Caught up in the grief and betrayal, John never wondered what Sherlock had done those two years he was "dead". Well to be more precise, he had known that Sherlock was eliminating the rest of Moriarty's followers. But when he imagined Sherlock doing so, he pictured investigation from Mycroft's house, sending specified agents to go and attack, to do all the foot work. But he never pictured this.
Frozen in utter shock all John could do was stare at the sight in front of him. When he and Sherlock were flat mates occasionally he would see Sherlock with his shirt off causing his thoughts to become filled with worry at the younger mans' skinny frame.
Now here he was, having just walked up into the flat to see how Sherlock was doing, falling stiff at the sight of ragged and painful appearing.
Scars of every form, from ragged pink scars trailing across his back to small, pale wounds that could only come from what had to be a knife. All of which seemed recent, or recent enough to fall among the time period of the past year or so. John let out a small gasp as he further studied he wounds on the man, he considered his best friend's, back.
Hearing the gasp, within an instant Sherlock turned around surprise spilling upon his features. Emotions fluttered rapidly upon Sherlock's normally stone-cold face. A mixture of calm at realizing who it was, and panic for the same reason. He stumbled slightly as he picked up his robe and wrapped around him.
"Sherlock… what?" John questioned stuttering slighting, "When had this all happened?"
Sherlock seemed to be slightly defeated by this question as if for once, he had no answer. "Doesn't matter," Sherlock snapped in a defensive manner "Now what is it you want John?"
"I want to know what happened Sherlock-"
"It is none of your concern John!"
"Bloody hell Sherlock! Of course it is!"
"And why exactly is that? Go frolic along with your fiancé"
John sighed, "Don't you dare turn this one on me!" he took a deep breath before he continued, "Sherlock please when… how did these happen?"
"What exactly did you imagine I was doing while in hiding?" Sherlock breathed, expressionless.
A horrible thought passed John's mind but he refused to elaborate on it, it just was unfathomable. "You were eliminating the rest of Moriarty's followers- I kno-" John began but was cut of by an incredulous look from Sherlock's direction.
"Well John, good job!" Sarcasm spread it's way through Sherlock's words like butter on bread, it almost made John flinch. "You have your answer, now what did you want?"
It was obvious to John that Sherlock was avoiding the topic but John had to know. "You mean…? That those are from your time dead?" John tried taking a step closer to Sherlock but fell still, as Sherlock slumped into his chair, running a hand through his unruly mane of curls.
What did you think I was doing all that time?" John was going to speak up but Sherlock beat him to it, "Did you perhaps imagine I was somewhere doing research while eating bonbons?"
"Well I certainly didn't expect…this!" John said motioning his hands out towards him, when he suddenly realized something, "Sherlock, how recent are some of those wounds?"
"From the day before I came back to London." John held his hands over his mouth in realization, but Sherlock continued to speak, "I was in Sierra working on destroying the last of them, when not for the first time, I was caught. Trying to get information out of me they used various methods of torture until I was rescued by another man in the room, who had been overseeing the interrogation. Honestly I still think Mycroft and his sick twisted mind enjoyed seeing…" He continued speaking but John wasn't listening anymore. How much of an asshole was he? His friend turn up after two years of being dead, his death of which, he had faked in order to save John himself, and he bloody attacks him. Not to mention the fire… John felt his knees buckle slightly at the thought of how many stitches had have to been torn open.
And it was, at this moment that John fully realized how loyal, no how brilliant of a friend Sherlock was. John knows that he would never have withstood torture, or practically jump into a fire to save Sherlock, yet he had for him.
Sherlock seemed to realize that John wasn't listening to his tirade of words anymore, and stopped mid sentence. As if sensing what John was thinking Sherlock sighed and stood up, walking close to his friend. "John-" he began but was interrupted with a hug from his friend. Stiffening at the sudden touch Sherlock melted slightly into the hug, and told John that it wasn't his fault, and that everything would be okay.
This was when John knew that no one would ever have a more reliable friend than Sherlock.
Oh, how lucky he was.