A/N Hey My Lovelies!!! So...This is an idea I have been playing with for a while now....Basically, Mary faked her death and Sherlock confronts her...I know some of you really liked her, and don't get me wrong, she was a cool character, I just wish they had left her as a villain instead of giving her that redemption arch....If you loved Mary be warned....she is really not nice in this one...Enjoy<3

Sherlock looked out over the city he loved so much. His stomach was twisting itself into knots, and he struggled to keep his breathing steady.

It had been years since he had been up here, John would probably kill him if he knew he was up here. She wanted to meet up here, and Sherlock could understand why. It's a powerplay, throwing him off his game by reminding him of the worst decision he ever made.

Everyone thought he was crazy. 'She's dead Sherlock, you watched her die.' Mycroft had scolded him as he reluctantly handed him her file.

He never told John he was looking for her, he wasn't sure his Blogger could handle knowing that she was alive. It had nearly killed him when he found out she had died, and Sherlock wasn't ready to lose him again.

"You really do have a death wish, don't you?" He didn't turn to face her, he wasn't ready for that. He closed his eyes and breathed in the thick London air, willing his hands to stop shaking.

"You are difficult to find."

"I didn't want to be found."

"I noticed." He could sense her moving to stand beside him, but he still wouldn't acknowledge her, he wouldn't give her that victory.

"Why are you looking for me?" Sherlock swallowed thickly and closed his eyes against the memories that threatened tears.

"I just- I need to know why?" He felt more than heard her chilling laugh, and fought back against the tremor that lanced along his spine.

"I got bored. He didn't love me, anyone could see that. And I don't like being lied to." Sherlock turned on her then, his eyes burning as he thought of how miserable John had been.

"You could have just left. Do you know what your 'death' did to him? He tried to kill himself, tried to kill me-"

"I don't care." The smile on her face was cold and empty, and Sherlock shuddered as images of that same smile on his own lips flashed through his mind.

His blood ran cold when an image of that smile on John's lips filled his mind.

"What about Rosamund? Your daughter? What is he supposed to tell her?"

"Whatever he wants. I. Don't. Care." Sherlock glared at her, breathing as deeply as he could to stop himself from killing her for real. "I just needed a distraction."

"You married him! You had his child!"

"Yes, the baby was unexpected, but it certainly twisted that blade in your heart, didn't it?" She was grinning almost gleefully, and Sherlock felt his chest tighten when he remembered the pain that shattered his heart when he realized she was pregnant. "Poor little Sherlock, so painfully in love with the Good Doctor Watson but too afraid to say anything." She stepped onto the ledge and Sherlock shoved his hands deeper into his pockets.

"You knew."

"Of course I knew. Hell, the only one that didn't know was John, the blundering fool-"

"Don't call him that!"

"How sweet, still defending him I see?" She spun to face him, the wind whipping through her now-red hair, she must have died it again, and grinned. "You have to admit, he's not the brightest. Not compared to you or I. He didn't even realize I was faking my death-"

"Stop-"

"Or what? You're going to push me off the ledge? What would your precious blogger say then?" He stepped closer to her, her eyes now level with his.

"The world would thank me."

"John wouldn't." The simple statement sent a shock of pain through his heart. He hated that she was right. As much as she had hurt John, he knew the man had loved her deeply. What would they tell Rosie? Your Godfather is in prison because he shoved your mother off the ledge of Saint Bart's? "Why did you want to find me?"

"Do you want them back?" He watched her filter through the emotions, shock, confusion, realization, amusement, finally settling for pitied.

"No. Keep them if you want. He's yours, unless you fuck it up again." With that, she was gone, leaving Sherlock alone with his thoughts.

When he finally arrived back at Baker Street, he walked in to find John and Rosie, playing with her building blocks on the floor. John was grinning at his daughter as she babbled away, squealing with laughter when her blocks tumbled to the ground.

John finally looked happy, sitting there with his child, laughing at her antics.

John's grin widened and his eyes seemed to brighten when he caught sight of Sherlock. He pointed and turned Rosie to face him, the little girl squealing happily as she ran at Sherlock. He couldn't fight the grin that pulled at his lips as he bent down, lifting the child into his arms and spinning her around.

He felt a hand on his back and looked beside him to find John, smiling up at him. His heart warmed at the sight and he felt tears burning his eyes.

What they had was so fragile, just hovering between friends and more, that a single wrong word could shatter their happiness.

Sherlock would do anything to prevent losing John again.

"Rosie was just about to go put her jammies on, weren't you Bumble?" John took Rosie from Sherlock's arms, setting her down on the floor and laughing as the little girl hurried off to hers and John's room to get changed.

She had to know, he couldn't keep it from little Rosamund.

"John," The brightness in John's eyes didn't even flicker as Sherlock's tone darkened. "There- there's something you need to know."

"What's wrong Sherlock?" The brightness remained even as concern filled the blogger's face.

"I-I- I mean- Mary. She- she's ali-"

"She's alive? Yeah, I figured that." Sherlock felt his mind reel, blinking stupidly down at his best friend, who still looked at him with that brightness and oh God why is he standing so close? "I'm a bloody doctor Sherlock, of course I could tell she was faking."

"B-But- I-I don't- h-how-"

"There was no actual wound. Just a mess of bloody cotton that would have felt like torn skin to an untrained hand. Or to an idiot, which apparently both of you thought I was- Don't bother denying it, you were shocked I figured out she faked her death."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because she was finally gone. I saw an out, and I let her take it. I got caught up in what was happening, then I realized what had just happened and I wasn't upset that my wife, the mother of my child, had just died in my arms. I freaked out because I should have felt something, I should have cried for her, not because of how I had pushed you away." John stepped impossibly closer, looking up at Sherlock with eyes that were filled with regret, but had lost none of the brightness from before. "I felt like I had failed Rosie, and you, and myself and I just wanted that voice in my head to stop screaming for two seconds so I could think." Sherlock could feel his heart trying to escape his chest as John's hands came to rest on his hips.

"You failed no one John." He whispered, his heart breaking as a tear slid from John's eye. He hesitantly reached up, tenderly wiping away the tear and cupping John's cheek, his breath catching as his blogger leaned into the touch. "Nothing was right then, but one good thing did come of that mess."

"And what is that?"

"I finally got you back." John's face split into a happy grin and one of his hands moved to grasp the back of Sherlock's neck, pulling him down for a tear-stained kiss.

"Daddy! Papa Lock! Story!" Rosie's sweet voice pulled them apart, both smiling and laughing softly.

"Alright Bumble, maybe we can talk Papa into reading something from The Hobbit again, eh?"

Sherlock watched the man he loved pick his daughter into the air, spinning her around and blowing playfully on her stomach, making her wriggle and squeal with glee.

He was happy, he had his blogger, and nothing was going to keep them apart, especially not some twisted assassin whose name no one really knew.