A/N: Sequel to Imaginary Friends. You don't have to read it... but you'll be incredibly confused if you don't.
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John was in Afghanistan for almost two years before being invalided home.
For almost two years Jim was pretty much alone. Oh, he talked to Molly (and her new boyfriend), but they weren't friends on any sort of level. Everyone else, as per usual, just stayed away. He didn't bother trying to branch out. What was the point? People saw him, catalogued him, and left. It was almost like when he was a kid, except he just stopped getting mad. People could do or say whatever they liked, and it was probably true.
There was one other person, but Jim could never bring up the nerve to talk to him; Sherlock Holmes. A consulting detective who occasionally borrowed the Bart's lab equiptment to run tests for his cases. Jim had never met the man personally, but Molly talked about him and it was impossible not to see the man in the computer labs at least once a day. Jim had tried bringing up coffee one time, just as a conversation starter, but he ended up turning tail the second Sherlock was in view and downed the black with two sugars on his way to lunch.
He ended up getting the new flat during this time, which was good.. It was old in Victorian style, down on Montauge Street. Not a terrible walk to work (the tube was too public and, lets admit it, cabs could be expensive) and the rent wasn't half bad. It just seemed a bit… big. Jim wasn't sure why, because the flat itself was actually rather small. Maybe he just wasn't used to living alone.
When John did get back Jim wasn't sure whether to be elated or upset. The older man had gotten shot in the shoulder and he had this limp that he simply would not explain. Jim figured it was psychosymatic, but he wasn't sure.
Months passed. John had downright refused any sort of offer to share accomidations ("If I end up having to leave for any reason you're going to keep it even if it is draining all your funds, and I won't let you do that again,").
Oddly, they lost touch for a few days after John went out to lunch with another friend from uni (Mike Stamford, wasn't it?), which was completely unlike him in every respect. When he did drop by the limp was gone and he said he was sharing a flat with none other than Sherlock Holmes and asked for Jim to drop by. The younger man offered a weak smile and nodded, grabbing his coat off the rack and setting off behind his friend.
Luckily, Sherlock hadn't been home that day. Something about a new case.
From that day on things were sort of boring, for Jim at least. John was having the time of his life living with a mad man and helping with the many cases that crossed his path. He didn't have a lot of free time between work and his "hobby", but he was happy at least.
When either of them did have a free moment they would drop by, get a coffee. They would sit and talk in Baker Street, more often than not, and it was exactly like when they were sharing the flat. Crackling fire, a good cup of tea, and just talking about whatever popped up. Ally and Kay, new cases, relationships (which always made Jim blush and look away).
It was in June, almost five months after John had come home, that there was a bomb scare near Jim's apartment. The flat directly across had blown up from a gas leak and two people had died. The police had suggested that he stay with a friend for a while, just until the investigation was closed. Who else would Jim stay with but John?
And thus, the game began.