Disclaimer: I don't own John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, 221b Baker Street, etc. Don't sue.

A/N: Post Reichenbach alphabet style oneshot.

If anyone has an alternative title suggestion, please share. I'm not good at titles.

Pairing: Johnlock, if anything.

Alone, John Watson trudged through the streets of London. Bitten by shock and sadness, he moved toward 221b Baker Street. Crying inside. Dread began to set in, but he kept it together. Eternities of walking, then he reached his destination. Finally, he opened the door and crept up the stairs. Gingerly turning the doorknob, he walked inside. His presence was everywhere in the flat. Itching to leave, John moved again towards the door, when he heard a voice. 'John,' the voice said. Kicking the wall, John turned to face Sherlock. Looming and transparent, Sherlock's ghost addressed John once more: 'Stay, John.'

Maybe he should, after all, Sherlock was here. No, this wasn't Sherlock, Sherlock was dead. Obeying the ghost however, John sat in his chair. Proudly, Sherlock sat as well, in his chair. Quaking slightly, John asked the presence 'Who are you?' Responding not verbally, but inside of John's head, the ghost replied 'It's me, Sherlock, you idiot!' Sherlock was dead. Trying not to cry, John whispered 'please, just one more miracle.' Ultimately, John knew that the Sherlock-Ghost couldn't stay forever, but he could still hope...he closed his eyes.

Violin music filled the flat. Where or when he was, he didn't know, but he saw Sherlock and Lestrade and even Mrs. Hudson was there. Xylophone music joined the violin.

Years from now, John would remember this experience, he would recall how Sherlock had performed one last miracle. Zebras can't fly, but Sherlocks can!