Chapter I | Back From the Not-So-Dead

Three years.

Three years of being gone and now he was back at 221 B, Baker Street.

Sherlock stood quietly and stared at the door. Slender fingers moved up and slid over the gold colored numbers. He looked up at the building and wondered if he was still here.

Are you daft?

Of course he's not here.

With a sigh, Sherlock dug in his pocket, avoiding the drugs in his pocket as he searched for his keys. It took him a little bit but he finally grabbed them and tugged them out of his pocket. He pressed the key into the lock, praying silently to whatever being would listen that they still worked. Taking a deep breath, the brunette closed his green eyes and held his breath as he turned the key.

Click.

Sherlock exhaled and smiled lightly as he pushed open the door. Making sure to peek in first to make sure Mrs. Hudson wasn't there to wail him with a cricket bat or something. When he didn't see any one, he moved into the entry way, quietly pressing the door shut before leaning against the cool wood.

Just a moment to adjust.

He had thought about this over and over since the day he jumped from the top of St. Bart's. How much he wanted to come home. They had to be sure. He had to be sure that Moriarty was gone for good. But the sound of his voice as he fell.

"Sherlock!"

The words at his grave.

"Please, there's just one more thing—one more miracle, Sherlock, for me. Just… stop this. Don't… Don't. Be. Dead. Would you do that? J-Just for me?"

When John cried. He had never felt something like that before. Regret. Remorse. Guilt. He wanted to bad at that one moment to embrace him. Kiss him even. Touch him. He swallowed hard and lifted himself away from the door. But there was time now. He had to talk to Mrs. Hudson first. Then he could find John.

Taking a deep breath once again he moved over to his landlady's door. The woman had been like a mother to him. Always looking after him and helping him. He loved her. Truly he did. She was one of the people that he loved more than anything. Her, Lestrade and John. He swallowed hard and made his way to the door. Hesitantly he lifted his hand and knocked. He nervously shifted his weight from home foot to the other as he waited for her to answer. The door clicked and he looked up as it cracked open. "Joh-…" Her words were cut off as she saw the dark hair. Opening the door wide she gaped at him. It too everything in his being not to say anything to her about. Unless he wanted t-

SMACK!

…get smacked…

His head turned with the force of the hard hit, letting out a small gasp as he adjusted to the sting. "Mmn…" He let out a small noise and turned to look back at her, gently rubbing his face. "I deserved that." He muttered as he looked down at her. His lips moving into a frown as he saw tears rolling down her face. "You're bloody right you had that coming! And a hundred more! How could you do that Sherlock!" She yelled, moving forward and slamming her fists into his chest out of anger. This time it didn't hurt though and Sherlock took the moment to wrap his arms around her back. Holding her flush to his chest. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry, but I promise there's a good reason for all of it. And I will explain everything to you. I will. But… I need to know some things first…" He said as he rubbed over his back as she clung to his jacket. She seemed to have accepted this, because she pulled back lightly and looked up at him, gently rubbing her eyes. Sherlock gave a small smile and took her face in his hand, lightly brushing his thumbs over her cheeks to wipe the tears away. "Dear Mrs. Hudson." He gave a small smile, and she finally gave him once back. "Are all my things still in the flat?" He asked as he looked up towards the stairs. The woman nodded lightly and swallowed, trying to find her voice after crying as hard as she did. "Yes. Mycroft wouldn't come get it. He told me to just leave it there. Even paid rent while you were gone." Sherlock smiled and kissed her head. "At least he did something right." He said turning and moving up the stairs towards his flat. Mrs. Hudson blinked and gasped when she realized something. "He helped you, didn't he?!" She yelled, starting up the stairs. Sherlock bent over the railing and smirked. "Of course he did Mrs. Hudson. He was the one who got me into that mess in the first place. Do try to keep up dear." He smirked as she cussed a little running after him up the stairs.

Sherlock stopped at his door and put his keys in the lock. Turning it once the door clicked and opened for him. He moved inside slowly and smiled as he looked around at everything that was so familiar to him. He didn't think it would be so nice to be home. To see familiar things and faces. He sighed and moved into the flat and looked around. Mostly looking for signs that John had been there. But there really was nothing. Mrs. Hudson came up behind him as he looked around. "He's not here Sherlock." The brunette turned and looked back at her. "Am I that obvious?" She nodded and smiled leaning against the door jam. "He left. About a year after you disappeared. Last I heard he served another year in Afghanistan. Harry called and told me he was back. Alive but not so well." She said with a soft frown, Sherlock let his face drop as well.

