Short Story.. John and Sherlock and a matter of a text.
Another text pinged for attention, John wasn't amused he was fed up with Sherlock sending him texts at all times of the day, even when he was working. He was really fed up with Sherlock irresponsibly using his texts as a demand for John to "get over here quickly it's a matter of life and death", upon John's arrival Sherlock was invariably either busy on something else and he'd forgotten what he wanted John for. John no long ran when Sherlock demanded, and Sherlock got a little hissy with him. John invariably ignored him and it worked.
After months of getting used to Sherlock and his very demanding nature it was hard to come to terms with Sherlock not being around anymore, John deeply wished his mobile would ping. He didn't care if it was some inane request, anything, as long as it was Sherlock. Of course, that never happened and John was left staring at his 'phone for long periods of time wishing it to acknowledge his telepathic request for Sherlock to contact him.
Three years passed and John had gotten used to living without Sherlock, well that was almost the truth, he missed him terribly even now. He was surprised that he missed a man he only knew for 18 months more than he missed his Grandfather who he knew for 18 years and was close to him. It was a symbiotic relationship which had the capacity to make and or break both of them; it had invariably broken them both, one in death and one on the verge of a nervous breakdown. John got on with his life, such as it was; he began his practice work again, not with Sarah but with another surgery nearer to Baker Street. John moved back in to live at 221B after about a year away, he found everywhere else he lived seemed blank faceless and boring. He preferred the memories that 221B gave him and the security he felt there.
John was having a morning cuppa when his phone advised him with a ping that he had a text, absently John retrieved the 'phone from under the tea towel, glanced at the message and dropped his mug of hot tea on the floor.
The message said simply – "meet me at the cemetery. S"
Cryptic, oh yes but in the style of Sherlock, all drama and no filler so to speak, John muttered to himself about dropping his tea, cleared up the mess and ignored the idiot messaging him with stupid requests. He deleted the offending item from his 'phone and headed to the surgery for another day of fun with the sick. On his way home however he received another text this time there was a little more urgency and it definitely felt like Sherlock.
"Urgently John I can't stand here all day. S."
John swiftly grappled with the 'phone more in anger than curiosity and asked where this meeting should take place. He was told that it was where he was buried where else could it be. Oh sorry thought John I forgot sarcasm comes naturally to some people. He huffed and the curiosity got the better of him as he headed off to where they had buried Sherlock just over three years previously. It was a quiet place with a railway line running down the one side the trains ran irregularly and you didn't hear them much. It had a high wall around it on three side and trees and woodland at the remaining side. Sherlock was buried just off centre to one of those trees; his head stone faced the other resting places keeping an eye on events in this quiet corner of London.
Sure enough standing as casually as he could there was Sherlock, all cheek bones and his collar turned up looking as though butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. John controlled his shock very well, so much so that Sherlock didn't see the punch that greeted him; he heard the barrage of angry words from John and the frequent swear words some of which he was sure John was making up.
It went quiet and Sherlock still dramatically holding his face looked at John who was very pale, breathing hard.
"You asked for a miracle John, isn't this all as you wanted?" Sherlock asked quietly.
"Oh yes I feel a miracle as day is good for someone who has lived for three years waiting for a sign, I wanted a miracle three years ago you selfish prick." John's voice was raised; he glanced around embarrassed as though he would disturb the quiet slumber of the residents within.
"Let me explain" Sherlock said and held his arm out to guide John towards the path that lead out of the cemetery. John followed along curious and angry, happy and anxious all at the same time. He was sure he wouldn't be able to breathe much longer and that he would fall from walking so fast.
He followed listening to the explanation that was forthcoming, the pair stopped off at a coffee shop not something that Sherlock would normally have done but it was neutral territory and less likely that John would hit him again. Sherlock was sporting a nice red mark on his face which stood out like a sore thumb against the paleness of his skin, the girl who served them glanced at Sherlock and her eyes were drawn to the red mark more than to Sherlock himself. They seated themselves and as John sipped his coffee grateful for the sharpness of the coffee and the caffeine within, Sherlock finished his explanation brief and to the point as it was.
John now understood that Sherlock had to remain deceased until he had unravelled Moriarty's entire web which was extensive and there were many fingers in many pies. Sherlock had help in doing this but he didn't go into full details saving that for another day when questions would be asked after a few days of contemplative silence.
Sherlock could see that John was seeing sense in all of what he had been told and Sherlock was careful to be truthful, he owed John that much.
"It's all over with then?" John questioned frowning a little, "you are able to come back to Baker Street?"
"Yes I can but things will never be the same will they?" Sherlock answered the question with a question of his own, typical Sherlock, proving a point as always.
"Why not? I don't' see why we can't carry on as normal. Oh of course, the press, I forgot about that." John said examining his empty coffee cup.
"Well I have to keep my head down for a couple of weeks but I don't see why we can't head back there now, I have much to do and many people to see over the next few days. I will have to borrow your phone as well John the battery on mine gave up just after the last text I sent you."
John rolled his eyes, as usual Sherlock was using his stuff to do his work, as he glanced down at Sherlock's open hand waiting for the mobile to be placed there he wondered who would be first to be called. Oh lord above had John missed this, how indeed.
Sherlock scrolled through the contacts in John's phone and as he stood and they exited the coffee shop John heard him say.
"Mycroft, it's me, can you call people together. Yes the usual place. Thank you it's good to hear your voice too." Sherlock hung up John held out his hand for his 'phone
"Don't mind if I hang on to this do you? May need it again." John shrugged he didn't mind if the truth be known.
He fell into step next to Sherlock and they hurried down the street to the taxi rank it was good to doing this again, fast walking to an adventure. The taxi journey home was short but necessary Sherlock didn't want too many people to see him, it was necessary for him to be discrete even if the coffee shop was rather public it was quiet and the girl at the back of the counter ignored them completely.
For Sherlock 221B was the most welcome sight of his entire life he had waited three years to be back there, back to his home, back to where he was happiest with his blogger and friend. He waited for John to open the door and as he stepped over the threshold he felt a sensation he hadn't felt for a long time, that of belonging.
It was good to be home, so very good indeed.