The hardest and scariest part about Sherlock's 'death' was the fact that he was hurting, no physical pain had been caused, he was hurting emotionally and that didn't just cripple Sherlock like someone was squeezing his heart, it scared him to the end of his sense. He couldn't get John's voice out of his head, the first weeks before the funeral when molly had moaned at him for so long that he laid on the lay-low and attempted sleep the only thing he could hear was the distorted voice of his best friend crippling his heart with his own name and now Sherlock couldn't see his face anymore. Sherlock was good with names, faces and dates; especially those that concerned him directly but now John's face was a blurred memory and his voice was distorted and muffled inside his mind. It had been 2 year, 11 months and 30 days since the fall and Sherlock had returned to London to find a Sebastian Moran. But he was in emotional pain, so instead of doing work or sleeping like Molly had told him to do, he was Baker's Street. In the shadow of his best friends bed room. And John's face wasn't so blurry in his mind anymore, but all the times Sherlock had seen John crying at the grave or was left speckles at the sight of Sherlock's half hidden face in the crowds of London flooded back to him. One memory in particular, He was following john back from St Bart's after Lestrade had had to get him off the roof last year, and in the crowd someone shouted john's name and when he turned our eyes locked and his mouth was agap and his arms flopped. He wondered so many times how he recognised him from that distance and how he recognised him with his randomly dyed hair and his ordinary clothes he stole from the hospital. As he wondered he a rose from the comfort of his chair and took two steps towards John's bed side. If this didn't scream paedophilia, he didn't know what did. But he couldn't help it, he wasn't aloud to be close to john in the day and at night, John was so fond of sleep, not so fond of partying or beer. He looked down at the shadowy face of his partner, he examined every detail so that he could store it forever and if his mission was to slow down he could be able to ''speak'' with john, like john did in his 'Therapy session' with Molly once. Obviously staged by Sherlock to see what was going inside that soldier's head before going after the most dangerous men of the world.
But here he was, Baker Street one more time that he had thought, surprised he was alive still but very, very glad. Spying on ones therapy session can be quite eye opening and disturbing and the same time. So he finally admitted to himself that the real reason for his visit was to process John's face one more time. He wished, for a second, that he could process his voice as well but as soon as the thought accorded a sleeping john started to toss and turn into the already tangled bed sheet and he moaned, 'Sherlock' and his hands flew up, like he was reaching out, or trying to catch him. Sherlock flew his own hands up with johns as a tear streamed down his face as he tried to touch John but he pulled himself back and opened the window, stopping for a second to lay a note inside Johns latest book that lay open on his bed side table; it read 'I believe in John Watson' with another look over to Johns bed he saluted his destroyed solider and left the building, knowing, the next time he entered the house everyone, including John would be conscious and happy and that made Sherlock smile in his sleep that night.