John walked forlornly down the street on his way home. Work today was boring as usual. Not many people were sick or injured, which John supposed was a good thing, but was selfish enough to feel depressed about.
He was so wrapped up in his thoughts he didn't notice every phone box he passed start ringing and then stop as soon as he was out of sight.
He did, however, notice when a long black car pulled up next to him and honk a horn. He jumped. Then he recognized the car.
The door was opened from the inside. John stared into it for an impossibly long second, before sighing and getting in.
A girl was sitting, typing away on her blackberry. "Hello John."
"Hello, er…" John forgot her name. He hadn't seen her since Sherlock's funeral. Oh god…
"Anthea, remember?" She smiled at him.
"Right." John tried to erase the funeral from his mind. Three years and it still wasn't any easier.
The car started moving. Anthea ignored him. John rubbed his forehead. He really needed to stop doing this. Sherlock hated it when he met with Mycroft.
He felt the car pull to a halt. Muttering a farewell to Anthea, (who didn't respond,) he got out and shut the door behind him.
"Merry Christmas, John." Mycroft greeted him.
"Same to you, Mycroft." John said absently. "Care to explain why I've been abducted once again?"
Mycroft twirled his umbrella in his hand and smiled. "You got in the car of your own accord. But, I will get to the point."
"Thanks." John said sarcastically.
Mycroft talked over him. "I'm not happy with how you've been spending your time, John. Moping around, not going out, you even broke up with Susie-"
"Sarah." John corrected. Mycroft pretended not to hear him.
"-and we're worried about you. My brother couldn't have meant for you to live like this. So I've decided to do something about it. Well, WE have decided."
"Decided what?" Now John was wary. Whenever Mycroft decides to interfere in John's life it never ends well.
"I'm going to give you a Christmas gift, John. But it's a scavenger hunt, and the gift is the prize. You're going to travel London and mark stamps when you find an item on the list. There will be directions to each item, don't worry. I believe there are ten or so items. Relatively easy." Mycroft handed him a sheet of paper. "Here is the list."
John just looked at him. "And what if I don't want to play?"
Mycroft looked like the cat that caught the canary. "Oh, I assure you, you want to play."
John sighed again, taking the paper.
"Oh, cheer up. It's not like you had anything planned tonight anyway." Mycroft turned away. "Cheers, John."
"Cheers." John muttered.
The car door was opened behind him. He got back in.
Anthea, without looking up, said "We'll drop you off at the first item. No need to thank us. But you'll have to find the rest on your own."
"Er… okay." John looked at the paper for the first time. The first item said, "The one you gave up."
Of course Mycroft wouldn't give him a straight objective. What he gave up? Was that even possible to find?
The car screeched to a stop. John got out, not even bothering to say goodbye.
He didn't know where he was. It looked like an apartment building. Someone was sitting on the steps.
"Sarah?" John called, surprised.
"Hello, John. I have your first stamp, if you want it." She smiled at him, though she seemed sad.
He walked up to her. She took his paper and stamped it.
"What are you doing here?" John asked.
"I'm what you gave up." She answered. "We didn't work out. Neither of us really got over his death." John didn't ask whose death, they both knew. "You, especially. And I appreciate you realizing that you couldn't be with me because you still hoped for him. You gave me up. But I'm glad I got a shot, at least."
"I'm sorry." He said. She shook her head.
"I'm not. I'm glad that you moved on, from me at least. And whatever is at the end of this stupid hunt Mycroft made up should make you happy, I hope."
"Do you know?" John asked.
"Nope. All I know is that Mycroft called my house this afternoon and told me to stand outside for you. Then he told me I was a scavenger hunt, then hung up. He's kind of…"
"Mysterious?" John suggested.
"Annoying." Sarah said. They shared a smile. "I better get inside. Good night, John."
"Good night." John looked at his paper when Sarah left.
The second item. The one that kept you going. Go to Scotland Yard Headquarters.
John caught a cab and drove to his destination. He paid and then climbed out. Lestrade was waiting for him.
"So… you're the next stamp, I gather?" John asked, holding out his sheet.
"That's me." Lestrade chuckled and took his paper, stamping. "I'm also what kept you going."
John smiled sheepishly. "That you are. Thanks for still including me in the cases."
"Hey, no problem. And don't tell the Yard this, but you're a better forensics expert than my crew." Lestrade joked.
John laughed. "I really do appreciate it. Call me next time you have a case."
"Will do. Now get going. I want you to tell me what you find at the end. I'm curious." Lestrade handed him his paper back.
"Okay. See you, Greg." John waved as Lestrade walked off. Then he looked at the paper again. The third item read, The one who couldn't help you. Go to Angelo's.
When John reached the restaurant, it was in fact Angelo who was waiting for him. He held a stamp, and a to-go box. He handed the box to John when he got to him.
"This is for you. For dinner. Youve been getting thin lately." Angelo said.
John accepted the gift. "Thank you. Are you what couldn't help me?"