Alive but not well?

Did he get shot again?

"You can go look in his bedroom if you like. I don't think there's anything in there though." She said as he nodded and moved to head up the stairs. "Uh, Sherlock dear?" He stopped and turned to look at her, she gave a soft smile. "Would you like me to make a cuppa?" The brunette smiled softly back and nodded. "Please. I'll be back shortly." He said to her as he moved up the stairs and looked around the room. There really was nothing. He didn't forget anything it seemed. He sighed and moved back down to his flat, going into his own bedroom to change into something more comfortable. As he hung up his jacket he looked over and spotted a piece of paper on the made up bed. Moving over he gently picked it up and looked it over.

'Sherlock,

If I ever get my miracle, I want you to know I took one of your shirts. I won't be coming back there so you'll have to ask Harry or Mrs. Hudson where I am. I don't know where I'll go at the moment.

You owe me a miracle.

Love,

John Watson.'

Sherlock smiled as he looked over the words, gently folding the paper and pocketing it. He moved over to his closet and tugged out a comfy shirt and pulled it on before moving out of the room to see Mrs. Hudson coming with tea. "Feel better?" She asked as she sat down in John's chair and Sherlock moved to his. He nodded to her and sat with a sigh. "Yes, now… can you tell me more? About John. Did he get shot again? Where is he?" He asked curiously as he picked up the glass and took a sip of the warm liquid. He almost forgot how good tea was. Mrs. Hudson let out a small sigh. "He's somewhere in Scotland. Way up north. Living by himself. He was shot in the hips and his left side. The bullet went in right above his heart and out his right side by his hip. Sherlock, we really thought he was going to die. But he pulled through. He has to walk with a cane again because the other bullet shattered his hip, but he if alive. But…" She sighed as Sherlock watched. Inwardly wanting to shake her for information. He felt horrible that John had gotten so hurt. Almost dying. "What is it?" He finally spoke up and looked her over lightly. She shook her head. "He has PTSD. Very bad. He won't go to a therapist like before. He doesn't walk to anyone, but call here once in a while to let me know he's alive." A small sigh came from his lips as he looked down. "Do you know the name of the town?" He asked looking up at her before taking another drink. He wanted to leave already.

Find him.

I have to find him.

She frowned and shook her head. "Stay here one moment and I'll try to find out." She said getting up and going down stairs. Sherlock shifted in his seat, feeling his pocket for the needle and his cocaine. He wanted to shoot up so badly.

Not yet.

Get the town first.

Then excuse yourself to bed.

He nodded to himself and pulled his hand away, taking another sip of his tea. He pressed it to his lips and finished it as he waited. Just as he was going to get up, Mrs. Hudson walked up and over to him. She held out a small slip of paper to him. "I got his address. Told him I wanted to send something." He took the paper and looked up at her. He was about to say something about not letting him speak to John, but she cut him off. "No. You have to fix that in person." He closed his mouth and nodded, moving to stand. Sherlock leaned forehead and pressed his lips to her forehead, giving it a chaste kiss. "Thank you. But I think I'm going to bed. I'll pick the things up tomorrow, go rest." She smiled and nodded to him. "Alright, Shery. If you need anything just holler." Her hand moved and patted his arm. "I'm glad you're alright. I'll talk to you tomorrow." He nodded and moved after her, shutting the door. He sighed a little and leaned against it before heading to his room. He shut that door too and locked it. Pulling the drugs out of his pocket he placed them on the bed as he tugged off his shirt and then the gloves off his bruised knuckles. Sitting on the bed he got it ready and pressed the needle into his arm, letting out a groan at the feeling of the drug entering his system. He panted for a moment and pulled an empty drawer open and tossed the needle away. He shoved what was left of the cocaine into his pocket and pulled off his pants, letting them thud to the floor. Now only in his boxers, he went under the covers and stared at the ceiling. Thinking of only one thing.

One person.

John.