You went into the bathroom to take a pill for your headache while you tried to remember how exactly you got here.
When you looked in the mirror, a pale face with messy hair and a pair of red eyes starred back at you.
For so long you had cried yourself to sleep at night, and having these dreams wasn't making it any better.
But there was something about last night's dream but you couldn't quite put your finger on it.
It felt different than the other onces, like it was more real. But you know it was impossible. And you couldn't be so out of your mind that you couldn't tell if you were dreaming or not. Or where you? People don't come back from the dead as they do in movies. That was humanly and biologically not possible.
You quickly shook your head to try and take your mind off it but it always managed to sneak back in your mind.
From the bathroombyou could hear a familiar sound coming from your bedroom. Someone was calling you.
As you picked up your phone, you saw it was Mrs Hudson.
Maybe she knows what happened last night and if you actually did sleepwalk home.
"Hello," you answered.
"Morning, dear. How are you feeling today?" she asked with a bit of light in her tone.
"Honestly, I'm not sure. Hey, do you know if I fell asleep on the couch again last night?"
"Yes, you did, love. I was gonna bring you some tea but you were asleep by then so I just let you be."
"But how did I get home?"
"You walked," she said and you sat down on your bed and tried again to remember.
"So I did sleepwalk?"
"Y/N, the reason why I'm calling you is because I want you to come over."
You knitted your eyebrows and rubbed your eyes. You didn't feel like going there just yet.
"Is there a special reason? Because I don't fancy it to be honest. I think the best for me is to keep some distance from now on."
"Please," she begged and you wondered what the hurry was.
As you didn't have much strenght to argue with her, you told her that you would come by shortly and she sounded so happy about it.
Mrs Hudson was a rare woman with a pure joy and she had been so supportive after... You know...
"It's good to see you, love," Mrs H said as you entered 221B.
"You did see me yesterday," you said and giggled a little over her behaviour.
"Now, what was so important?"
"Just go upstairs and promise you'll listen," she said and disappeared into her room, leaving you.
For a moment you just stood still and wondered what she was babbling about.
But you couldn't stand there all day so you gattered some courage and went upstairs.
Not to your surprise the flat was empty. And now it really made you wonder why you were called over. And listen? To what?
Before you could think more over it, a door behind you opened. You turned, in thought it was Mrs Hudson coming in. But it wasn't.
It was someone else. Someone you hadn't seen in 'real' life for over a year.
You were stunned and you couldn't think properly.
"Y/N," Sherlock said surprised when he saw you and stopped in the doorframe.
You studied the man in front of you as you tried to speak.
"Sher-"
You stumbled in the letters and a tear rolled down your cheek.
"How...?" Your voice was shaking and you had to grab hold of the table beside you so you didn't fall to the floor.
Sherlock reacted and took a few steps closer to you.
"Please, let me explain," he said and held out his arms towards you.
You breathed heavily.
"You're alive. But how? You jumped. That fall would've- No one would survive that."
"I did, I had a plan. I couldn't tell anyone even though I wanted to. Moriarty couldn't know. Y/N, I am sorry. I truly am."
You found it hard to look at him but at the same time you couldn't take your eyes off him. You stood quietly, listening to what he told you.
"I first returned last night and I found you here. I tried to tell you then but you left and went home."
"So that wasn't a dream? Last night was real?"
"Yes."
You sobbed and started to lose balance again but this time Sherlock put you into his embrace and held you thight into his chest.
He had his arms protective around you. You finally felt safe again. The feeling of his body so close to yours and his smell filling the air around you. It felt so good.
You stood like that for some time, crying into his neck and your fingers clung to his shirt.
He kept whispering how sorry he was to leave in such way and that he would never leave you again.
It was all fine now. Sherlock Holmes was back where he belonged: in the messy, little flat in Baker Street.
How did he come back?
Because real people don't come back from the dead.
