Believe in Sherlock

Chapter 20-Sherlock's POV

I saw Maggie sitting at my tombstone. She hadn't visited for three days which was strange for her. She came every other day at 3:00 PM sharp. Wonder what's been keeping her?

I walked towards her and she glanced at me before deciding to ignore me and continue to talk to the rock that had my name engraved into the black marble.

"Speaking of John, he's got himself a girl. Can't imagine how long it's going to last this time since he practically forgot about her when I was with him at the morgue." She was saying as I approached the grave.

She continued to talk but one thing stood out to me. Morgue? What was she doing there?

"What were you doing at the morgue?" I asked curiously.

""Murder." She replied shortly.

"Really? I'm just missing everything aren't I?" I smirked at her hoping to cheer her up slightly.

"You can't miss everything if you aren't real." She spat back at me. Did she seriously think I was just a figment of her imagination?

I decided to ignore it and after a short pause I asked, "What's so interesting about the murder?"

She let out a sharp breath and got on her feet. She faced me with her dark blue eyes narrowed.

"All of them look like you. All choked and smashed on the ground and they all have letters carved into their wrists." She snapped and continued to glare at me

I raised his eyebrows. "What letters?" I asked suspiciously.

"I O U. Mean anything?" She asked.

Oh it means more than you think, Maggie. I almost said it but my body tensed at the letters as Moriarty's message on the apple flashed through my mind.

I turned with my jacket flaring behind me and hurried towards the trees. I had an idea on who it is but I couldn't very well tell Maggie if she still insists I'm just a figment of her imagination. Nothing but a memory.

I had spent the past year getting Moriarty's webs down to a minimum and the only man left in the area was my next target anyway. I had his file in my jacket. I had taken it from Mycroft's large collection and figured he wouldn't miss it if I got rid of the man all together.

I still had a large number of people to take down. A very large number. I had barely made a dent in Moriarty's webs. How had he gotten so many people on his side? That question had been annoying me all year. Ever since I faked my death.

I hurried along and almost completely passed Maggie's flat as I ran to avoid the rain that would soon start to pour.

I picked at the lock on the door and it opened with a slight creak. I looked around quickly before closing the door behind me and hurrying up the staircase to Maggie's front room. I had about 20 minutes until she got back from my 'grave' assuming she left soon after myself.

I entered her front room and set the file down on her glass coffee table. I made sure nobody had heard me and decided to look around a bit. What Maggie doesn't know won't hurt her.

I looked around for nothing in particular. The flat was clean. Cleaner than my own. Well it used to be my flat I can't go back now when there is so much I need to do first.

I wandered around a bit, picking up books and papers as I went. I went into her room and looked around the beige-colored walls.

Her bed sat in the center of the room with a bedside table to the right and a desk to the left. The bed was neatly made and was cold to the touch. She hadn't been sleeping in it recently and judging by the bags under her eyes at the cemetery she hadn't been sleeping for quiet a while. Her drug induced sleep was probably the first she'd had in weeks.

Everything was neat and orderly here. I walked over to her desk where a photo album sat on top.

It was open to a blank slot of pages. I turned it over to look at the cover.

"Happy Birthday Sherlock" was written in fancy, curly letters on the front. The ink was a dark blue and a photo of Maggie, John, and me was on the bottom right hand corner.

My birthday?

When was my birthday? I never celebrated my birthday not that I remember at least. Maybe I had found it unnecessary and simply threw the thought away.

Maggie remembered though. Why would she remember? I never gave her anything for her birthday. I do remember her birthday of course. I'm not sure why but I never had the heart to forget that date.

I flipped it to the first page and looked over the four photos.

Two were of me and Maggie and the other two were of John and me. I don't even remember these being taken.

I turned to the next page and saw a newspaper clipping. A report about a case I had solved. Next to it was the photo of me in that godforsaken hat.

I quickly turned the pages. Only four pages were done and there were many left. Some of the photos were of Maggie when she was younger, maybe 16 or 17. Others were of John and I on a case. Maggie must've taken those. There were even some of Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and Molly.

A small message was written with each photo, depicting who was in the photo and the date.

I heard the door open from downstairs and quickly put the album back as it was before and left the bedroom.

Footsteps were running quickly up the stairs and I looked for a place to hide. I found the closet door that stood to the left of the door that led out of the flat. I entered and closed the door behind me just as the front door opened and Maggie entered her flat.

I held my breath as her footsteps headed for the coat closet in which I was trying to bury myself in her coats and sweaters.

The closet door opened and a trench coat came flying at my face. I let out a surprised gasp as I saw the dark fabric hurled towards my face. I grabbed it as it smacked my face and the door closed.

I held the coat out in front of me in case she decided to go back out with the file I had left on her coffee table. It was rather small though and only covered the front of my chest and down to my mid-thigh. I never noticed how short Maggie was. She held herself very straight and made herself seem taller by her attitude and her heels.

I listened through the door and heard only the patter of rain hitting the roof and windows.

I heard paper flipping and figured she was looking through the papers in the file. I had left a post-it note inside with a childish scrawl so my handwriting wouldn't be recognized. I wasn't ready to come back yet.

After a while of pages turning and slow footsteps, I heard her footsteps burst into a sudden run and down the stairs that led out of her flat.

I let out a relieved breath and opened the coat closet door. I moved over to the window and saw Maggie sprinting through traffic after a figure. The dirty-blonde haired man that was working, or had worked, for Moriarty.

I turned and ran out if the flat as well. The rain went through my thick coat as I followed Maggie through the streets. I couldn't see her anymore but I pressed on.

I stopped and observed where I was.

I had only ran five blocks so it wasn't too far from my, or John's, flat and Maggie's flat.

I slowed to a jog and looked down alleyways and other streets, hoping to see a curly haired girl or a dirty blonde haired man.

I looked around until I heard yelling vaguely over the sound of rain.

Police sirens filled the air and I hurried forward towards the alleyway the yelling had originated from.

I saw two figures. One was held against the wall and the other was holding them against the brick by the throat.

I recognized the one being held as Maggie. She had her eyes closed as if awaiting her certain death.

The man lifted his hand as if about to smash her brains in too. I rammed into him before I even realized I had moved.

I heard Maggie automatically gasp for breath and slide to the ground. I quickly moved out of sight as I saw Lestrade's car pull up and he climbed out smoothly.

I hid back in the shadows and kept a careful eye on the blonde haired man that had attacked Maggie.

I made sure Lestrade had taken care of the man before putting my attention on Maggie.

She was curled up in a ball and I could tell there were tears running down her face, not rain. What had he said to her to make her so upset?

She looked so broken. So vulnerable. It took every strength I possessed not to run over to her and comfort her. She looked just as she had a year ago when I 'fell'. Is that what blonde hair had said to her? Something about me?

I watched as Lestrade handed Moriarty's man over to the other officer and walked over to Maggie. His voice was drowned out by the rain but I watched as Maggie stood with Lestrade's help.

I stepped out of the shadows when I saw her face. It was filled with emotion. Sadness. Regret. Anger. But the one that stood out the most was guilt. Why would she be guilty?

She turned and looked right at me as Lestrade opened her door.

I saw her eyes fill with more tears and my eyes burned with the need to let my own flow over. She felt guilty about me. Moriarty's minion had guilt-tripped her about me. My 'death'. I could read it clearly in her movements and emotions in her face.

My curly hair was plastered to my forehead and my coat was soaked through but everything seemed to disappear. Her emotions seemed to transfer to me with that one look. That one look of complete and utter sadness and guilt.

I'll be back soon, Maggie. I promise.