Welcome by tea and dust

(Part 5 of Your Miracle)

John POV:

Sherlock had to stay another ten day in the hospital since the day he woke up and I didn't left his side except for short bathroom breaks and the occasionally shower when even Sherlock told me that I stink. But I wasn't far, I could use the shower in Sherlock´s room and he didn't feel lonely or had to be scared. I tried to time my personal hygiene with visits from Mycroft. The first time it was a bit odd to have my shower while both Holmes brothers were in the next room but it could have been worse.

We three have decided to tell a few people about Sherlock´s return. People like Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade and Molly. Through Molly knew Sherlock did survive the fall, she didn't know anything about his time away or if he was still alive. Mrs. Hudson took the liberty and smack Mycroft and me once in the back of their head. He deserves it, not me. I was in the dark nearly as long as she was but as she starts to mother hen Sherlock she was faster forgiven then I ever forgave someone before in my life. Sherlock wasn't too happy about all the attention and he couldn't take it for more than a few minutes but my presence was helping, apparently. His pulse stays steady; his breathing was normal and deep.

He endures all the treatment, the checkups, touching and poking of the doctor without complaining. A point that worried me the most. Sherlock was never the quiet type of person. He insults, complains, mocks and straight off tells people to get the hell away from him. But he didn't. He wasn't asking to leave early until today he wasn't asking he was pleading. That tells me he reached his limit for all of that. Hospital, doctors, the bed and food. What surprised me except for the fact that it took ten days was Sherlock´s voice. Small and vulnerable and so very not Sherlock.

"John." Sherlock´s voice pulls me out of a light slumber. I hadn't notice me dropping off as he starts to speak. "Can we please go home? I promise I will do whatever you want me to do. Eat, sleep and lie down. Everything but please can we leave. I need to go home." There was something like tears in his eyes and I could only nod and call for Mycroft and his doctor to make it happen.

None of them questioned my request. Mycroft must have known that I only ask because Sherlock had finally said something. While talking with his doctor about further treatment Sherlock started to hold my hand tighter, if that was even possible. I could feel his anorexics through our connected hands.

It was time to get back to Baker Street, back home, together.

Sherlock POV:

I could feel their eyes on me, all the way from the car through the door. It was painful and I feel already exhausted from driving in a car. How I will manage the stairs is another question. But first the most important thing is to get away from the street. Inside in the safety of my home.

My home that I hadn't seen from the inside for more days than I want to count. John is next to me, holding my hand and making sure I don't hurt myself by walking, climbing stairs or just standing and falling. Mycroft stays behind. He doesn't need me to tell him that I want some peace and quiet for a while. I wouldn't get too much of it. Soon the media will find out I´m still alive or back alive. However they will put it. The whole city will speak about the fake detective with the fake suicide and the official reason behind it. Sometimes it is a good thing to have a brother in the government who can tell your story, even a cover story.

"Watch out." John had to hold my arm and most of my body (that was still underweights) form falling, nose first into the stairs. I have to focus on the stairs again. Step by step. John didn't say anything further and I´m glad he is keeping his mouth shut for a minute so I can focus on it. The stair case felt never that long and high. I was only half way up and my lungs feels as if on fire. I stop only to take a breath.

"Sherlock, you don't need to do this alone. I can help." John didn't let go of my hand and I could feel his need to help me. It hurt him to see me struggle like that. Be in pain from only walking up stairs and from my clearly visible panic outside the car. I didn't have the breath to speak so I only shake my head. I had to do this alone.

Somehow I manage to get to the door but I stopped there again. What will be behind the door? It was years since I enter the flat through it. What could have changed, what was still there? Was my violin on the window seal where I left her?

John must have felt my hesitation because he reached out and opens the door for me. It swing open and reveals the past. There was no other word for it. Two steps into the flat I could tell John hadn't change a thing. There was no new furniture, no reordering of the books, no tiding the case notes or cleaning up my experiment equipment. The flat was the same as on the day I left. The day I was forced to leave.

The only new thing was the dust. There was dust everywhere. On the books that laid randomly around, on the violin case by the window, on the chairs and the sofa. No one had really lived in here for years. You didn't need to be a genius to see that. John didn't live here and Mrs. Hudson wasn't cleaning. Time had stopped in this flat; it was still the home I left behind. The home I tried to protect.

I didn't notice my tears until John wiped them away carefully. He didn't say a word but I could feel him, close. In all my time away, when I was desperate enough to imagine my own John into my mind to stay sane or better said not losing it completely I couldn't imagine the older John. He was always my John, the never ageing man who was my light that shines the way home. I couldn't even dream of a life after my time away. But I could dream of my John. And in all this time he kept this flat like it was. As if he had waited for me.

John POV:

Sherlock's fight with the stairs was nearly impossible to watch. More than once I wanted to just carry him upstairs. He was light enough for me to manage his weight but I didn't and the only reason why, was that he hadn't given up. I have seen my fair share of torture victims during my time in the army. The one that still fight are the ones that can be saved. The ones that have given up were lost for the world and nothing more than empty shells. But not Sherlock, yes there are limits to what he can endure but he hasn't given up, he was fighting. Fighting with the stairs, the outside world between the car and the door, with me who only wants to help and now with the reality that our flat has become a lifeless room without life for the last years. It´s not that I haven't lived in here but I didn't change it. I let Sherlock´s stuff lie around. I didn't tidy or clean up a thing and I had forbidden Mrs. Hudson to dust in here. She would have changed something and I couldn't take the change. In this flat I could pretend that Sherlock was just sleeping or outside investigating a case or something like that.

