Guardian
"Have you told Mycroft?"
Sherlock stared at John, confused.
"Is this really important right now?" he asked. "John, it's me. I'm back."
John nodded. His head was filled with mixed emotions. He was going mad. He knew it. But what if he wasn't? What if his best friend really was back from the dead? Mycroft had to know.
"Have you told Mycroft?" John repeated. "Does he know that you're alive?"
Sherlock shook his head. "It wasn't important that I told him."
John began to shake his head. "No." he kept muttering. Sherlock noticed that the shorter man was shaking.
"John, are you okay?" asked Sherlock worriedly.
"What do you bloody think?" shouted John. He pulled his phone out of his pocket. His shaking hands were making the phone difficult to hold.
"We, we have to tell Mycroft." John stuttered. He began to type a number into his phone but was shaking too much to press the right
buttons.
"John, I think you should sit down. I'll make you coffee. We don't need my brother here." Sherlock insisted.
"No Sherlock, I won't sit down! You can't just march in here and tell me what do after three years! You were dead! I thought you were dead."
John started crying. There wasn't many times in his life when Sherlock didn't know what to say. Watching John cry was like seeing a parent cry for the first time.
"I'm sorry." said Sherlock quietly. "You would have been killed if I hadn't have done what I did."
"I wish I had been. It would have been better than what I went through."
Sherlock swallowed. He told himself that John didn't mean that.
John wiped his tear covered face with his hands. "I want Mycroft here now."
Sherlock shook his head. "I don't want him here just yet. I need to spent tonight just..."
"I don't give a shit what you want, Sherlock! I've had to wait three years, thinking you were dead, so you better do this one thing for me and call your brother!" John shouted.
Sherlock nodded and reached for John's phone.
"I feel sick." said John quietly.
"Maybe you should get some rest. You look like..." Before he could finish, John's body hit the ground with a thud.
John opened his startled eyes. He was lying on his back next to the fireplace. Sherlock had put the Union Jack cushion under his bruised
head. There was a buzzing in his ears, not unlike the buzzing that plagued his head when Sherlock 'died.'
"Are you all right?" asked a voice from above.
"What?" began John.
"You passed out. Hit your head on the fire heath." explained Sherlock. "I called Mycroft. He's quite far away but is coming as quickly as he can.
John sat up slowly. Sherlock pulled him up and sat him down in an armchair.
"Feeling any better?" asked Sherlock.
"I don't feel sick any more." replied John. "But my head is throbbing."
Sherlock headed into the unusually tidy kitchen and returned with two cups of tea and some biscuits. He gave one cup and a biscuit to John. The sandy haired man took them gratefully.
When John had finished his third biscuit and had nearly finished his tea, Sherlock spoke.
"Why did you want Mycroft to be here so much?"
John looked up. "What do you mean?"
Sherlock looked away. "You really wanted him here. I saw how you were with him just after I jumped. What changed?"
John looked down. He didn't want to tell Sherlock, but he felt he should.
"After you 'died' I was very sad. I, things happened, and I'm glad he was there."
"What kind of things?" asked Sherlock.
John swallowed. "How long until Mycroft gets here?"
"He's in Scotland, and he's coming by car."
John put down his tea cup. "I'll go back to the beginning."
Thanks for reading! This is the story of how John coped after Reichenbach, I do hope you enjoy! (I would like to point out that this story is not JohnCroft)