Bayley must not have gotten a call, because I could hear him breathing beside me. Sunlight spread through the bedroom, past the curtains. I pulled myself over the edge of the bed long enough to retrieve my iPod. I opened Safari and searched through my dad's blog. Hey, if I was waiting for Bay to get up, I might as well read another entry, even though it may bring me to tears.

I found a short post titled A Strange Meeting. I skimmed. It wasn't much, only that my dad had run into an old schoolmate. It only got interesting when I read the lines, The man knew who I was. Somehow he knew everything about me. Somehow, Dad's old schoolmate knew of Sherlock, as he'd found someone in a similar situation like my dad was in.

I couldn't help but smile as I read the last few bits of the post. Dad was saying how awful Sherlock was, yet he was strangely likeable and charming. I snorted a laugh. So that's how it all started. I chewed on my lower lip, daring myself to read more.

I got a little more insight when I read the post titled My new flatmate. I shook my head as I read how Dad called Sherlock a lot of negative words but claimed he wasn't all that bad because he knew a few nice restaurants. This post was short, like the previous one I'd read. Once I finished, I found the next post, hoping it would be an actual case and not a summary of one.

I indulged myself in reading their first case together, A Study in Pink. Now this was interesting. I had to keep blinking my eyes so that they didn't tire out when reading. I scrolled carefully so as to not miss anything important. Figures Sherlock invented the job of consulting detective, I mused when I read that part in the post.

It was fascinating, to read how my dad became a part of something he never expected to.

Like a good mystery-thriller book, the culprit was someone you would have never expected. Behind the serial suicides was a dying taxi driver. He'd made it a game with his victims, giving them the choice between two pills—one good, one bad—or the option of him shooting them. It was scarily interesting.

It's a shame, though, that people like this taxi driver existed in this world.

A shiver rippled down my spine when the name Moriarty came into the post. My dad and Sherlock had heard of the name long before I had.

Speaking of my dad, I wondered if he'd finally proposed to Mary. He'd said he'd tell me. But what if something went wrong? What if she said no? What if there was a bigger reason behind her saying no, if she said it?

"Reading again?"

I jumped, nearly bumping heads with Bayley. He slipped an arm over me, pressing my back into his chest. I could feel his eyes staring at my iPod screen.

"I didn't want to get out of bed," I said simply. "I figured I could read to pass the time."

Bay brushed my face with his hand. "Well, you didn't read anything heart wrenching, otherwise you'd be in tears."

"I wouldn't purposely torture myself, Bay. I'm not that stupid." I made the screen go blank. "So no work today?"

"Nope. You've got me all day."

I turned around so I could face him. His fingers made patterns on the skin of my back, causing me to shiver. They moved upwards, slowly trailing up my arms. I could see a brief change in Bay's eyes, a hint of something I couldn't place.

"What?" I pulled myself closer, if that was even possible.

Bay smiled solemnly. "Nothing, I'm fine."

"You sure?" I raised an interrogative eyebrow. "There's nothing you want to tell me? Nothing at all?"

"I don't want to kill your mood."

"Aha, so there is something!" I made my voice return to its normal volume. "You know you can tell me."

"I don't know why, but, your scar...it reminds me of that night." He closed his eyes, holding back some emotion—outrage or grief were my guesses.

My eyes flickered to my left shoulder, where the ugly scar made its home. He thought my scar brought him memories?

"I try not to look at it in a bad light," I murmured. "I see it as a mark of a survivor. You should see yours like that too." I touched the thin, light scars on his neck from his tragic night. "True, these make us think of how we got them, but I think they also remind us that we're lucky to be alive."

Bay chuckled, rubbing my shoulder. "You make it sound like we were thrown into war like your dad was."

"I felt like I had been."

I fell into bliss as Bay took my mind off of things. I was glad I had him all to myself today. Aside from the weekends, I didn't have him home all day because he constantly got called to sub. He was pretty popular with some schools.

Our intimate mood was killed when my phone went off in the living room. I groaned but ignored it. I was sure I could call the person back as soon as I got out of bed, whenever that would be. I felt slightly better when the noise stopped.

I scowled when my phone started up again. Bay pulled away.

