Summary: When Sherlock eventually returns after the events of "The Reichenbach Fall", this is not quite the welcome he had anticipated.
Author's Notes: I own very little and nothing at all in connection with Sherlock. I've read countless fics about this scene, how the reunion will go. I never read one that I really pictured happening or one that stayed true to the characters. So, I gave it a shot.
Personally, I hope John beats the crap out of Sherlock. But that's not how I wrote it...
"So. There you are, then?" Of all the ways Sherlock had suspected this meeting could happen, this was not really one of them.
The doctor looked him over, nodded once and held open the door. "You'd better come up then. I've just put the kettle on." Sherlock followed John into 221B. He found their flat much as he'd left it. A bit neater, but mostly the same. He sat in his chair and exhaled. Truly, truly exhaled and let himself relax for the first time in months. He steepled his fingers and regarded John Watson. The blogger also looked relatively unchanged. John didn't seem surprised. And that was very interesting.
"You knew?" asked Sherlock as John handed him a cup of tea and sat down opposite him.
"Of course, I knew. I am not a halfwit, Sherlock, I am capable of learning. I didn't chase you around for a year and a half and not pick up on one or two of your methods."
"When?" John didn't answer right away, but continued to study the carpet at his feet.
"I'm not entirely sure. A month or two after you...after."
"Tell me."
"All those men moving in and then out, all at the same time? A bit odd, that."
"Assassins."
"I figured it was something like that. And then there was the whole dust up at Bart's. The cyclist, the crowd, the way I need to be standing just so... After I really had time to think about it, it just didn't seem to fit. And there was the way Molly couldn't look me in the eye." The accusation was clear John's tone.
"I didn't have a choice."
"Ah," interrupted John, raising a finger, his face tightening into something like a smile but more like a grimace. "Wrong. You had other choices. You just didn't elect to use them."
"Your life was in danger. Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade..."
"I'm not saying that I don't understand, I'm saying you had other choices. Don't act like it was the only option given you. Don't pretend that you couldn't have found some way to inform me later." John's voice rose steadily in volume. "Don't come back here and expect everything to be fine, Sherlock, because it's not!"
"And what would me informing you have accomplished, besides most likely our deaths?" John stood up and took a few steps away before whirling back to face Sherlock.
"I wouldn't have hurt so much!"
"Sentiment," sniffed Sherlock, setting down his tea. "Sentiment is not an advantage. It would not have kept you alive John, nor me safe."
"Are you trying to tell me that the Almighty Sherlock Holmes, so much smarter than all the little people with their funny little heads, couldn't have found a way to tell his only friend that he was not dead and was staying away to keep everyone safe?"
"Of course I could have," snapped Sherlock. "I just didn't."
"Of course you didn't," said John very quietly, suddenly still. "Because it wouldn't have been as dramatic. You wouldn't get to show up here and rain down shock and awe. You wouldn't get your show." John shook his head sadly. "I'm not entertained, Sherlock. I'm not impressed and I don't even care how you did it."
"You're angry with me."
"No, no I'm really not," responded John. "At first, when I figured it out and yet still I didn't hear from you and weeks went by, yes, I was worried and angry. But now...now I'm just...tired. The idea that I should have expected something different from you...is ludicrous. You are what you are."
Sherlock blinked in surprise. He had expected anger and shock, but all that should have given way to more positive emoting. The detective did not know how to proceed with this quiet and resigned John Watson.
"I did do it to protect you, John. I promise you that."
"Oh, I'm quite sure it was in there with all your other calculations and probabilities and possible outcomes."
"I am not terribly certain what I can say to you to make you understand. I felt I had no other recourse, to save you and Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade and convince all the people watching that it was real. You are too honest, John." Sherlock smoothed his shirt as he stood up and stepped forward. "You think you could have kept up the appearances, I know differently. I needed it to be real, until I could end Moriarty's web and make sure it was done."
"I told you I did understand. And I do. But it doesn't make it right. It doesn't make it easier to accept. It doesn't mean I'll ever forgive you for it." John's eyes were sad when he squared his shoulders and looked up at the detective.
"Are we friends?"
"Of course..."
"Stop," interrupted John, his voice nearly a whisper. "You don't get to do that, respond like I'm being obvious. After the months and the lies and after you tore down everything I had, everything I thought we had built, don't be stupid! Sherlock Holmes, are. We. Friends?"
Sherlock looked at John. At his hair and his hands and his jumper. The lines around his eyes and the callouses on his fingers. Like flashes all around the army doctor were reminders of all he had done for Sherlock. He had suffered him, protected him, lied for him, killed for him. John deserved something true, finally.
"You and I are not the same. But you believed in me, when no one else would. I was not wrong to deceive you and I am not sorry. But I am sorry if I made you believe that I do not... care for you. John Watson, I want to be your friend." John lowered his eyes and gazed at the floor for a long moment. When he met Sherlock's gaze, he didn't look so sad.
"You know fuck all about being a friend, Sherlock. You will need to do better."
"I happen to know someone who is quite brilliant at it. I am hoping he will teach me his ways." John smiled for the first time since Sherlock had returned to 221B and he felt it like warmth.
"You should be so lucky."