Déjà vu
Don't read this if you haven't seen the episode 'The Abominable Bride'! Severe spoilers ahead!
Written within ten minutes. I lay awake and this idea kind of hit me.
I know this is ridiculous and silly, I know it's not good, and I know it's also strange. It's not what I wanted to write about the episode, too (I'll do something proper later).
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Sherlock wearily followed John up the stairs of 221b.
It had taken John surprisingly little time to convince Mycroft that Sherlock would be better at Baker Street with him than in a closed ward of a rehab facility. Maybe it had to do with the strong aura of command and anger John was currently emitting. It reminded Sherlock of the day when his friend had learned that Mary was the one who had shot him.
As back then Sherlock was feeling lousy.
Also as back then it needed a copious amount of energy to lift his legs and he also wasn't sure he'd make it up the stairs before his strength left him.
But contrary to that day, John's anger and disappointment was aimed at him, quite rightly.
This hadn't been among the large amount of scenarios Sherlock had imagined for the end of this day, and there had been thousands. All worked out during the dreadful days in solitary confinement, after Mycroft had given him the choice to stay where he was or to accept the suicide mission.
In his mind he had made plans to give himself a third option, which kind of was the direct cause of the current situation.
He had never dared to hope to see Baker Street again.
Sentiment added to his bad state, he felt drained by the nostalgia and the sudden option to survive.
He had said goodbye, first to his home and then to John just a few hours ago, and now he was back here, he felt like something was about to explode in his ailing transport.
He hoped he could contain it as long as John needed for his explosion, he feared there was no way to escape facing that.
Once more, he stumbled into the doorframe, glad he had made it up the stairs, he held onto it.
Then the cacophony of John screaming at him.
It lasted long, very long.
Since no one was there to stop John for him, risking to be punched in order to do it as he had done back then, it went on even longer.
There was a difference, though, John seemed to be a lot angrier, if that was even possible. He was not only angry about the drugs, but also because he had been made to believe that Sherlock would return after six months.
John was angry because he had done it again, almost left him via the route of suicide. Sherlock had - again - done it the wrong way, had tried to protect John by sacrificing himself.
"Have you understood nothing?" John screamed.
However, like the first time, he had seen no other way.
He wanted John to live, to be happy.
"Leaving will destroy it all, Sherlock!"
John had said that before, and he had finally - after a long struggle - understood it, how had he manoeuvred them into the same situation?
It was stupid really.
He knew he was a bit learning-resistant when it came to certain topics.
"Sherlock, are you even listening to me, you nutter?" John yelled.
Of course, he was listening, and he was even really frustrated and honestly sad about how it all had turned out.
Had Mary felt the same when John had yelled at her?
Probably…
No, she was kind of emotional, she must have felt worse.
He felt close to meltdown, he wanted to hide.
But he couldn't just leave, John was right to be angry, as he had been with Mary.
Arguing with him would only fuel his anger, and there was no point really, John was right.
Sherlock needed to concentrate on the gained insight; he knew there was a price to figuring the Moriarty thing out, John would be glad later. Surely, John would understand eventually how the drugs had allowed him to make the right deductions… or maybe not.
Maybe this was just his own messed up mind telling him now that he was starting to come down.
The aftermath was always ugly.
John's screaming was, too.
The odd thing was, John was once more disappointed in him.
And the other odd thing was, he was in fact ashamed he had disappointed John so much. Not only John was disappointed with him, he himself was, too.
Really ashamed, it was so intense it hurt in ugly pale blue-grey colours.
He had hurt John again.
"Neighbours!" Mrs Hudson yelled up the stairs from downstairs, at least she wasn't up here.
He didn't care about them.
In fact, the raising nausea and his enormous headache weren't getting better with all the yelling, too.
"I don't care about the neighbours," John yelled back and Sherlock grinned awkwardly.
"John!" Mary scolded, she had entered the flat through the kitchen and was peeling herself out of the red coat, at least that one was another one than last time.
This time Sherlock was shutting up.
This time he wasn't cheeky and redirecting John's anger.
John now reached the stage where there were tears in his voice and he fought to keep his voice going.
No, he wouldn't insist on his way, he had used it and solved the reboot of Moriarty and he could as well do what everyone seemed to want. He was too tired to fight their efforts anyway.
When John yelled about how Sherlock could have died and then realised that this might have been exactly what the detective might have intended, his voice finally broke.
Mary took over, though not with yelling at him but with talking.
"You understand that your death would break him, I can not let that happen," Mary had said that analogously before, too, though not about him.
So much had changed in the few months, and so little.
He had almost hurt John again.
Sentiment was rising.
It actually brought the sting of tears, caused by the physical and mental agony to Sherlock's eyes, though they didn't fall.
He fell.
"Déjà vu," he mumbled and was distantly aware of sudden movement around him.
The last thing that crossed his mind before stress and exhaustion took over were:
'At least there's no ambulance waiting this time.'
Then he was out like a light.