Angelo nodded. "I wanted to. But you rarely came around and I didn't know what to say, anyway. And I felt guilty, so I agreed to be in the Scavenger hunt for Mycroft."
John smiled at him. "You didn't have to help me directly. It was enough that you understood what I was going through and brought me food occasionally. Believe it or not, that was more than most people."
Angelo perked up. "I'm glad to be of service. Now, I'll stamp your paper and you can be off."
He stamped the paper and handed it back to John. "Stop by sometime. I have to get back to work."
"I will, thank you. See you later." John waved, and Angelo returned to his shop.
The fourth item was The ones who didn't understand you. There was an address that John didn't recognize. He got another cab.
Donovan and Anderson were at the address when John got there.
John paid the cabbie and got out warily. "You're not gonna jump me, right?"
Anderson rolled his eyes. "Course not. We just need to give you a stamp or something. So hand it over."
John gave them his sheet. "And let me guess, you don't understand why I was so upset over Sherlock's death. I assume that that's what this whole hunt is about."
Donovan rolled her eyes. "Well, I certainly don't. But I didn't complain, did I? I let you do your own thing."
John nodded. "Yeah, you did. We only fought some of the time, as opposed to all of the time when he was with me."
Anderson sneered at him. "Here's your stupid paper. Now go. And tell Mycroft we did it, so he can stop filling our sinks with roaches."
John gasped, then started laughing. "So that's why you're here. Don't worry, I'll tell him. I'll be off now, see you around."
He waved to Donovan, who glared but waved back, and walked off down the street.
It was getting dark out, but there was enough light for him to read the fifth item. The one who supported you. John walked to a small pub that was quiet on the inside, but when he opened the door he was hit with a wave of chatter.
He heard his name called. "Johnny! Over here!" He saw his sister.
"Harry?" John couldn't believe it. "What are you doing here!"
She coughed, then held out her arms for a hug. "Being part of your scavenger hunt. I wanted to see you, too. The phone isn't enough."
John hugged her. "I appreciate you coming out here. And, I guess for supporting me."
She grinned. "Yup. Although, I don't think I supported you enough, or you wouldn't still be depressed after all this time. What, three years?"
"About that, yeah." John shook off the sadness he felt and smiled at his sister.
She coughed again and took a drink. "Hey, let me stamp you. And then you need to get moving. But I rented a hotel room for a few days. We'll talk later, yeah?"
"Yeah. See you, Harry. Go easy on the drinks. Are you eating properly?" John worried.
She waved him off. "I'm fine, Johnny. Now go and have fun."
John hesitated. "Here, at least eat some of this when you get back to your hotel."
Harry took it with a smile and a roll of the eyes. "Whatever. Thanks, John. I'll eat it, promise."
Before leaving the pub, John read the sixth item. The one who introduced you to destiny. The address was outside the university.
Mike Stamford was sitting on the bench, smiling at the trees. He looked up when he heard John coming.
"Hey, John. Been awhile."
"Certainly has." John shook his hand. "Mycroft got to you, too?"
Mike laughed. "You could say that. What am I on your hunt? The one who introduced your fate? Some rubbish like that. I suppose he means Sherlock."
John felt his throat clenching at the name. He started to tear up, then rubbed his eye and said, "Yeah, I guess. Do you have a stamp for me?"
"Sure, sure, here." Mike stamped his paper. "This is too short. We should meet up sometime. You have my number, right?"
"Yeah, I do. Well, see you around." John left in a hurry.
The eighth item was The one who knew the secret.
This was the lab where Sherlock used to work. John knew the directions by heart. By the time he got there, it was closing time. A girl was waiting outside anxiously, bouncing on her heels.
"Hullo, Molly." He greeted her. She jumped.
"Oh, there you are. Hello, John. I have your stamp, if you want it." She said nervously.
He handed her his paper. "Are you okay?" He asked curiously.
She looked spooked. "Me? Yeah, I'm alright. Its just, I TOLD Mycroft that this wouldn't work, I just can't keep this secret when put under pressure-"
"What secret?" John asked, but she kept talking.
"-but that's exactly why he chose to tell me, because I know I can keep the secret, and I told him that you wouldn't react well, but he didn't care-"
"Who told you what?"
Molly gasped. "I can't tell you! You'll find out tonight, anyway, when you reach the prize! I gottagobye!"
She shoved the paper into his hands, running off and ignoring his cry of, "You know what's at the end of this bloody scavenger hunt?"
People looked at him oddly, and he grumbled and looked at his paper. The ninth item was The one who knew the ending.
The address was 221B, Baker Street.
When he got home, he unlocked the door and stepped inside.
"Hello, dearie! Long day at work?"
John groaned. "Mrs. Hudson, not you, too." Then he noticed she looked rather pale. "Are you feeling alright?"
"I-I am now, thank you. Now, I believe I have to stamp your paper." She smiled lovingly at him. He handed her his paper.
"Oh, John, you're going to love your gift." She said excitedly. "Everyone will. I was so happy when I found out, I nearly fainted."
