A/n: Guess who's back bitches?? Lol...I'm here because of popular demand :) and because it's amazing how well received this story has been. So with no more wait...here it is.
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Y/n's POV - two years after the fall
My perfectly manacured nails reach behind my neck to clasp the delicate lock of my necklace; I reach over to adjust the thin, gold chain. My hand brushes a gold wedding band. It's from the night that Sherlock and I went undercover as a married couple. My calm expression wavers into a frown. I close my eyes once and when I open them, I force myself to focus on what I see on my wooden vanity: a small jewelry box, a framed picture of me with my siblings, a hairbrush, and a lot of makeup.
I lean over the bench before opening it up. I pull out a shoebox I hid there. My 'moment' box. The only type of sentimental things I'm allowed to have. The things inside are from travel, deep cover cases, and other things like that. At the bottom of the box, there is a picture of John, Sherlock, Molly, Greg, and Mrs. Hudson. Even Microft stopped by at the wrong time and was trapped into doing it. It was a picture taken near Christmas that I forced them to take. It makes me want to laugh and cry. It was the weirdest thing, I found it under my pillow after a few years of living here. I couldn't remember where I got it.
Sherlock told me he wouldn't die. He said he had a plan, but he failed. He must have. A year of watching John be heartbroken, broke mine too because I wanted to tell him. Then I would picture Sherlock walking through the door and not forgiving me for breaking his trust. After ten months, too much time had gone by. After a year and two months, I believed he wasn't coming back. There would have been a sign. After a year and three months, I got a job offer in LA. I took it and left London.
I always hoped that Sherlock would show up one day and scold me for not believing in him and then we'd go back to Bakerstreet and John would forgive me for leaving without much warning and we would be a family again. Almost three years later, and all of my hopes became just dreams.
I run my hands through my short, black. It goes down to my chin in the front, and is a little shorter in the back.
"Are you ready, Leah?"
Leah. A code name. "Yes."
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Sherlock's POV - 2 years after 'the fall'
I know I shouldn't have 'broken' into her fla-apartment. Y/n would be here soon. I hope she takes this better than John did. I look around the room: her bed is nicely made, she has a messy desk, that's when I look at the photos she hung on her wall. Her running around as a child. Her and some faces I don't recognize. Pictures of some friends. I also notice papers that document a promotion, papers of something she's trying to file, and more things that represent a life. A life she made for herself.
"Hey, y/n," I hear a voice through the door.
"Dave, I'm leaving now, I need to get some work done."
Dave? Who's that? I can't do this. She rebuilt her life. I sigh once, pull out a picture that I had brought. She took it on Christmas. I hide it under her pillow. We'll have to solve this case without her. I turn to leave, but then I hear her footsteps coming closer.
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Y/n's POV - Present day
I look at myself in the mirror. My wig is still okay and my room is intact, but I could have sworn I heard footsteps. Weird. I'm probably just paranoid.
"Y/n..."
I turn around sharply. "Sherlock?"
I jump back because I feel like I've seen a ghost but I don't care, because it's him, I hug him. Then I pull away quickly. "Sherlock? You died."
"You gave up on me, you left John."
"Shut the hell up." I glare at him. "You left for years, no signs, and you never told John anything!"
He flinches slightly but seems interested enough. "You changed your hair."
"Wow. The great Sherlock Holmes has really lost his touch," I mumble while touching my hair. "Because you can't even tell the different between real hair and a wig." I pull it off with a smile.
He smiles a bit. "I need you to come back to Backerstreet."
"Sherlock, you left me."
"I deserve that, but you deserve this: you left John."
I wince. John had looked so hurt when I told him I was coming back to America. He didn't get mad, he just smiled tightly and told me to leave the last rent check on my dresser. It had been so cold, but I had deserved it. I begged him to talk to me every single day, I begged him to listen. I even told him we could visit, he told me why bother. I told him maybe he could come with me, he told me he couldn't leave Miss Hudson, because he understood how important loyalty was during times of grief.
"I spent every day thinking of you, or crying with Molly, or sitting silently with John, or sitting with miss Hudson. I was constantly sick, I had to leave. And I'm not going back because you decided that I was worth while."
"John was mad at first."
"At first?" I repeat angrily. "How long have you been back?"
"Over a year."
I've never slapped someone square across the face before. But I just slapped Sherlock across the face. "You told John and you went back to Backerstreet, and you didn't bother to tell me. I don't think I can forgive you."
"Two years ago I came in, and I saw you had created a life, I didn't want to wreck everything. I just need your help. London needs your help. You don't have to forgive me."
I stare at him. "Sherlock, this is going to hurt me to say." I look him dead in the eye. "You died three years ago, now that you're back...you're still gone, at least to me." I sigh, I feel tears threatening to spill. I take off the necklace that has the ring on it. "I'll go to London for London and John, not for you..." I hand him the necklace.
He looks hurt but I push down my guilt. "Give me half an hour to pack."
