A/N: Written for the alphabet_soup challenge over at LJ. Prompted by Quarryquest, beta-read by Tania. Warning: Spoilers for The Reichenbach Falls. Also, my first Sherlock fic ever.
The quest was over. It was time to go home. Sherlock had hunted down the last of Moriarty's assassins and Mycroft had taken care of the rest. All that was left for Sherlock was to find his way back to his old life, back to being just a consultant detective, without all the fame and photographs of silly hats. While Sherlock's supposed death and previous trial weren't exactly advertisements for his services, Sherlock didn't mind. He didn't care for reputation, all he wanted were interesting cases he could solve, and he was sure Lestrade would still be more than happy for his help. As soon as Mycroft cleared up the matter with Scotland Yard of course.
After months spent on the move, Sherlock was also looking forward to his apartment, to seeing Miss Hudson, and to have a chance to flop down dramatically on his couch. For a moment he wondered if there were any experiments left in his room, but he figured that John would've taken care of those.
John.
If Sherlock was to admit the truth, it was John whom he missed the most. His good doctor. The last time he had seen him had been at the cemetery, and it had been the hardest moment for Sherlock to face. It had been harder than facing down Moriarty at the pool, or jumping off that roof, orchestrating his death. Because there he was, good old John, asking for one thing only.
"One more thing. One more miracle for me, Sherlock. Don't. Be. Dead. Would you... Just for me. Stop it. Stop this."
And Sherlock was so close he could hear the choked out words, feel the pain behind them. All it would've taken were a few steps, to explain, to tell John that he was indeed alive and that he had a job to do. Make him understand. But Sherlock knew what was coming and he couldn't take that risk. Not the risk of telling John the truth, he knew the man would never betray him. No, he couldn't take the risk of dying again, this time for real. What if he told John he was alive then went off to hunt down Moriarty's people and somewhere along the way he got killed? He couldn't do that to John, to make him grieve for him twice. Or take the chance of John wanting to come with him and getting killed himself. He had to keep him safe, keep all of them safe. This was better. Once he knew that his quest was over, he would explain and John would understand. Sherlock was sure of it.
What he hadn't counted on, was on John moving on. Somehow, he imagined the doctor staying at the apartment, occasionally offering his help to Lestrade, and jumping through several senseless relationships. Never in his dreams would he have imagined John finding the right woman, settling down and getting married. He didn't think John would ever leave the apartment, but when he came home to Baker Street he found the rooms empty. Not empty in the sense of lacking furniture, no. Everything was still there, the stuff left mostly in place. The skull was on the mantle, Sherlock's violin safely tucked away in its case. Everything was there, everything but John. His room was empty, his stuff gone, and that was the moment Sherlock realized that things wouldn't be as easy as he thought they would be. Lives had changed, and maybe they would never go back to what they were. Sitting down in John's chair, Sherlock leaned back tiredly. Getting Moriarty's men had been hard, but for the first time since it has all started, Sherlock feared that getting John back might be even harder. The quest wasn't over yet and maybe it would never be.
The End