Now was the time. Time to return home and restart. Home. Home was a word Sherlock had not even given deep thought to over the past three years other than refining his plan to come back to it eventually. He had even slightly forgotten what home really was. He thought and it began to come back to him. 221B Baker Street was home. The place with the yellow spray paint and bullet holes on the wall from when he was bored. The place with his skull of a friend on the mantle. The place where he and Mrs. Hudson always had their fights. His violin was part of home too. His files and leftovers from cases he undoubtedly was vital in. His specimens that scared John half to death when he would find them. John had gotten better after the head in the refrigerator though. John. John had become such a big part of what Sherlock called home it was uncanny. Words couldn't really describe what they had going on before the fall. Friends? Maybe but there was much more. They were friends and coworkers and flat mates and so much more. People assumed they were lovers but the bond they had was not like that.
Sherlock began to think about what others would say when he returned. Anderson and Donovan would not be happy about it. Hell, Donovan was the one who made him a humiliation by convincing the chief that he kidnapped those two poor kids. Anderson was just a bumbling idiot who just so happened to cross paths with Sherlock too often and be on too many cases for his mental state. Lestrade would be glad to have Sherlock back to help him on the job. If he still had his job. Sherlock forgot to keep tabs on Lestrade's job status. Mycroft would be shocked to find he come back at the time but would be happy to see his brother had come back around. Mrs. Hudson would be overjoyed as with Molly and Angelo. Crap! He forgot to send that letter to Molly saying he was coming back. He'll just surprise her.
And then there was John. John, John, John. Molly was supposed to keep an eye out for him to make sure he was eating and getting along as best as he could and last time Molly had written he was coming along fairly well. John had not taken his "death" well. They had grown so close over those 18 months before the fall. Sherlock finally found out main pieces of their relationship after thinking about him a little more. They were not only friends, but co workers, flat mates, not to mention depending on the other to be trustworthy and dedicated to the other in a non-romantic way. Trust and dedication had been a priority since day one. For hells sake, John killed a man to save Sherlock after they only knew each other for three days. Thank god he kept tabs on people not only through Molly's help but also through his vast homeless network observing those select few on the outside. He didn't know if he would survive without knowing about them.
Sherlock snapped out of his daydream and began to pack. He had hopped from home to home, staying with people who he helped. This last man he had gotten off of death row, like Angelo, as well as acquitted of drug charges. He was careful, though, to stay far away enough from London that if Londoners did happen to come by, they wouldn't think anything suspicious because of the distance. This home was the closest to London though, so he planned to indefinitely stay there last.
"Sherlock! Taxis here!" his host Matthew shouted.
"Blink and I'll be there!" Sherlock replied
He was taking the taxi to the tram, which would take him to London. Then, one more cab and home. He had plenty of time to think about what he would say to everyone. Sherlock ran down the stairs of the home, thanked his host who refused payment, got into the cab, and went on his way. He leaned back and smiled. He thought, 'Home here I come'.