Now, you would have thought after months and years of being "dead" and "fake", the world's only consulting detective may turn up to his best friend with a plan. Although the only thing on his mind was bleak, to say the least. Go home, apologize, live life as it used to be. Harsh pre-winter air stung every bit of Sherlock's sinuses as he walked on toward his home.
After so long hiding in meagre accommodation; he was excited just to go back to where he belonged. The place he loved. 221B Baker Street was a mere few paces away for the tall, raven haired man. Swinging the door open without a second thought he began to call out for his flatmate.
"John! John!" A slight echo rang up the stairs as Sherlock climbed them.
The translucent door to the flat burst open in a hurry. John. At the sight of his best friend, dead for years, Ex-Army Doctor John Watson; went pale as a sheet and almost dropped to the floor.
"It's alright John; I'm sorry. I'm here." His deep voice rang throughout the house as he caught John from falling.
Once straightening up slightly, John walked into the centre of the flat, silently. Sherlock followed, pressing the door to a close behind him.
"How? Sherlock, how did you do that?" Dr. Watson stuttered, holding back tears as best he could.
"I had to do it, John." A tear running silently down his prominent cheekbone, "For you. For your safety."
"You were dead! I saw you! You jumped! How are you here now?! Are you even here now?!" John yelled, before slapping Sherlock directly over his right cheek.
"I know you're mad, John. But please don'-"
Sherlock was rudely interrupted by a warming hug. Was he accepted? Had John been happy at his return? Of course, he thought, returning the hug.
After what seemed like hours, the two parted, and began talking as they usually would, sat close by each other on the sofa.
"Why did you leave me, Sherlock? How come you tried to make me believe you were a fake?" John started.
"I was being threatened John. Lives were at stake, lives I couldn't bear to risk."
"What do you mean? I saw you take your own. Wasn't yours a life you couldn't risk? Or end?" His tone changing slightly to anger once more.
"If I didn't jump," Sherlock stammered "I would have lost my blogger. My best friend." He hung his head to the ground to hide the tears beginning to run down his slender face.
"Was it – Him?" John choked, soothing his flatmate slightly by placing his hand gently on one of his shoulder blades.
"Yes." The tall man looked up. "Moriarty."