"As long as I'm alive, you can save your friends." Jim Moriarty, Sherlock's nemesis started, "You've got a way out. Well, good luck with that." He put a gun against the roof of his mouth and pulled the trigger. "No!" Sherlock exclaimed towards Moriarty, but it was too late. His enemy's scarlet blood was already pouring out of his skull. This left him with no choice but to die. This situation wasn't as much of a shock to him as it appeared to be; the great detective already had this planned out. He jumped off a building with his best friend watching. Of course, he found a way to fake his death and leave John Watson devastated and empty.
Two years after the day of many deaths, Sherlock decided to show that he wasn't dead. Moriarty also decided to show that he was very much alive as well as healthy. John was furious at both Sherlock and Moriarty, but mostly Sherlock.
It was the 13th of January, and the rumored dead consulting detective strolled up to the black door with gold lettering saying, "221B" on Baker Street in the middle of London. He knocked on the door and then stepped back, expecting John to open the door and join him in a warm and loving embrace. Instead, Mrs. Hudson opened the door and nearly had a heart-attack from seeing a ghost. "Sh-Sherlock? Am I taking the right medication?" She asked as she observed the man before him. "Mrs. Hudson! You look ravishing! What are you up to these days?" Sherlock tried to sound alive and act like he didn't disappear for two years, making everyone think he committed suicide.
Mrs. Hudson reached out to touch Sherlock. "Are you actually alive? How did you survive? Where have you been all this time?" Her face suddenly became very serious, her voice stern, "Does John know? Sherlock sighed. "I came here to tell him. Is he here?" Mrs. Hudson shook her head. "I haven't seen him in a long time. I thought he went to spend all his time by your grave or at the morgue. He only does things that remind him of you these days. I haven't seen a man with a heart split in two more than John when you left." Sherlock slightly nodded. "Oh, well thanks, Mrs. Hudson. I will be back later." He slowly made his way down the three steps. "Take your time, dear!" She said before going inside to make some tea.
Sherlock, eager to see his old friend, sped up until he was running. He had no money, so there really wasn't a point in calling a cab. Once he reached the cemetery which rests his fake corpse, he searched for John. His eyes scanned every inch of the cemetery until he came to conclusion that his friend wasn't there.
Next stop: the morgue. Molly was inside, curled up on the ground. Sherlock rushed over to her in fear that she wasn't alive. "Oh God." He muttered to himself as Molly lay on the tile. "Molly? Molly, are you okay? Please say you're okay." He rushed over to her and checked for a pulse. Luckily, she was still breathing. He arranged her into a sitting position and cradled her until she woke up about five minutes later. The woman immediately pushed herself away from Sherlock as soon as she was awake enough to realise that some weird man had her in an embrace. "Get away, you creep!" She exclaimed, without looking at Sherlock. "Molly, it's me. Sherlock. I am alive." Her eyes were wide open once she heard his voice. "Are you really here? Is this the chemicals playing tricks on me? IT can't be. But you're dead." She shook her head. Sherlock took her small and fragile hands into his. "I am alive. This isn't the chemicals, Molly. Don't worry; your brain is too good to be playing tricks on you like that." Tears started welling up in Molly's eyes. "Oh my God, Sherlock. I missed you so much." She hugged Sherlock tight, so if it were an illusion, maybe it wouldn't leave her. After a few moments of the two holding on to each other, Molly pulled back and looked deeply into Sherlock's eyes as blue and mysterious as the ocean, then switched her gaze to his lips. Taking a risk, she was pulling her mouth to his. Once she was a centimeter away from having her lips locked to his, Sherlock pulled back. "Do forgive me if I am ruining a nice moment, but have you seen John lately?" Molly pulled back, too, and looked at Sherlock with disgust. "Did you seriously just ask that?" Sherlock shrugged. "I haven't seen him yet."
Molly, still upset and envious about John, decided to answer Sherlock. "I haven't seen him in months. I thought he was at the flat." It was the truth. Sherlock rushed out of the morgue shortly after saying goodbye to Molly, hunting for his lost blogger. He searched for John until night fell, allowing the crowded London streets to glow from the shop lights. The detective made his way back to the flat for the night.
When he walked inside, he expected Mrs. Hudson to ask if he had found John. Instead, he found a flat where nothing had been touched, a missing Mrs. Hudson, and an apple sitting on an envelope.