Who Held Your Hand 'Neath the Pale Moonlight
Summary: When Sherlock comes home for the first time things are perfect until Sebastian Moran Finds him. (mainly Johnlock, but some mentioned MorMor)
Rating: pg13 (for now)
-So this is a quick story that will probably be about three or four chapters, it's mainly 50/50 fluff and angst... dont worry if you dont want the angst, that will come in the next chapter.
Chapter One:
The first night Sherlock reappears on the steps of 221 Baker Street, John's first instinct is to kiss him, but when he approaches his better judgment takes control, so he punches him instead.
"I suppose that was justified." Sherlock says in that still familiar and unforgettable voice.
"You fucking prick." John says helping sherlock off the ground and through the door to 221b. As Sherlock shrugs out of his unfamiliar leather jacket he rubs his cheek and looks at John.
"You can either explain yourself, or you can leave again." John's words are cold and they cut through Sherlock harshly; he had expected a much warmer welcome.
"John," he reaches out and puts a hand on Johns upper arm, "come sit, I swear I will tell you everything."
When the pair are both seated in their chairs John realizes what is actually happening, that John is sitting across from Sherlock for the first time in three years, tears threaten to fall but he knows he can't be weak now, not in front of Sherlock, not now.
John sits as Sherlock tells him everything, he tells him how he faked his death ("a small rubber ball under the arm can do a lot, John"), how he was given an option (Jump or have the people he loves killed), how he tracked and killed all of Moriarty's men (to St. Petersburg, Berlin, New york and even Paraguay ), and how Moriarty isn't dead either.
"What do you mean he isn't dead?" They found his body on the roof of Bart's.
"Yes, He's a little worse for wear, and he's not calling any shots anymore. He has no one left, his entire empire is either dead or incarcerated. Everyone but Sebastian Moran." Sherlock's voice trails off ominously.
"Who?"
"Sebastian moran, ex-army turned sniper, no doubt he was one of the snipers that night at the pool. He's ruthless, gave me this around June last year" Sherlock pulls down the neck of his t-shirt to reveal a pink scar that runs from his left clavicle to his shoulder. John stands immediately to get a better look.
"What happened?" he asks running his finger along the damaged tissue. Sherlock shakes his head and huffs loudly.
"I was in America, They were bound to catch up with me eventually." Sherlock stops short when John's hand slides up his neck to cup his cheek. "I was loaded into a van and taken to a warehouse on a river. Luckily Mycroft's men found me in under an hour. But not before moran, The crazy bastard, had cut a decently sized gash into me." Sherlock pauses and smiles a bit "That was the only time I ever doubted that I would eventually return to Baker Street." John smiles too and sits back on his chair, crossing his legs.
"So Mycroft knew."
"Yes, he's mostly responsible for the deaths and incarcerations."
"Who else?" John asks crossing his arms as well.
"Molly." Sherlock waits for a response, but gets none and continues, "Irene Adler."
"Ah yeah, I heard that she was alive during that scandal with the American Senator. Is that it?"
"Yes."
John sits and looks at Sherlock for a moment. Even though his hair is shorter and copper colored, his skin is brown and he is wearing jeans and a t-shirt instead of his usual posh suit, he looks exactly the same as the day he "died". John knows that he has aged himself, John's hair is greyer, and his frown lines a bit more pronounced, and he wonders if Sherlock will ever age.
"I'm glad you're home." He blurts without thinking. But he means it, he's never meant anything else as much as he means this.
"Me too."
Three days pass with Sherlock and John getting re-equanted with each other. John invites Lestrade over on the second day and the three of them have tea, after Greg also hits Sherlock in the face re-purpling the bruise John gave him. Mrs Hudson is in the flat constantly, fussing over getting Sherlock's things out of the boxes that had been kept in 221C and making them tea. "I'm not your housekeeper dears." She says as she dusts the shelves of Sherlock's unused room.
"John?" Sherlock calls from his room on the third day; the doctor pokes his head round the corner from the kitchen.
"Hmm?"
"Molly told me that she gave you my scarf and coat at the funeral."
"Oh." John says softly, closing his eyes, it still hurts a bit to think about the funeral. "Yeah, she did. I'll-um I'll get it for you."
Sherlock follows John from his room quietly until they reach the upstairs room; when John turns the door knob Sherlock says, "You keep them here?"
"Yeah, um, Yeah." John opens the door and goes to the bed. He takes the scarf out from under his pillow, before moving to the closet and pulling the coat from a hanger in the back. "Here." He says not looking at Sherlock and blushing with embarrassment.
"John." Sherlock sighs.
"Don't Sherlock."
"Don't what?" He asks taking the garments gently.
"Don't psychoanalyze me, or deduce what you can from the fact that I have slept with your scarf under my pillow for three years. Don't embarrass me any more, don't act like this is some how weird, you left sherlock, and..." John trails off when he realizes he had begun to yell. "Sorry, Just, don't okay?"
"I wouldn't"
John scoffs, "You would."
Sherlock just shakes his head puts grasps John's wrist. "Don't ever apologize to me. I should be apologizing to you, everyday, all the time."
John twists his hand until his fingers are intwined with Sherlocks and the pair simply look at each other for a long moment.
"I was thinking Angelo's tonight." Sherlock says pulling away and starting down the stairs, of course John follows him.
Dinner at Angelo's is strangely normal after Angelo's initial shock at seeing Sherlock "I knew you were alive, the great Sherlock Holmes wouldn't die like that." He says as he rushes off to get them a candle. Sherlock orders Pasta Primavera, but of course eats most of John's lobster ravioli, they laugh at the strange Londoners passing by the restaurant, taking turns telling each-other about their lives; Sherlock deducing and John just making up hilarious stories about the strangers.
By the time they're home it is past midnight and they are impossibly tired and overly stuffed with Italian food. John helps Sherlock take off his coat that he has taken to wearing again, and his scarf, he shrugs out of his own and flops onto the sofa.
"I could fall asleep right here." John moans
"I hate how grumpy you get when you sleep on the sofa." Sherlock says poking at John's shoulder.
John smiles but closes his eyes anyways, feeling content and truly happy for the first time in a long while.
"At least budge up, I want to watch some telly."
"You don't watch the telly, you just like the background noise." John says as he slides up and leans against the arm of the sofa.
Sherlock just smiles before also sinking onto the sofa. "You can pick what we watch." he hands John the remote, he soon settles on One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest with Jack Nicholson.
It's a half hour before either of them says anything, It's Sherlock who breaks the silence. "Are you asleep?"
"no." John murmurs.
"I'm going to change."
"Mmm."
Sherlock sneaks away, and when he returns John is sleeping lightly, and snoring gently.
"John?" Sherlock prods, leaning over his sleeping friend. "Wake up, you should go upstairs."
Slowly John opens his eyes to see Sherlock looming over him, he's changed into his blue dressing gown, the one specifically designated for sleeping in. "yeah, I will." John mumbles, pulling himself off the sofa with a groan. He turns to face Sherlock and smiles.
"Tonight was good."
"I agree. Good night." Sherlock says before turning and heading towards his room.
When John slips into bed moments later, he finds Sherlock's scarf folded and placed neatly on top of his pillow. And as he falls asleep he thinks about how the scarf smells like Sherlock for the first time in three years.
(title from Ben E. King's "save the last dance for me" the title will be relevant later... I promise. If you don't know the song, LISTEN TO IT. Or look up the lyrics. It's my favorite.)