John sighed. "You won't tell me what it is, will you?"
She giggled. "No need, it's right upstairs in your flat. Up you go, go on! Hurry now!" She practically pushed him up the stairs. "This is The one you love."
John closed the door behind him, fending off Mrs. Hudson's pushy hands. The one you love?, he thought to himself. Harry again?
"Hello, John."
He froze. He knew that voice.
There was a figure standing in front of him, tall, wearing a purple shirt with the first few buttons undone. He spun around quickly, slapping a palm against his forehead. He didnt have a fever.
"John…" The voice said, sounding strained. "It's really me. I'm not dead."
John turned around. It was indeed who he thought it was. But it was impossible. The man who he was staring at through stinging eyes was DEAD. John had seen the body, visited the grave, spent hours(even days) crying and blogging and feeling miserable. It simply wasn't possible.
"John, say something. Do something, I know you're angry, I calculated that this would be your response, but at least let me know you hear me." The figure pleaded.
John said nothing, instead just staring at the man he thought he would never see again.
The man sighed a long-suffering sigh, sitting down on the couch. "You deserve an explanation. Moriarty was going to kill you, John, if I didn't leave. The only way I could protect you was to die. And so I did. And it hasn't been easy for me, being dead. Tracking down the web of Moriarty's men and having to keep my life a secret. Molly knew, she's been keeping an eye on you for me. And she told me I shouldn't come back, that it would just reopen the wound, but I had to SEE you, John, and know that you were safe and alright and you're NOT. Not without me." At this point Sherlock was pacing up and down and John was still staring. "You need me next to you. I'm your source of adventure and you haven't been the same since my death. And- and I need you, John. I truly do, and it has me scared as hell. I've never needed anyone before in my life, excepting my parents when I was an infant, and Mycroft when I was an addict, and now I'm confused because I don't know WHY I need you, I just know that these three years have been torture and it was certainly much worse for you, because you thought I was dead."
John, who had been listening attentively, suddenly realized that Sherlock was, in fact, alive and in their apartment and he gave a sort of happy giggle, but Sherlock didnt notice.
Still pacing, he continued to rant. "And I'm sorry, you have no imaginable idea of how sorry I am. I almost knocked on the door several times just to see your face, but I stopped myself. I'm scared of how much I depend on you, on your face and your smile and your stupid jumpers. I don't get scared. And there's not much I don't know, either, but I don't know why I feel so strongly about you."
John caught him by the shoulders. Sherlock abrubtly stopped talking. For a minute they just looked at each other.
Then John punched the consulting detective with all his might. Sherlock staggered back, clutching his cheek. "I suppose I should have deduced that."
"Supposed?" John yelled angrily. "You make me think you're DEAD for THREE years, and you SUPPOSE I'll be angry? My god, Sherlock, I was DEVASTATED! Did you read my blog? Half of it was about you! I couldn't think of anything else!"
Sherlock nodded. "I read it. Every day. I know."
John shook his head. "You just disappear, and I'm supposed to get on without you. It was awful. I was half in a coma most of the time."
Sherlock's voice was soft. "Molly told me. She said she was worried about you."
"I was worried about me." John said. "I missed you. I missed you so much, and it killed me every day I woke up and you hadn't filled the tub with body parts or stuffed heads in the fridge or done experiments in my mug. I was broken." He sobbed once.
Sherlock came forward and enveloped John in a hug. John leaned into him, muffling his tears. "I know." Sherlock whispered. "And I'm sorry. But I'm back now. And I won't ever leave you again. Ever. I promise."
"Really?" John asked, pulling slightly away to look at Sherlock.
"Really." Sherlock looked down at him. "I'll always be here for you."
John reached for Sherlock's hand and entwined his fingers with the other's, making sure he was real. He relaxed. "Good."
Sherlock hugged him again.
"But Sherlock, if you EVER do anything like this again, or not tell me something important, I won't forgive you." John said, serious. "I'll move on without you. And it will kill me, but I'll do it."
Sherlock looked at him. "I know, John. Thats why I won't. Because you're too important to me."
John looked at the man he thought he had lost. Sherlock was here, right in front of him. And he wasn't leaving.
Almost without realizing it, John leaned his face closer to Sherlock's. Sherlock closed the rest of the distance between them and laid his lips on John's. John brought his hand up to rest on Sherlock's cheek, the one he hadn't bruised. The kiss was slow and sweet and full of the longing that had built up over three years.
Mrs. Hudson opened the door to check that Sherlock wasn't her hallucination. When she saw her boys, she gave a knowing smile and gently shut the door behind her.
"I certainly did know, didn't I?" She chuckled to herself.
Sherlock broke the kiss finally. Looking at John, he asked with a smirk, "Do you want me to give you a stamp?"
John glared at him. "Shut up, you." The kiss was resumed, faster this time, and with more need. Neither of them slept that night. In the morning, Sherlock woke John up with a cup of hot tea that actually tasted like tea and said, "Merry Christmas."