Once Upon Another Time (Third Book In The "Life Is But A Dream" Saga)

The Empty Hearse: Part Two

a/n: My Face claim is Georgie Henley! okay now run along and read :)

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I dropped the knife in shock. Everything went completely numb at the sight of Sherlock Holmes. Our eyes were completely locked, and so were my knees as I went landing on them. It was as if I had seen a ghost, a Phantom, and that phantom had morphed into a real human being. His coat was the same colour, his hair the same ruffled mess of intelligent curls, and his eyes had the same piercing and deducting stare. It was as if he hadn't died at all, as if he had faked it all, and he did.

Part of me wanted- yearned to embrace my friend in a joyous hug, and embarrass his intelligence with nothing but tears and laughter. Part of me wanted to tell him that I should've gone to him sooner, when I had the chance to, and accept his help. But part of me also wanted to scream. To kick the table in rage and throw the knife at the wall in anger that he had returned and not tell us that he had lived. Part of me wanted to beat every living cell in his body for making me believe I was to follow him in death, and nearly too, for plunging the needle into my arm and dragging it six inches up in an elongated scar.

It's then I noticed a deformation in his nose, and a small scar on his lip. What had happened to him?
Alas, I did nothing. I just brought my hand to my mouth, taking in his being in front of me, and staying silent. Soon, even that became nothing as I broke the barrier of quiet.
"Damn you." I said to the curly-haired man.
"Well, not really." He said.
"Are you a ghost?" I asked.
"Not sure. I still have to check that." He added, and stood up. I chuckled, feeling tears pour down my eyes. I covered my face with my palms, resting on my knees. A large sigh escaped within the sobs, and I heard him walk around me.

"I must say, you were slightly underwhelming compared to John. You must have noticed these reunion gifts he gave to me." Sherlock stated, and when I removed my hands, I saw his in an aid to help me up. I took it, and embraced the detective. At first, he kept his hands out, as if not knowing what to do, but slowly he returned he favour.
"You grew up." He said, in a tone that surprised me.

'Maybe it's him.' I thought, but shook the idea out of my head.
"You got old." I said, then pulled away.

The two of us then found ourselves sitting opposite the other at the kitchen table.

"How?" I gasped. "How did you do it?" There was a light sensation in my heart, as I became elated to see him back. That meant I could see John again.
"Did you cut your hair?" He asked, as if ignoring my question.
"Oh, um yeah." I said, putting a had to my shoulder, where the stub of a braid was. I took it out, and the hair went down only to my throat. "Times change, as do people."

"Have you been living... here?" He asked, looking around to make sure I changed nothing.
I hesitated for a moment, folding my hands.
"Not at first. At first, I went back to where my mother and I lived, in hopes of reconciling with her. After the first month, I couldn't take it amy longer, and decided to come back here. My job helps, so Mrs. Hudson allows me to live here alone." I explained. As I spoke, Sherlock studied me, as if waiting to say something.  "Mycroft told me that John thinks I'm dead. He heard about me jumping off the bridge, and so that's all he knows. I've nearly been in contact, I just-"

I stopped, feeling temporary remorse once more.
"I didn't want to hurt him. He had already lost you."
"I think you hurt him more my staying silent." Sherlock scoffed. "Now, let's get down to business. I need your help."

I was taken aback. First he rises from the dead, dodging my question, and now he was asking for my help.
"What? What about John? Wait, don't tell me- he wasn't interested, and instead told you with a knock to the nose?" I deduced, making Sherlock close his eyes in annoyance.
"There's an imminent terrorist attack on London. If this was two years ago, I wouldn't have come to you, and you know that." Sherlock offered.

Okay, now I was offended. The old Sherlock was definitely back.

"Excuse me? What, you think that rising from the dead and jumping right into your old life will be easy? That the people you loved will just accept you off the bat?" I began to vent to the detective. "Sherlock-" I ran a hand through my hair. "Of course I'll help you, but only if John does. I just want to see my uncle again."

I rose from the seat, with Sherlock's eyes following me, and put on my necklace.
"I've got somewhere to be, and my friend is waiting outside. I've already spent too much time in here." I told him, and he stood up. There was still one more prickling question I was longing to ask him. Although I had witnessed firsthand the blowing of brains that Moriarty had done, I had also witnessed Sherlock jumping off the roof. If he could survive, miraculously, what if Moriarty did as well?

All of this stayed silent as the detective and I had locked eyes.
"You still want to say something. What?" Sherlock spoke, and I opened my mouth as if to say something.

"You just- if you survived... Does that mean..." I asked quietly, but the words vanished.
Quickly, Sherlock shook his head.
"No. He blew his brains. No one can survive that." He assured.
"But I mean-" my tone was now cautious. Moriarty was able to convince an entire city that Sherlock was a fake, and made himself look innocent in front of a jury.
"Aspen, just go. Don't think Moriarty." Sherlock advised, and then proceeded out. I followed him, and saw him prepare to enter Mrs. Hudson's kitchen.

"Aspen? You ready?" Daniel asked, and I looked over to him. A warm feeling rushed through me, wiping out any dread that had been there.
"Absolutely."