Note: Looks who's back and actually writing something? Me! Like, what took so long? It's not what I wanted to work on but I couldn't get the idea out my head. I needed to update this anyway. Just the thought of Sherlock and Phraos having a conversation really was the whole basis of the idea.

There's a few of the game lines in there and I think I made Pharos a little OOC but I think it could be forgiven with in his case. Hopefully. Don't know when the next chapter is coming up. I know it'll probably deal with SMTIV, Devil Survivor Overclocked or Devil Survivor: Record Breaker. Leave a review if you enjoyed this.


Sleep was becoming elusive again. There wasn't many things that kept the detective from the little rest that he got. A case. Research. Stake outs. Experiments of a dubious nature that tended to involve body parts. The green hue in his bedroom was a change though. Last time he checked, he didn't take any drugs.

Cocaine was a thing of the past. That didn't account for the eerie silence outside as well. Baker Street was generally somewhat quiet at night, but not to this magnitude. No sounds of cars driving past or conversations from passerby. Just...nothing. The street lights outside seemed to be working just fine.

"Hi, how are you?"

Sherlock found himself sitting up in the bed to pinpoint where the voice was coming from. Who managed to sneak into his bedroom of all places? At the foot of his bed sat a little boy. A boy that Sherlock was sure he never saw in his life but felt familiar. His appearance was strange enough. Black and white striped clothes covered his thin frame, pale skin even fairer than his own,and a soft wash of dark hair was what Sherlock could read off him.

The beauty mark under his left eye made him a little different than just a pale looking child. But, it was the eyes were what drew him in. Sherlock knew that most found his eyes remarkable. Not even he could pinpoint what color they were most days. This strange child had the most unearthly blue eyes he ever witnessed. That wasn't what was bothering him though. Not the mysterious break in, nor how the child managed to sit on his bed without waking him. It mattered not. He couldn't read anything off the child.

This wasn't like the time with Irene either. She had been naked for one. He couldn't explain the difference no matter how the boy looked at him with such a soft smile in his direction.

"Who are you? You don't look homeless and I know my fair share of them."

In response, the boy's smile widened and he hugged his knees to his chest. Did he say something funny? It was a fair question.

"It's been a while. I didn't think I would ever see you again. I'm glad you are better."

Again? He was better? That couldn't be true. He never saw this boy in his entire life. Sherlock looked for any hint of a lie and couldn't find one. Impossible. There were too many questions to be answered. The child was intriguing and sneaky enough for coming into 221B without alerting anyone. A hand went through sleep mussed curls as he thought of what to ask next.

"How did you get in here then? My window hasn't been touched and I would have heard the front door open."

Those unearthly eyes gained a measure of sadness. The boy hummed and started to play with the hem of his pants. His smile wavered as his gaze turned away to stare out the window. Sherlock followed his gaze and was unnerved by what he saw. The sky was a sickly green and the moon was huge. Bright and uncovered by clouds as if was going to smash into very Earth at any moment. A shiver made its way up his spine at the thought. What a silly notion.

It was a rock in the sky. Rocks didn't have a chilling presence. They didn't have any thought at all. The other thing that caught his attention was the giant tower cutting a dark figure across the skyline. Sherlock had the streets of London memorized in his Mind Palace. He knew where every building was placed and if he was correct, the Met was supposed to be there. Not that...that horror show of architecture. He wouldn't even mention the foreboding coffins dotting the street or puddles of what looked liked blood. A gentle weight against his arm brought his gaze back down to the boy.

Somehow, the child was seated next to him. That didn't make any sense! He didn't hear any movement, no shifting of covers, not even the child's bare feet padding across his wood floor. What the bloody hell was going on? 'Calm down. This is getting you nowhere fast. There has to be a logical explanation for this.' He had to use what he observed so far. First, there was something wrong with the environment. There wasn't anything psychically wrong with him and he was sure he wasn't hallucinating.

Sherlock took a glance at his mobile on his desk and frowned. The screen was dark even with the charger plugged into the wall. For some reason, anything electronic was not working except for the street lights. Secondly and becoming the most important, the child in his bedroom. No signs of the door being opened, nor the window. He could somehow move without making a sound. A more disturbing part that he started to notice as the child leaned on him was the lack of heat.

His presence was there and he could feel him but, there was no heat. The small body didn't move as to indicate breathing either. Even as he came to all these conclusions, Sherlock didn't know what to think. He looked down at the child and wondered if he had the answers he sought.

"I will ask again, how did you get in here?"

