When John got home, he expected to have a nice dinner with his girlfriend, a cup of his favourite tea and perhaps a bath if he wasn't too tired. Nothing strenuous; just a calm and quiet night in. Of course, he should have learnt by now that nothing ever went as expected. Especially when it concerned Sherlock Holmes.
As he walked through the door, he barely had time to hang his coat up before Mary had whisked him into the living room to sit down. He looked at her with confusion and she stared back with a mixture of emotions on her face. There was seriousness, sympathy and a bit of hesitation. It baffled John, never before had Mary looked at him like that and if he was honest, it worried him.
"Mary, what's wrong? Has something happened?" He asked her and she gave a short laugh.
"I suppose you could say that" She answered before gripping his hands in hers. This did nothing to ease John's worries.
"You're not breaking up with me are you?" He'd thought they were fine. In fact, there was nothing to suggest that anything wasn't but what if something had happened to make her realise she didn't want to be with John. Maybe she realised how damaged he was, broken. He was better, much better than he had been in the past, but there would always be something not right with him. Maybe Mary had noticed that and decided enough was enough. He wasn't sure how he'd cope with that, what with her being one of the best things to ever happen to him.
Mary noticed John's sudden panic and was quick to reassure him. "Oh no, of course not. I've just come across some very...unexpected news"
John released the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding in relief. "What is it?" He asked again.
Mary hesitated again and John really was beginning to worry. Mary never acted like this. She was confident, sure of herself. Rather like someone else he had known but that really wasn't worth getting into right then.
"You know how you had those theories that...Sherlock might not truly be dead" she said, looking at him intently, awaiting his reaction.
A cold band settled around John's heart at the mention of his deceased friend. "Yes" he replied cautiously. "But they were just wishes really. He's dead"
Mary clutched his hands tighter. "What if I were to tell you that you were right, that Sherlock really did survive the fall"
John tried to retract his hands but Mary held them with a firm grip, anchoring him to her. "I'd tell you that you were mad" he answered, voice clip and sharp to try and disguise the well of emotion flowing through him. There was no way Mary could be correct. Someone must have tricked her. That wasn't like Mary though; she was a hard one to fool. But it must be that. Sherlock was dead. He'd seen it with his own eyes.
"Do not call me mad John" Mary said, voice with a hint of steel. "I've seen him with my own eyes. He came here earlier today, looking for you"
John shook his head. "No, it can't have been him. You must have been mistaken" He'd long since passed the denial stage of grief for him to truly accept what Mary was saying.
Mary's eyes softened and she gave him a smile. "I doubt anyone could mistake Sherlock Holmes John. It was him. If fact, he's waiting to speak with you now"
There was no hint on her face that she was lying to him. Not that John really thought she would. The metal band around his heart tightened as he thought that his best friend could possibly truly be alive. All the nights wondering, what if he faked it, what if it was all just a trick. It looked like he had been right. He still wasn't ready to believe it though, not until he saw it with his own eyes.
"Where is he?" John asked; voice gruffer than intended.
"He's waiting in the spare bedroom. John, before you go' Mary held onto his hand as he stood 'allow him to explain himself. I'm not saying forgive him, but hear him out"
The Sherlock would need to forgive him hadn't even crossed his mind till then. A sudden burst of fury at the thought of all he had been out through due to Sherlock's death jolted through him. He had grieved for the man, grieved until he wasn't even sure who he was anymore. He'd been broken. All for nothing! Because while John had been mourning his friend, said friend had been alive all along!
"John" Mary's firm, bordering on strict tone, interrupted John from his thoughts. "Remember, listen to him. I know you're angry but there is a reason he did it. Give him a chance to explain"
John gritted his teeth and willed his body to calm. He would need a clear head for this, lest he did something he regret. He nodded to Mary, not trusting his voice, and began the journey to the spare bedroom.
"I'll be here when you're done" Mary told him as he headed up the stairs and John attempted to give her a grateful smile. It came out as more of a grimace.
The few steps to the bedroom door seemed endless. Whilst he was mostly sure it was Sherlock behind the door he couldn't get rid of the niggling doubt that it wasn't him. That he was still dead and he always would be. His hand hovered above the door knob. He considered knocking but decided against it. This was his house and he could be excused of manners for the moment.
Steeling himself, John opened the door and was immediately met by the sight of Sherlock. Sherlock, who was alive, standing in front of him uncharacteristically hesitant, as if unsure what John would do. That made the two of them. Now met with the sight of Sherlock, John had absolutely no idea what to do. What did someone say to their resurrected friend? 'Hi, how have you been doing? Oh, I've been doing nothing much, just mourning you', 'You're hair looks shorter, did you get it cut recently?' Nothing sounded right.