His tears surprised me and as I understood his earlier hesitation was due to the fear of me changing something and his relieve now that he had found everything like he left it I step in front of him and wipe his tears away. There was no need for anyone to see them because Mrs. Hudson was on her way upstairs with tea and biscuits.

I softly lead Sherlock to the sofa for him to sit down or lay down for whatever he feels the need to do. As Sherlock was settled down with a blanked and a pair of thick socks to keep his feet warm Mrs. Hudson knocked at the door and enters with the promised tea. They had a lovely afternoon together where Sherlock ignored them both for the most parts only ensured that John´s hand was close by and let us do the talking. Mrs. Hudson with her chatty nature had enough material to fill the conversation.

After she left for the evening I prepared a light meal for us and was confronted with the next problem in our arrangement in Baker Street. Sherlock hadn't been able to sleep on his own since he woke up and I wasn't sure I could manage another night in a chair. Also asking Sherlock to share his bed would be a bit awkward. Not that I wouldn't do it. It was more that I feel like pressure him into it. If he should ask for it I would do it gladly but it needed to come from him.

Sherlock POV:

I am tried. I can feel my eyes shutting every minute but what should I do. All I can think of is that I need to let go of John´s hand to sleep alone in my room, because that´s what would do the old me. There were no ghost, no enemies of the past that could haunt me in the darkness of the night. I want to go back to the place where I left. I want to be the person who can go wherever I want without holding someone´s hand. No one will take me serious. That means I need to sleep alone tonight, without John. He needs a good night sleep without me waking him and in a bed where he can lay down.

"Sherlock you are tired, you should go to bed and sleep." Oh no he notice. Of cause he notices he is my doctor and friend and maybe something more. When we would start talking about it. Be strong, tell him you will sleep alone tonight. It is not only for your sake.

"Okay John, I will go to bed." I try to stand up and fail miserable but John was up on his feet and helps me from the sofa and to the bathroom. While I brush my teeth sitting on the toilet lit John brings me a clean pajama and helps me change. I still feel a bit insecure about him seeing my scars and wounds but he was the one that got me out of the cellar. The one who saw me at rock bottom and still could smile for me. "I will sleep alone tonight; you should get rest in your own bed."

John looked questioning at me. "We are at home. Nothing bad will happen here. I can stay in my own bed for tonight." John wasn't really convinced.

"Are you sure? We can share your bed or I sit next to you, if you would prefer it. I don't mind ether." Sadly I could tell he tells the truth. He would do that for me, stay next to my bed all night or share the bed with me. What we have never done before. That is this kind of thing you do with your partner and we weren't partner in that way. I want us to share a bed when we were in that kind of relationship not to make me feel better.

"I am sure. Home, remember. That´s all I need to sleep." Truth been told I could fall asleep really easily. Mostly out of exhaustion. I was sleeping before my head hit the pillow. The stairs, I will blame the stairs for it.

"Let´s see how much we can cut off before he starts to talk." One of the guards to the other one.

"No let him burn into the sun until he has no skin left." Says the other.

They knew I could hear and understand them. They did it to scare me. There worst part was that they had success with it. I was scared. I couldn't tell them who I was or why I had killed their leader and left a virus on their computer that had destroyed all of their data. I couldn't and wouldn't say a word.

But the eyes of the two man who had the night shift to watch me told me a story of pain. They would enjoy it.

"Let´s start with a bit of poking. The boss won´t mind, he will be happy when we get him to talk." Both laugh and come closer holding an old dirty hunting knife and a wooden stick in their hands.

"I want to see how many finger´s I can break before he starts to beg for mercy."

…

Pain rips through my body and I nearly jump out of my bed. My breathing was harsh and to short. I took a few deep breaths before I could make sure my surrounding was secure. It was still night. The morning has another few hours until the sun would hunt the night away. Suddenly a chill travels down my back.

Without thinking I get up, with difficulties and make my way to John. The stairs to John´s room nearly stop me but as I attack the first one I can hear breathing from the living room. As I enter I find John on the sofa, sleeping. Smiling I walk over to him. He couldn't let me unprotected in this flat and stayed as close as possible.

"John." I shake his shoulder lightly. "John, wake up." John finally moved and starts to wake up and recognize me in the light of the streetlights.

"Sherlock? Are you alright? Do you need something?" John started to get up and I take his hand just to make sure he had no chance to leave without me feeling it first.

"Yes John, I need something. Something I didn't thought I need at all for most parts of my life but I need it now and I knew I need it for the time I was away and maybe before that. I need you." John didn't move and says nothing. First thought, I did something wrong.

"I had a nightmare … no more of a memory. I was a prisoner in a facility in Russia; two men who were supposed to watch me were in a bit of a sadistic mood and wanted to start before their boss arrived. They did hurt me but they couldn't break me and do you know why? Because you were there. You told me to come home, to fulfill your wish to give you your miracle and here I am. I am here. I am yours will you be mine?"

I know I was bad at the whole feeling stuff and emotions, delivering and understanding them but this kind of speech should get me some kind of reaction not a mute John, who sits on a sofa and me already getting tired again from nothing than standing.

"John?" Maybe he fell asleep. Maybe he wasn't even awake fully as I open my heart for him.

John´s hands free them from mine and my heart sinks, is he reacting me? But John´s hands find their way to my face. Calm and careful minding my wounded body he pulls me closer to his own face.

"I am yours. I always was and will always be." With that the gap between our lips closed and in the darkness of the night a light fills the world. My light.

AN: That was the end of this series.
Hope you find it a suiting end. My first story builds the beginning of it. Now nearly one and a half year later it´s finished.