The Empty Hearse
Try as he might, John could type no more. He had been staring at the screen for ten minutes, thinking about whether or not he wanted to blog this case. It would be his first posting in so long. His first story since his partner in crime solving had come back…from the dead.
It had been just under a month since Sherlock had returned. Just over one year since he had jumped from the roof of St. Bart's, plunging like an unfledged bird to the sure death waiting below. After all, falling was just like flying, but with a more permanent destination. Sherlock had been beaten by the insane James Moriarty, and it had caused the most destitute of repercussions for the still-healing army doctor. The only good that had come of the situation was the death of the twisted, evil, spider-like man. It should have killed Sherlock as well, but somehow that genius man had managed to survive. John still didn't understand how.
Things were just starting to get back to normal after the year spent apart. Luckily, John had been too depressed to remove any of Sherlock's things. Instead, he had left the flat almost exactly as it had been before the whole Reichenbach mess had started, save for the body parts in the fridge, and the more caustic looking experiments. John had just gotten Sherlock back, and wasn't quite sure he wanted to share his newly resurrected mate with the world. Though Moriarty himself was dead, there were still people loyal to him out there. Undoubtedly, some were scanning John's blog for word of the detective, just in case the snipers had been duped into believing that Sherlock was dead. John didn't want to instigate any other danger from what remained of Moriarty's web.
John groaned and shut the laptop. He sank back into the couch and covered his face in his hands. Life with Sherlock had become so complicated, yet it remained so easy. The detective's behavior was even more erratic than before. He had night terrors that John could easily hear from his upstairs room, but refused to tell John about them or even admit that he was having them. When John could actually get Sherlock to sleep, it was often interrupted by these dreams. Neither of them got any sleep when this happened, so both were often irritable.
It bothered John that Sherlock wouldn't come to him for help. John had suffered under similar conditions when he got back from Afghanistan, before he had moved into 221B. John knew it shouldn't bother him, as Sherlock was often reclusive, and never like showing any emotion. John couldn't, however, suppress his distaste at the fact that Sherlock didn't trust him enough, as his best friend, to let John help him. Sherlock had always been frustrating, so John could deal with it. In most other ways, life was no different than the Pre-Reichenbach simplicity. Sherlock would experiment, John went to the surgery, Sherlock drank all the milk, and John replaced it. Life was finally getting back to normal.
John gave a small chuckle, as he realized that nobody, save him, would likely call any interaction with Sherlock Holmes "normal", yet here he was, describing life with him as normal. It was insane, but John knew that since he had been exposed to this life, he could never live any other way. As if to prove this thought, his mind drug up memories of after The Fall, when everyone had been urging him to move on, to get over Sherlock Holmes. John hadn't been able to let go of his best friend. He then thought to that night Sherlock had finally returned.