I'm Coming Home
A Johnlock Fanfiction
DetectiveOfTheOpera
CHAPTER ONE
'Alone is what I am, Alone protects me.' 'No, Sherlock, friends protect people.' Those same words rang in my ear as I got kicked out into the stone cold pavement of the Kremlin and two large, muscular men exited the door into the mysterious alleyway.
"What are you still doing here, huh? In for one more beating?" one of the muscular men asked in a raspy voice well known to suit a respected Russian Mafia gang member. I tried to tell him that his wife had gone on a trip with her lover, an Arabian, to a secluded part in Africa, but all that came out were helpless whimpers. One of the two men, who now had gloves and a bad case of dandruff grabbed a pipe that was close by and swung it aiming at my stomach, then my legs the following second. Before I could even react from the pain I let out a frustrated groan and picked myself off the floor and ran across the alleyway. A van pulled up and I almost tripped of relief when I got inside. Exhaustion finally came over me like an approaching storm and I fainted, awoken hours later by the sound of a starting jet.
"How was sleep, brother dear?" Mycroft asked in his usual tone of voice, dry, and lacking human emotion.
"Fine, Mycroft. Now tell me where we are going; I am expecting Switzerland." My tone was more or less the same, the latter the fault of dehydration.
"Oh no, dearest brother, I have something much more pleasant planned for your sake. I am reuniting you with an old friend, this doctor I was able to catch up with a few days ago while you were being worked to death by the strongest mafia you were able to bring down; with my help of course. The problem is, after two years, he was able to move on with his life, and he moved out of Baker Street. Sorry Sherlock, you will not be able to visit him today, though." Mycroft cast a grim smile and called Anthea to bring some 2001 St-Emilion. I looked outside of the jet, the sky was descending and night was being cast over Europe. My mind slowly drifted off, undisturbed by any case and brought on by sweet dreams of reuniting with my blogger again.
John looked around the flat until he found , she was thinner now, and her hair was more gray was ever. She looked sick, driven by grief to now dwell in 221B since both of her boys had one again left her all on her own. John walked over and gently held his hand out to touch Mrs. Hudson's shoulder. She gasped and John quickly pulled his hand away. Mrs. Hudson looked up from Sherlock's chair and looked John in the eye.
She was tearing up, John noticed, and he held her gently in his arms until she asked him how he was holding up. Mrs. Hudson got up and walked over to the kitchen and took out two tea cups and a box of biscuits from on top of the now empty fridge that no longer held a severed head or cut off toes. She put the kettle to boil and put the biscuits on the fancy tea tray that reminded John of his restless days and sleepless nights with Sherlock.
"So, John, what have you been up to? I have a feeling that you have been traveling a lot, right dear?"
As ever, Mrs. Hudson, being Mrs. Hudson, was incorrect. "Well, Mrs. Hudson," seeing the look of sadness that meant Mrs. Hudson had hoped to be why John had been away for so long and John did what he had to do, he had to lie.
"Well, Mrs. Hudson, I had been away, I was visiting my sister who got out of rehab a few months ago. She's happy though, finished drinking, when she gets urges to drink she ldrinks water or juice or something that just isn't... You know, alcohol" It was only half a lie though, he had spent time with Harry, but was now preoccupied by different matters such as where Harry had gone. Mrs. Hudson let out a warm smile and a good for you mutter but was now staring off into space.
It seemed she was remembering the good old days where there was laughter and gunshots and sweet music floating gracefully from a violin, and now 221B was just a room, held neatly by the most faithful housekeeper of all.
Sherlock opened his two year old laptop and went to his homepage 'The Blog Of Dr. John H Watson'. As soon as he learned to use the laptop, five minutes after he got it, he instantly made John's blog his homepage. He saw it everyday and read all of John's stories about their adventures. He noticed that ever since Sherlock died, John had not even posted one story and Sherlock was getting anxious to meet him again.
He tried to phone John, though; but everytime that Sherlock finally got the phone to call, he didn't want to text that he wasn't dead to John like The Woman; Sherlock always got the phone and ran away, got intercepted by Mycroft or ended up crying as soon as he heard John's voice. Sherlock did not like to show emotion, especially vulnerability, but to Sherlock John was always an exception. So most of the day he wrote deductions about the people in the plane or in the airport; he also spent most of his sleepless nights sketching John or Mrs. Hudson, mostly John though; and simple things too such as John sitting on the couch, John smiling as they run through the streets of London, or John sticking out his cute little tongue as he typed in his blog. Sherlock had never draw so fervently in his whole life, even when he was in the library, silently drawing random librarians in the corner where no one sat.
John was special, unique, interesting, and Sherlock never felt like that about anyone ever since his first crush, Andrew Clarke. It was just in Uni, and it was a male, and Sherlock was surprised. He then figured out that the didn't matter if the gender was male or female; if they were interesting, Sherlock thought about them; and John stayed on Sherlock's mind at all hours.
Sherlock usually did sketches, but with some of his best work, he turned them into pastel paintings. Sherlock Holmes was the happiest he had ever been when he met John, he remembered. As soon as John came in the door at the lab in St. Bart's, Sherlock couldn't help but stare. He tried to stay cool, but Sherlock was more noticeably excited than usual ; John was not only attractive, but Sherlock deducted that he was loyal, trustworthy, was a veteran war hero. Sherlock realized, after three long years, William Sherlock Scott Holmes was attracted to John Hamish Watson.