First Sherlock story, be kind.

Chapter Warnings: FUCK!

John Watson sat in the flat at 221B Baker Street. It had been almost a year since Sherlock had jumped, and John spoke at his grave.

All of a sudden his phone alerted him that he had a text. He almost didn't look at it, but did so anyway.

Meet me at the Blueprint Café.

-SH

John stared at his phone, before standing up to grab his coat.


'It's probably just a prank of sorts…' John thought as he exited the cab. He made his way into the little café. 'Or Mycroft trying to get my attention.'

He sat down at a corner booth and ordered coffee. After about 10 minutes his phone alerted him.

Why did you sit at a different table?

-SH

John looked up and around the restaurant, and the moment his eyes met familiar blue ones his hopes shot sky high. The blue eyes were hidden under a burka-like coat.

"Sherlock is that really you?"

"Yes." The other said in that deep voice, causing John's eyebrows to shoot up. "I imagine you have questions."

"Yeah, how did you-"

"John I'm disappointed in you…" Sherlock groaned in frustration. "The biker John!"

John stared in confusion. "The biker that hit me? What does that have to do with anything?"

Sherlock groaned again. "He hit you purposefully, so you wouldn't see me fall into the truck."

"What truck Sherlock?"

"The one full of garbage that broke my fall, the one that contained a fake body me and Molly crafted together."

John stared at Sherlock. He didn't know whether to punch him or kiss him.

"So what now…?"

"I go back to work. The assassins are gone, the victims are safe."

"Assassins? Victims?" John stared blankly at his friend, who groaned in frustration.

"The assassins who had a clear shot of your head unless I jumped."

"…oh… so you did this to save our lives?"

"Exactly."

"And does Mycroft know of this?"

"No, why should he?"

"Uh, because he's your brother Sherlock.'

"So?"

"So he probably wants to know you're alive."

"Nah, I'm good."

"Sherlock-" John started before his phone alerted him again.

I've got a job for you.

-Lestrade

"Ah, a job finally! Let's go get our hands dirty!" Sherlock jumped out of his seat, heading for the door.

John dropped money on the table for his coffee and ran out the door after his friend.

If some of you are new to my stories, then hi! My name is Arreis!

The reason some of my stories are short are because I have dyslexia, so I have a friend translate and re-write my stories.

Anyway: Me and my mom made this theory when we watched "The Reichanbach Fall" (Are we spelling that right?)

So, welcome to my story; I'm insane.