it!"