This is part of a series of five different versions of how Sherlock's and John's reunion could go. Eventually, there will be something before and after, but right now it's just these five little scenes. Please also read other versions (1.1, 2.1, 2.2 and 3.1)! I'd love to know which one YOU find the most realistic. :)
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Reunion(s) Version 1.2 (– also has Mycroft)
„I think it is time you were reunited with a mutual acquaintance of ours'," Mycroft nods his head at a point behind John.
The ex-soldier frowns at the elder Holmes in apparent annoyance before turning to face the person he can feel watching the back of his head. His eyes widen as all breath leaves him in a gasp.
"Sherlock!" he whispers. His jaw works for a moment. "Oh my god. You're alive! But… how…" John takes a hesitant step towards the man before him.
"As always, John, you settle for stating the obvious."
The dry comment brings John up short.
Mycroft clears his throat in the background, the sound like a bucket of ice water to John's stunned mind. "Ah, reunions," he simpers with false cheer. "Always such a heart-warming business. I think I'll give you two some privacy."
"Wait." A sudden realisation impresses itself on John, riding on a wave of fury. He tears his eyes away from Sherlock and turns. "You knew about this?"
Mycroft gives a long-suffering sigh before forcing a condescending smile because the question clearly doesn't warrant him wasting his breath to answer it.
John's hands ball into fists. His shoulders tense.
"John." Sherlock's voice sounds from close behind him, calm and intense, and it's enough to trigger the anger that has been building up inside him for the past few second. In one fluent motion he spins around and sinks his fist into Sherlock's pale face as deep as it will go.
The detective stumbles back a few steps, pressing a hand to his cheek. "Glad you got that out of your system." His voice is muffled but the sarcasm is plain to hear.
John can already see the beginnings of a bruise forming around his eye but he can't regret what he did. Blood circulation means the body before him is truly alive. Besides, Sherlock deserved that punch – and more.
"You bastard! You were dead. Three. Bloody. Years, Sherlock! Do you have any idea, any inkling…" He interrupts himself, breathing, reigning in his rising voice. "No, of course you don't," he finishes bitterly through gritted teeth. "Why would you care how I felt? You are Sherlock bloody Holmes. Emotions are for lesser human beings."
"Are you quite finished?" Sherlock's voice is hard.
John forces himself to meet his look as he searches for words. He remembers the clear eyes staring up at him framed in crimson streaks of blood. He drags in a shuddering breath. "Sherlock, I thought you were de-ad," he says as if that explains it all, which it does, – and just like that, the tears come.
Sherlock's collected demeanour dissipates. "John," he says. "John," he repeats with more insistence when he gets no answer. "I am sorry, truly, I am… but it had to be done. Please. Let me explain."
For the moment, John is deaf to him. He has sunken down into the nearest leather arm chair, bowed in almost silent anguish as his reality is uprooted yet again. His shoulders are shaking but he hides his expression behind his hands.
When Sherlock gets no reaction, he cautiously approaches his friend, extending a hand instead of words to touch his shoulder. Sherlock draws back as if burned as soon as he makes contact with the fabric of John's shirt but, when John doesn't flinch away or coil in any further, he replaces his hand, hesitantly squeezing the muscles there. It is oddly comforting, soothing his inner turmoil, he thinks, and seems to quiet John down, too. He continues to gently rub John's shoulder as he starts talking.
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Part of a series of 5 stories. Please also read other versions (1.1, 2.1, 2.2 and 3.1)! I'd love to know which one YOU find the most realistic. :)