John came back to the flat, a bundle of groceries under one arm to stock the fridge for the week. In the other hand he grasped his cane. He trudged up the steps and walked in, shuffling on the mat to dry his shoes. He took off his scarf and was hanging it on the hook to dry when he looked up and saw Sherlock, sitting in his favorite chair.
"Hello, John," he said calmly.
"I see you're back again," John replied without missing a beat, nodding his head once. Sherlock was mildly surprised at John's collectedness, his cool state. He didn't let his surprise show on his face.
John toed off his shoes and kicked them aside. He limped into the kitchen to put away the food.
Confused, Sherlock tried a different strategy. "Would you like a cup of tea?"
"I'll just make it myself, thanks."
John's odd behavior had continued. He didn't offer Sherlock any tea. He simply came back into the sitting room after awhile and settled in his soft armchair. He leaned the cane against the arm and stretched out his leg. John glanced at Sherlock. Sherlock stared icily back, but John returned to gazing at his warm mug.
"John, what's wrong? You're not being yourself." He certainly had not expected this reaction to his return after three years. He expected a punch in the face, an all-too-tight hug, some emotion, anything. Maybe there would have been crying (he wasn't very good in those situations.) When John didn't answer him, he tried again. "John, I've been gone for a long time, are you okay? Don't you want me to-" he resisted the urge to sneer, "apologize or something?"
John took a sharp breath. "No, you know what? This is most definitely not okay! I just want you to go away. I have been sitting here, alone in this bloody flat, getting up every bloody morning and I think of you every day and it hurts, Sherlock. And I don't want you bothering me anymore, I just want you to go away. Just- Just leave me alone already!" He had his eyes shut by the end of his speech and his jaw was clenched. He was breathing through his mouth and he looked just about ready to break. Sherlock felt the same, though not visibly.
A minute later, he opened his eyes. He was finally breathing normally, but Sherlock was no longer in the sitting room. For a moment John thought he was really gone, but footsteps in the kitchen told him otherwise. He stood up, wincing as his leg was under him again, when Greg showed up at the door.
"Hey, John, I've got a case for you. Double murder, It's a woman and her sister, and note says it was the husband but we have reason to believe it wasn't. Feel like coming down to check it out?" Sherlock, still in the kitchen, perked up at the sound of Lestrade's voice, especially the word "case." Sherlock stepped out and nodded his head.
"Sherlock! How's it going? Oh, we knew you'd get out of it somehow," Lestrade kept speaking but John couldn't hear him anymore. He had gone white as a sheet and he felt paralyzed to the spot. "John, what's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost!"
John looked up into Lestrade's eyes. He looked back and forth between Sherlock and Lestrade, and began to feel faint. John stammered as he tried to form a coherent sentence.
"I saw- I mean, you- you can see him too?"
John collapsed on the floor.