Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or BBC or anything. *sigh* if I did, I would be rich.
Summary: Post-Reich. Sherlock is back, but doesn't understand why John is acting strange around him. A minor confrontation sets things straight. One-shot.
Author: Victoria
Sherlock watched silently as John fumbled with the tea kettle. The army doctor set it down with a thud and brought a hand to his forehead before letting himself fall into a chair.
The detective turned and made his way back out to the couch. He really hadn't anticipated this. For all his deductive skill, he couldn't quantify emotion. He knew John, but couldn't understand him.
In the same way that John knew why Sherlock faked his death, but was still a wreck because of it.
John entered the room, a cup of tea in his hand. Only one. There was only ever one nowadays. Ever since Sherlock had "died".
"John, what is it?" The words slipped out of Sherlock's mouth before he could stop them. He took a deep breath and continued. "I'm sor- I know that me faking my death was difficult, but I had to do it. Otherwise you and Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson would be dead. And I'm back now."
"You don't get it, Sherlock!" John cried out, slamming the tea cup down with a clatter. "I had to stand there and watch my best friend die! I thought you were dead. There wasn't a pulse and- you just jumped off a bloody building!"
"But- but I'm back now. You know it was faked," Sherlock stammered, confused for once in his life. Wasn't everything alright now?
"Well, I didn't know that, not then." John began to pace the room.
"John-"
"In the army, I learned quickly that forming friendships and getting close to people is a bad idea. Because they could be dead the next day. And doctors can't save everyone. When I came back to London, I started to relax, because this was different. This was safer. People weren't always dying. Even with all the cases and murders, I became friends with people. I became friends with you, Sherlock," the army doctor stated, "and I opened up to you. And then you jumped, just when I let my guard down. The grief hit me like a bus and I didn't know how to deal. The one person I was closest to was gone, just like that. Out of the blue, I was alone again."
Sherlock sat in a stunned silence. He should have known-
Fighting back tears, John collapsed onto the couch. "And now you're back. All of that pain was for nothing."
"It was to save your lif-"
"And I didn't hear a word from you. Nothing to let me know you were alive, not for a whole year. Not until last Monday. All of a sudden, you showed up at the door, acting like nothing had happened. But things did happen, Sherlock. Things changed."
The consulting detective gazed down at the carpet, worn down by a whole year of John's pacing. "Can't things go back to normal?" His words were almost childish in nature.
"No," the doctor replied. "Because I let you in too close and it almost killed me when you "died". What if you die for real? I can't go through that again."
"I won't die, not for a long time."
"You don't know that!"
There was a long moment of silence. With unsteady hands, John picked up the tea cup again.
Sherlock forced out a pair of words that he did not often say. "I'm sorry."
At first, John didn't respond. "Even after all that pain," he said finally, "I don't regret it. Getting close to you."
Startled, Sherlock glanced back up. "John, I-"
"I'm glad you're back," the doctor cut in, his voice shaking.
The consulting detective choked up in a sudden onslaught of emotion. "John, I- I missed you."
"I missed you too, Sherlock."