"You better get that before it goes off again," he suggested.

Since I wasn't for walking around naked in the house, I took the bed sheet, wrapped it around me, and headed into the living room. I found my phone blaring music and bouncing on the table. Slightly irritated, I grabbed it and answered.

"Somebody better be dying."

"Ouch, you're grim this morning," Kendal snapped. "I must've interrupted something."

"You did. What's going on?" I kept the sheet tight around me.

"You have to turn on the TV."

"Why?" A small wave of panic made my heart gallop in my chest.

"Just do it!"

I went to the TV, finding the button. While I waited for the screen to appear, Kendal was quiet on the other line. "What's the big deal?"

"Is your TV on?"

"Now it is. But I don't see—" My eyes bulged as I read the headline.

No, it couldn't be true. It was impossible.

"Is this somebody's idea of a sick joke?" I growled, a bit furious.

"If it is, it's pretty solid," Kendal admitted. "But you see it, right?"

"Yes, and I don't believe it."

I really couldn't. After all, when you knew someone was dead and they suddenly decided to pop back into the world after two years, you'd suspect someone was doing this to get attention. There was no interview with him, but the headline on the screen was a bombshell enough. Sherlock Holmes: Back from the Dead. London's Detective Alive.

"Do you know what this means?"

"That bastard fooled everyone."

"Okay, you're not happy. I should leave you to your rage before I get the full impact."

"That's smart of you. Talk to you later, Ken." With a trembling hand, I tossed the phone onto the couch. I stood in my improvised clothing, staring at the headline. The reporter was saying something, but I wasn't focused on them.

"Rachel?" I felt Bayley's presence beside me. "Are they kidding?"

"N-no." I swallowed. "I think this is real."

"Let me see something." From the corner of my eye, I saw Bay pull out his iPhone. I seriously needed to upgrade from my crappy phone. "I think you're right." He pushed his phone screen in my line of vision.

I didn't realize Bayley had a Twitter account. All over his news feed were various things pertaining to the headline on the TV: #SherlockLives, #SherlockIsNotDead, #SherlockHolmesAlive!

"I won't believe it until my dad tells me. He has to know about this." I retrieved my phone and found my dad's number. I stomped my foot when it went to voicemail. "Dad, I've seen the news here, it's probably worldwide." My voice was high and hurried. "He's really back, isn't he? Have you seen him? Talked to him? You need to tell me everything once you get this message. Please call me back really soon. That aside, did Mary say yes?" I ended the call; my heart was flying a mile a minute. "All I can do now is wait."

"Or you can distract yourself by getting dressed and give the bed back its clothing."

I threw him a look. "It's comfy; I may stay in it."
"Rachel."

"Fine. But admit it, you like this look on me."

Bayley pulled me into his arms, our eyes locked. "I like it better when it's off." He smirked. His fingers touched the fabric, tugging ever so slightly.

"Go make breakfast." I gave him a playful shove. I couldn't help the heat that rose in my body at his suggestive comment.

* * *

I kept staring at my phone, waiting. I kept it on me even as I went to bed. I wanted it to ring. It was wishful thinking at this point, being that it was almost midnight here and way late at night in London. I made my phone screen light up. November 4th, 2012 was today's date.

"Wait until tomorrow," Bayley told me. Pouting, I put my phone on the nightstand and went to cuddle into his side. "I'm sure you'll get answers then."

"What if Dad hasn't seen him?"

"I bet he was one of the first people in London who knew Sherlock was back before the media got a hold of the news. I mean, they were best friends, weren't they?"

"Yes, but they must not have been as close if Sherlock kept my dad in the dark about him disappearing for two years." Now I wondered why Sherlock faked his death and why he kept my dad, and those he cared about, in the dark. I was more worried about the why than the how at the moment. The how I could string theories on later. "I'll never hear the end of it from Kendal and Madison on how they were right."

"At least you didn't bet against them."

"No, I didn't." I yawned.

"I'm sure you'll get answers tomorrow."

"Are you working tomorrow?" I closed my eyes, honing in on Bayley's heartbeat.

"I didn't get a call, but there's still a chance if I get one in the morning."

One way or another, I was going to get more information about Sherlock's return.