Two emotions fought within John. One was happiness, elation that his best friend was not dead after all, that he would no longer have to grieve him.
The second was anger. Anger at the fact he'd had to grieve when it was so obviously not necessary. Anger because whilst he'd been shedding tears over the man, he was off gallivanting who knew where.
"Hello John" Sherlock spoke first, his deep smooth voice washing over John and sending a cascade of memories running through him. The day they met, every case they took on, Sherlock's fall.
"You utter bastard" In the end anger won out. John clenched his hands into fists which were locked rigidly by his side.
"I know you're mad at me John and I understand. Would you like to know how I did it?" Sherlock realised that that probably wasn't the best thing to start off with when John snorted in derision.
"I don't care how you did it Sherlock, I want to know why" John choked on the last word and took a deep breath to calm himself again. There were so many questions running through his head but the one that kept coming back was why. Why would Sherlock put him through all of that? Why did he have to die?
"You'd be dead if I didn't" Sherlock said bluntly. He looked like he might step forward, closer to John, but decided against it. "Moriarty had snipers ready to shoot you, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade if I didn't comply. I had to die to protect you"
John bit his lip to shout out 'no you didn't!' He tried to think as Sherlock would have at the time. Knowing him, he probably would have gone through every feasible option before deciding faking his death was the best one. He probably didn't have that much time either to make a plan. It was probably his only option.
That knowledge still didn't ease the pain in his chest.
"Why didn't you tell me?" He rasped out.
"The sniper was always watching you John and if they thought for one minute I was alive and had not gone through with Moriarty's deal he wouldn't have hesitated to shoot you. You would have been dead, along with Mrs Hudson and Lestrade. Everyone I considered most important to me, killed because of me. I couldn't let that happen. I had to undo all the damage Moriarty's web had dealt before I could return. I never intended it to take so long but Moran proved to be a hard target to get access to and remove. I managed it in the end though, hence why I'm now here"
"Moran?"
"Sebastian Moran. Trained assassin and Moriarty's right hand man. Dishonourably discharged from service. Of course Moriarty would choose him to keep an eye on you" The memory of Moran sent a bleak look into Sherlock's eyes and John wondered how he'd managed to 'remove' him but that was a conversation for another time.
"You could have taken me with you" John argued, trying to find something to fuel his anger. He didn't want to forgive Sherlock just yet.
"There was no time" Sherlock insisted, willing John to understand. "I had to leave before someone realised. You were safer this way. I know my death was…hard on you but it was necessary"
"Necessary?" John bit back a harsh laugh. "It was necessary for me to mourn you? To grieve for the man who had made my life worth living again? Necessary for me to have nightmares of your fall, playing it over and over again, wondering if there I was anything I could have said that would have kept you alive. You have no idea what I went through Sherlock and I thank God every day that Mary came into my life otherwise I don't know what would have happened to me" John suddenly found that his legs didn't feel like supporting him and he collapsed onto the bed, head held firmly between his hands. He didn't look at Sherlock's face. He didn't want to see the pity that was most likely displayed on it.
"I never thought that I meant so much to you" Sherlock murmured quietly, but John heard him loud and clear.
"Yeah, well, you did" He said brusquely.
John felt the bed dip beside him. A hand was placed on his shoulder and that was John's undoing. He launched himself at Sherlock in a hug that was returned with equal intensity. He wasn't sure when he'd started crying but there was no mistaking the warm tears making their way down his cheeks. The anger he'd felt was still there simmering away but the relief and elation he felt overwhelmed it. He had Sherlock back. He had his best friend back finally after two years.
John wasn't sure how long they stayed like that. Frankly, he was surprised Sherlock had put up with him for that length of time, but it just proved that Sherlock was almost as happy to see John as John was to see him. Almost because at least Sherlock never thought John was dead.
Eventually they pulled apart and smiled at each other, albeit a bit awkwardly. Neither was entirely sure what to do after that burst of emotion.
"Oh, I brought tea" Sherlock suddenly said, lifting something from beside the bed. "A peace offering if you will. I probably should have started off with this"
John gave a watery laugh. "Let me guess, Mary told you to do that"
Sherlock looked a bit affronted at John's suggestion that he couldn't do a thoughtful gesture on his own, but at John's raised eyebrows he conceded. "Well, she is a hard woman to argue with"
John smiled fondly. "That she is"
They stayed silent after that, neither really needing to speak, just gaining comfort from each other's presence. They still had more to talk about, that much was certain, but it didn't need to be spoken then. For now, they had each other once more and that was all they needed right then.
From just outside the room, peering through the gap between the door and the wall, Mary smiled. The consulting detective and his blogger, back together once more.