Author's Note:
Hello, dear reader! Before anything I need to thank my awesome mum, who edited this whole thing for me (even if it took a while) so thanks so much :D If you actually read this entire thing through I would be eternally grateful if you left a review or something as I do consider this story my "masterpiece" if you like. Why would I say that? Well, it is my longest fiction, the one I worked the hardest on yet and the one I thought through the most. I based it on one simple idea: What if the problem with Sherlock's return wasn't his reunion with John? What if it was something else? Enjoy! :D
"Ow!" Sherlock yelled while holding his right cheek and sitting on the floor of 221B Baker Street. John lowered his hand and took a step closer. He looked down at him furiously.
"That's for leaving me for three years", John said. He then quickly pulled Sherlock up and hugged him tightly.
"And that's for coming back." They both hugged for several seconds, or could it have been minutes or hours? Anyways, at some point they released themselves from each other and both sighed happily.
"I missed you," Sherlock said.
"So did I," John replied and then they simultaneously started laughing.
One Week Later
Lestrade slowly rocked on his heels nervously as he stood in front of the many journalists who were sitting in front of him. He leaned over the podium with the microphone.
"Now, I've told you that this press conference is about newly found information on the cold case: Sherlock Holmes. Well..." he took a deep breath, "Sherlock Holmes is, in fact, alive." The journalists stared at him, as if they were rethinking what he'd just said and checking if they'd actually missed the punch line.
Lestrade cleared his throat as he realized that they obviously didn't buy it.
"Right..." he turned around a little, "And here he is:"
The curtain behind him opened slightly and out stepped none other than Mister Sherlock Holmes himself.
There was a beat.
Suddenly all the journalists stood up, raising their arms, all asking questions at the same time, every single one of them desperately wanting to note down what the former consulting detective had to say first.
Instead of an inspiring, long speech all they got was: "Ah, dull."
One Day Later
FAKE DETECTIVE RESURRECTED! COURT CASE TO FOLLOW.
Sherlock Holmes, a thirty-four-year-old man from London, made headlines a little over three years ago for having recovered Turner's painting "The Reichenbach Falls", and was known previously due to his partner in crime's blog, .uk, for his remarkable skills at crime solving. Later that year, he was proven a fraud as he actually invented all the crimes he'd then solved. After this had been brought to light, the 'consulting detective' as he called himself, committed suicide -
Or so we thought untiljust yesterday he revealed himself to in fact be alive. The way he mastered this trick is yet to be found out. Other than "dull," Holmes refused to comment. It is still unclear what his punishment will be, as there have been scarcely anyfake death cases and none of them have been under such circumstances. More on page four.
John pursed his lips as he put the newspaper back onto the coffee table. He leaned back in his armchair in deep thought. Just then Sherlock walked in from the kitchen holding his violin in his left hand, and his bow in his right. He strolled up to the window and gracefully placed it under his chin. He then tuned it and proceeded to play Beethoven's 5th symphony. John listened to the melodic strokes for a couple minutes to try to distract himself. As that didn't work, he thought he should talk about the article to Sherlock, though he hated to interrupt him while he was playing.
"Have you seen the article?"
"You were wrong, you know?" Sherlock said, without answering John's question as he continued to play.
"What?" John asked, confused.
"You said that everyone gets one tabloid big-bang, it would seem I'm getting a second."
"You're the exception to most things, Sherlock." Sherlock's eyes flashed back at him for a second, but he then continued to stare out the window.
"About that," John leaned forward, "aren't you worried?"
Sherlock stopped playing with a screech. He turned around while lowering the violin.
"Worried about what?"
"The court case, you're still a fraud, remember?" Sherlock almost seemed to calm down at that.
"Oh, no I'm not."
"Not even a little?"
"By the question I assume you are." Sherlock was already repositioning his violin.
"Well... Yes."
"There's really no need, John."
"Fine, but just once, lay low. This'll probably be the most important case in your life."
"Of course, I promise." Sherlock said semi-absently and resumed his piece. John rolled his eyes as he realized that this discussion probably didn't actually help much in this situation. He knew it wasn't a good idea but he couldn't help but think about what would happened in the event that Sherlock was found guilty.
What he didn't know was that Sherlock was actually planning to get as little attention as possible while in court. He was just a little afraid of the whole thing-a little.
6 weeks later
"The court is officially open."
Neither Sherlock nor John listened to the entire explanation of why he'd been accused, as both of them knew that far too well. They just stared in opposite directions and tried not to find any reason why this entire thing would go wrong.
"The prosecution calls in the defendant."
Sherlock's head snapped up and he stood up and steadily made his way to the podium. A man brought a bible to him and Sherlock placed his right hand on it while raising the other.
"I swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and only the truth."
The prosecutor got closer to him, and after one look he already could tell half of his life story, and Sherlock didn't like it. This was an aggressive man, who fought more for what he wanted than for what was right. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him when the man gave him a seemingly innocent smile.
