A/N: Just a thing I did after exposing myself to all things 'Sherlock' this past week. Sorry it's not an update to my other fan-fictions, but this was scratching and clawing at my brains to get out.
Sherlock stood on the roof, the warm spring breeze ruffling his curls.
London.
It was his city, but it didn't feel the same. The underlying tension from the terrorist alert put everyone on edge. Mycroft was even worried, although he would never allow himself to show it. Even after being gone for two years, Sherlock could read his brother well. At least he hadn't lost that. He watched the cars and people on the sidewalks move along their everyday routines. How boring that must be.
'Oh, look, now you have an audience.' Moriarty's words echoed through his head.
'That's the frailty of genius, John, it needs an audience.' He heard his own words and smirked at the irony.
Sherlock closed his eyes, wondering what kind of life John had gone on to. Did he finally have his own practice? Did he convince Sarah to come back to him? Or was he seeing someone else?
Two years.
It didn't seem like a long time on his end. Although, chasing down Moriarty's web of evil tyrants had a way of making time go fast. And now, knowing that the real evil was right under his nose, shook him to his core.
London.
His home, everything that he stood for, everything that he identified himself with, was now being threatened.
Sherlock Holmes was not going to sit back and watch his city burn. He was going to take it head on. And he wasn't going to do it alone.
"The two of us against the rest of the world, John." He said under his breath. "I'm coming home. And nothing can stop me."