The boy looked up at him with a innocent smile as if he knew Sherlock would ask him that. "I'm always with you. You just forgot me but, I didn't forget you."

Sherlock didn't forget anything. His mind was a steel trap and if he wanted to 'forget' something, he generally deleted it. He deleted various topics over the years. Did he delete his interactions of the boy? It was the only probable conclusion. It seemed like the child didn't have a problem answering questions. He found himself crossing his legs and sending the child a stern look. The last thing the detective would admit was not understanding something.

"Fine, I'll assume for now that you have been following me somehow. I somehow 'forgot' you as well. What is your name? Why are you here?"

A cold hand grabbed his own off his lap and twined their fingers together. Sherlock swore through the biting cold on his hand that he could feel a surge of power. It felt like he was grasping the hand of Death itself. He didn't know how to describe it the feeling of safety that came through the touch. The boy looked so happy just from the simple fact that he was paying attention to him. If it was anyone else, Sherlock would have thrown their touch off. Even the brief brotherly touches he shared with John weren't like this.

"A name? My name is...Pharos." A gentle smile and his hand was pressed against the child's cheek. "This is like the first time you asked me. Before you made yourself unwell. You gave me that look before too."

Sherlock couldn't help but scoff, but he allowed Pharos to do as he pleased. It just felt...right to do so.

"I'm trying to decide if you are a figment of my sleep deprived mind. Maybe John was partially right about putting off sleep for so long." he muttered.

Pharos hummed in response and rubbed his cheek against their clasped hands. He had a feeling that the child was not normally so tactile with others. Somehow, he could picture the child standing at his bedside with those sweet little smiles on his face. Never touching him unless it came to whatever item that caught his attention at the time. These 'gut feelings' he kept getting were starting to wear on his nerves. The child hadn't lied to him yet.

"The one who possesses the Strength Arcana in your Social Link. The doctor and the solider. He's nice. He wasn't here last time. There weren't many of your Social Links last time. It has been so long and I'm glad to be here again."

The overall cheerfulness of Pharos's words almost made him dismiss his strange phrases. Arcana? Social Links? He felt like he knew the phrases. Knew what they were supposed to mean. What they represented. They were important. He found himself squeezing Pharos's hand in return as he rested his head against his headboard. 'Why would I delete something so important?'

"I see. So not a hallucination. There is no impossible, only improbable. I'll go with you being some kind of spirit for now. Why are you here, Pharos?"

He felt a slight shift at his side and his arm was lifted up for Phraos to curl into his side. The smile was gone from his face and he gave Sherlock a sad look. This wasn't like earlier. There was regret, a hopeless sadness, a dark void that stole Sherlock's breath away. He found himself looking away first to stare up at the ceiling. The words that were spoken next made a sharp pain lance through his head. Like a forgotten door shaking rusty locks off itself in his Mind Palace.

"Soon the end will come. I remembered, so I thought I should tell you."

Sherlock shut his eyes as visions of a sparkling blue butterfly and a ornate blue door overwhelmed his sight. "The end of what exactly?"

"The end of everything...but to be honest, I don't really know what it is."

As much as he wanted to ignore the words as nonsense, he couldn't. That look and sure tone made any debate he had fly out the window. Sherlock wasn't sure what he was remembering but he knew Pharos knew. Just like he knew deep in his very soul that the child's time with him was running out. Opening his eyes, the detective let out a sigh filled with frustration. There was so much he didn't know and knew he had known once with a surety. He went to look down at Pharos only to find him standing at his bedside. He didn't even feel him move away though his body felt frigid through his pajamas where the child had been. His time must be up.

"I expect you to explain what I am remembering when you return. You know that, don't you?" Sherlock said, giving the child a serious stare.

Pharos folded his hands behind his back and gave a short nod, smiling. "Of course. I honor my commitments, just like I expect you to honor yours. Like last time, I'll be watching you. I won't allow you to forget again. See you later."

With those last words, the striped clad boy vanished in front of his eyes. The green haze in the air disappeared and followed by a cacophony of the sounds of the city came rushing back in that instant. Sherlock stared at the spot where Pharos once stood before sliding down to lay on his mattress. He pressed his hands to his eyes to take in what just happened to him. Half finished thoughts and old memories that held a disjointed sense of determination, fear and wonder sluggishly went through his mind. He didn't know what to think. The end...of everything. He couldn't puzzle this out alone.

Sherlock grumbled, pressing his hands harder against his eyes until he saw spots. This would have to wait until the morning. Maybe...maybe if he talked to John about what happened, he could get a grip on what was going on.