"What exactly is the name you give to your profession, Mister Holmes?"
"Consulting Detective."
"And what does that mean exactly?"
"When the police have a mystery even they can't crack, they go to me for help."
"Is it right that you don't do it for money?"
"Yes, it is."
"So do you get anything in return for your... good deeds, shall we say?"
"No, well except recognition maybe..."
"Recognition, I see... Do you enjoy recognition?"
"No, not at all actually."
"Why not?"
"Because most people are st-," he broke off just in time, then re-thought his sentence, "Because most people don't actually care for longer than a couple days."
"Why do you think that?"
"Well I managed to fake my death and you got an entire jury together that had no idea. Couldn't have held on that long then." The entire room let out a quiet giggle.
"Aha... Very funny... About that, how did you do it, exactly?"
"Objection!" Sherlock's defender whose name he hadn't bothered to remember called out, "That question is completely off subject!"
"Seconded," the judge said.
"Okay then, why did you do it? Did you need to flee from the fact that you were already seen as a fraud?"
"No, I needed to take down Moriarty's network piece by piece."
"Moriarty actually being Richard Brook."
"Wrong, Richard Brook never existed."
"And how can you possibly argue that when there clearly is a file with the name Richard Brook on it."
"Moriarty was a genius, he could change any record in the world he wanted without having to move a finger."
"And how exactly could he do that?"
"He had a network; one that controlled half of all the crime in the world. Taking it down was what took me those three years."
"Are you claiming one man took down a global network all by himself?"
"Don't be absurd. I had some help."
"From whom, may I ask?"
"Those people would rather stay anonymous."
"Very well then... Why exactly do the police go to you?"
"Because of my observation and deduction skills."
"Care to enlighten us a little on how that works?"
"I observe and from that I deduce, it's all on the website," Sherlock said, rolling his eyes a tiny bit.
"And you just happen to find out all the information you need?"
"I don't happen to. Any of you could do it as well if you tried a little harder than you do."
"That is a very strong assumption."
"Any more questions?"
"No."
2 weeks later
Not one deduction had slipped from Sherlock's lips during the entire trial. He'd just answered the question they'd asked him and tried to pay as much attention as possible to all the other witnesses (mostly police officers and clients).
"The prosecution calls in Dr. John Watson as witness." John looked at Sherlock, who nodded at him, and got up. He slowly walked to the podium, taking as large steps as possible. John swallowed as he raised his arm and placed his other hand over the bible which felt odd, as he'd decided years before he was an atheist.
"I swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and only the truth."
The defence walked over to him, and John disliked him immediately. He just simply looked despicable to him.
"How long have you known Sherlock Holmes?"
John's eyes flashed over to Sherlock and cracked a tiny hint of a smile at the mistake in that question, still he answered it 'the way they wanted him to answer': "Four years and nine months."
"And how did you meet?"
"I had just been sent back to London from Afghanistan after I had been shot. I then ran into an old colleague and when I mentioned to him that I was looking for a place to stay he said he knew of someone with a similar problem. I that day made acquaintanceship with Sherlock Holmes."
"Is it correct that you moved in a day after you met him?"
"Yes."
"Seems a little rushed, don't you think?"
"You're entitled to that opinion." The man raised his eyebrows at the slight bitterness in John's voice.
"What made you decide to move in so quickly?" John thought a little.
"He cured my limp."
"Your limp?"
"When I returned from Afghanistan, the wound had already healed but it had left me with a limp."
"And how exactly did he cure it?"
"Well, it was psychosomatic, I didn't know that at the time. He made me realize it though."
"Are you trying to say that Sherlock Holmes, a man without any diploma in medicine or psychology, cured your limp better than the therapist you had before? That's pretty hard to believe."
"You should, though!"
"All right, let's move on."
"Good idea..." John said clearly getting annoyed at this man.
"Has Mister Holmes ever lied to you?"
That question hit John harder than he thought it would. He pondered it a while, wondering what to answer.
"...Yes, yes he has."
"About what?"
"He told me he was a fraud." John noticed his mistake one second too late.
"Are you saying that he's openly confessed to these crimes?"
"No! I told you he was lying!" John yelled a little louder than was necessary.
"Why would he lie about that?"
"It was to protect his friends, for God's sake!"
"In what way?"
"He... He was being threatened."
"By whom?"
"James Moriarty."
"A man proven not to exist."
"Richard Brook is a man invented by him!" John said, really losing his patience with this man.
"Richard Brook", the man stated calmly, "has a record, as opposed to this 'Moriarty'."
"He broke into the records! He was a genius!"
"As you claim Sherlock Holmes to be?"
"Yes, except bad."
"Isn't it more likely that there are no geniuses, than that there are, or better said, were, two?"
"You're not honestly asking me that, right?"
"Answer the question."
He breathed in. "Yes, I suppose so..."
"No further questions."