We left Mycroft and made out way through the London streets.
"Hey, I'll meet you at the restaurant tonight, ok?" I told him.
"Where are you going?"
" I'm going to see Greg. I haven't talked to him in a year now."
~~~
I knocked on his office door. Greg looked up at me.
"Grace!" He stood up and I hugged him. "When did you get back?"
"About an hour ago."
'You died your hair brown again!" He said. I nodded.
'Yeah. It's really good to see you."
"Yeah, you too. Hey, I'm not busy right now. Are you up for lunch?"
~~~
"And then there's Anderson, who's got all these stupid theories about..." He trailed off.
'Greg, you don't have to be careful around me. I've come to terms with Sherlock's death." If he was really dead, I probably wouldn't have.
"Well, he's got all of these stupid theories about how Sherlock faked his own death." I laughed. Hmm, maybe Anderson isn't as stupid as I thought.
"If only, right?" I took a drink from my cup.
"So...how are you?" I nodded.
"I'm good. Great actually. How are you?"
"I'm good, things are good."
"How's the wife?" I asked.
"Well...things could be better I suppose."
"Can't they always?"
~~~
I met back with Sherlock and we entered the restaurant.
"Ok, go sit at that table near by and watch carefully." He whispered in my ear. I did so, hiding behind a menu. John was waiting for someone. Mary I hope. A year ago, while I was still in London, John told me he was going back to work at the same place Mary Morstan, a good friend of mine works. I had set them up, but never got the chance to see the outcome. I almost burst out laughing when I saw Sherlock, now sporting a bow-tie, glasses, and a mustache drawn on with eye liner, standing by John's table.
"Can I help you with anything sir?" He asked in a French accent. I remember when he trained me to prefect mine.
"I'm looking for a bottle of champagne, a good one." He didn't look at him. I strolled over and stood behind him, covering my face with my menu.
"Sir, assuming you would like to charm a certain jeune femme, I would go with this one." I pointed to the last one on the list. Benoit, May I speak to you for a moment?" I pulled him away.
"What are you doing?"
"Can't you tell what he's doing here?" I asked.
"Eating?"
"You're slipping Sherlock. I deduce a square shape in his blazer pocket. He's been repeatedly rubbing his thighs due to the presence of an accumulative amount of dead skin, and he is in a fancy restaurant ordering champagne." I wanted as a blonde woman sat down. "It is Mary!" They talked for a few minutes before Sherlock got his bottle of Champagne and started mumbling. "Sherlock!" I hissed. John looked up and his smile fell. I walked over.
"Interesting thing, a tuxedo. Gives a distinction to friends and an anonymity to waiters." He said. John stood up, breathing heavily.
'John? Grace?"
"Hi Mary."
"John...John what is it-" I leaned down and whispered in her ear.
"Well, the short version. Not dead. Bit mean springing it on you, I know. Could have given you a heart attack, probably still will but in my defense it was very funny." I punched him in the arm.
"Oh no you're..." Mary stared.
'Oh yes."
"Oh my gosh. You died, you jumped off a roof."
'No."
'You're dead."
"No, I'm quite sure I checked, excuse me." He dipped a napkin in a water glass and washed off his mustache. "Does yours rub off too."
"Sherlock." I snapped. he looked at me. "Shut up."
"Did you know about this?" John asked me, barely getting the words out.
"Not at first no. Mycroft sent me on a mission and we sort of...ran into each other."
"Ok John, I'm suddenly realizing I probably owe you some sort of an apology." He punched the table.
"Two year- Two years. Hmm... I thought, mmm...She thought...We thought...you were dead. Hmmm? Now you let us both grieve. Hmmm...how could you do that?"
"Wait...now,before you do anything you might regret...One question, just, let me ask one question...Are you really going to keep that?" Sherlock was turning this into a joke. I turned to punch him again, but John beat me to it, tackling him to the floor with his hands around his throat. Mary and the waiters tried to pry John off, while I pulled his hands from Sherlock's throat.
~~~
We now sat in a small cafe. Mary and I sat, arms crossed, both just wanting to go home while John glared angrily at Sherlock.
"I calculated that there were thirteen possibilities once I'd invited Moriarty up onto the roof. I wanted to avoid dying if at all possible-"
"You know, for a genius, you can be really thick." John told him.
"What?"
"I don't care how you faked it Sherlock, I want to know why. And you." he turned to me. "Afterwards...you were a wreck, Grace. We all noticed it. You took it the worst, how could you just go back to him?"
"Actually, that was mostly Mycroft's idea."
"He would've needed a confidant." Mary added. John looked at her. "Sorry."
"But he was the only one? The only one who knew?"
"Just a couple of others, it was a very elaborate plan, it had to be. The next of the thirteen possibilities-"
"Who else? Who else knew?" John interrupted. "Who?!"
"Molly."
'Molly?"
"John. Molly Hooper, and some of my homeless network, that's it."
"Ok, so just your brother, Molly Hooper, and a hundred tramps." John said, arms crossed.
"No! Twenty five at most." He lept across the table, going for Sherlock's throat again.
~~~
We now stand in a small sandwich shop, Sherlock holding a napkin to his bleeding split lip. He drew in a breath.
"Seriously, it's not a joke, you're really keeping this?" He gestured to his upper lip.
"Sherlock..." I warned.
"Yeah."
"Sure?"
'Sherlock." I repeated.
"Mary likes it."
"Mmm, no she doesn't."
"She does." John told him.
"She doesn't." John looked at her.
"Oh...don't..."
"Oh, brilliant!"
"I'm sorry! I didn't know how to tell you."
"No,no this is charming, I've really missed this. One word Sherlock, that is all I would have needed! One word to let me know that you were alive!"
"I've nearly been in contact so many times, but..."John scoffed. "I was worried you might say something indiscreet."
"What?" John asked.
'You know, let the cat out of the bag."
"Oh so this is my fault."
'Oh gosh." Mary laughed.
"WHY AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO THINKS THIS IS WRONG?! THE ONLY ONE ACTING LIKE A HUMAN BEING?"
"Overreacting."
"OVERREACTING!?"
"Sherlock!" I scolded.
"John!" Mary added.
"OVERREACTING! SO YOU FAKE YOUR OWN DEATH-"
"Shh."
"AND YOU WALTZ IN HERE LARGE AS BLOODY LIFE-"
"Shh!"
"And I'm not supposed to have a problem with that because Sherlock Holmes thinks it's a perfectly OK THING TO DO!"
"SHUT UP JOHN, I DON'T WANT EVERYONE KNOWING I'M STILL ALIVE!"
"SO IT'S STILL A SECRET?!"
"YES IT'S still a secret. Promise you won't tell anyone?" Sherlock asked.
"SWEAR TO GOD!"
"London is in danger John. There's an imminent terrorist attack and we really need your help."
"My help?" John repeated.
"You have missed this, admit it. The thrill of the chase, the blood running through your veins, just the three of us against the rest of the world." John grabbed his collar and head butted him.
~~~
I stood with John, waiting for a cab, while Mary stayed with Sherlock, who was attempting to stop the bleeding in his nose.
"You never answered my question. Why did you go back to him, after everything he did. You lost twenty pounds after he died, It took you months to start sleeping again, so why in the world did you go back to him."
"I ask myself the same question every day."
"Have you come up with an answer."
"Love, true love, is built on understanding. I'm just trying to understand."
"How is that working out for you?" John asked. The answer to that question scared me more then anything I'd ever experienced.
"Not well...not well at all actually."