Three years it had been.
Three years since that horrid fall. And still Sherlock felt every bit as guilty as he had then. Oh he had dreaded leaving all of them behind, But especially John. The detective still remembered how agonizing it was to lay still eyes open while his only –correction- best friend cried in agony. But it had to be done. Moritaty being the clever bastard that he was had hired more assassins who would kill John, Mrs. Hudson Molly all of them at the slightest hint that Sherlock was still alive. So therefore the raven haired male had been on the run. Always on the move, never standing still for long taking out all of the assassins one…by..one But now Sherlock hovered above the very last one of them Sebastian Moran. The ashy blond had been Mortiaty's personal pet for a while, maybe the man had truly cared for him, maybe Sherlock should care about that, but Sherlock right now could not give a damn. One quick gesture and blood sprayed over his pale face as he slit the assassins throat. 3 years of doing this had made the detectvie an excellent killer. Standing up straight stretching his slim frame Sherlock whipped off the blood on the knife on Sebastian's clothes. He did not have any need for them anymore. ''Well, time finally go home'Sherlock then murmured before he turned around and walked out of the building. Ignoring every person that gave him stares, as he had not bothered to whipe the blood of himself. After 2 more weeks Sherlock finally found himelf on Bakerstreet watching the oh so familiar number 221B. His heart thudded loudly in his chest as he opened the door slowly. His sharp mind was already playing numerous scenarios of how John –oh how he longed to see those soulfull brown eyes again- would react. And much unlike him Sherlock actually felt a little bit uncomfortable. One could not simply walk back in after 3 years. As he made his way to the apartment he noticed Mrs Hudson was not there. Probably getting something from the store he thought as he walked up the stairs he had walked so many times already. Soft noises came from the apartment and Sherlock reckoned it must be John watching the telly after a hard days work. Slim fingers reached for the door, and quietly pushing the door open the detective finally found his voice again ''John?'' then taking a few steps forward he let himself on ''John..are you there?'' then suddenly a sharp pain and stumbling he turned around finding none other than john standing behind him holding a large baseball batt . But something was terribly wrong, the warmth that once had shone behind the man's brown eyes was gone, and replace by something else, something so dark and evil it made Sherlock shudder. The last thing the detective remembered before everything went dark was John bending over a malicious grin plastered upon his face ''Welcome home Sherlock… I have been waiting for you''