Sherlock threw open the door of 221b, ignoring the startled expressions of it's occupants from where they sat at the kitchen table, John's cries of protest echoing up behind him.
"You were dead! I saw-oh, geez! oh...Sherlock."
There was an anger in John's voice that Sherlock was used too, but something about it seemed suddenly more...profound. He ignored him for the moment, focusing instead on the pair of idiots gawping at him over there tea.
"Get out." He snapped, turning to watch John stumble through the door.
"Sherlock, none of this is- you have GOT to start explai-" it was at this point that John noticed their audience and trailed off, his lips pinching together into a familiar expression of consternation. "Sherlock." He turned to face the consulting detective more fully, running his fingers over his mouth and looking for all the world as if he was restraining himself from jumping across the distance and strangling the man in front of him. "This isn't your flat." He bit out finally, his fists clenching soothingly at his sides.
The detective's brow furrowed.
"Yes it is."
"No it isn't."
Brows still furrowed Sherlock glanced back at the two bystanders again as if noting their presence for the first time, then he looked back to John, eyes narrowed in deduction.
"You didn't stay."
John's mouth became an even grimmer line and he gave a minute jerk of his head.
"I don't understand. Why wouldn't you stay?" Sherlock's face crinkled in genuine confusion and something inside John snapped, a well of emotion rising up, audience forgotten.
"Because it hurt! Sherlock." He threw his hands in the air, turning in a tight circle. "Jesu- it hurt. It hurt to be here when you weren't! It hurt to look around and know that you were-" He broke off, tears he had been fighting for three years welling in his eyes. "Jesus." His eyes turned up to the ceiling, and he cleared his throat gruffly, before lowering his eyes and forcing himself to hold the man's gaze.
Sherlock's face though confused was thoughtful and it wasn't long before his head tilted to the side in debate, regarding John's teary eyes and anxious stature, deducing from his friend what his own heart couldn't tell him.
"Sentiment?" Sherlock hazarded at last and John's expression broke into a rueful smile, his head dropping down to study the floor for a moment. When he looked up his face was clear of dark emotion, though tears still glimmered in his eyes. And when he smiled next it was small but genuine, Sherlock's face clearing up in response.
"Yeah." He stepped forward to clap a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Sentiment."