A/N: Oh god, this is my first Sherlock fic. Please don't hate me, I understand if you all think it's horrible.


Prologue.

Sherlock had been gone for a little over three years now. All his dirty business was taken care of, every ounce of danger, every molecule of threat, destroyed. And he was finally able to return home.

He'd been back for almost a week now, sorting things out with his brother and the police. He had yet to contact John.

Every possible scenario ran through his head as he tried to gauge the most likely reaction he would receive from his former flatmate. John would punch him, he would break down and sob, he would rationalize it as a hallucination, he would reject him, et cetera, et cetera.

But the one thing he hadn't considered before knocking on the door to 221 B, was that he would be immediately enveloped by a pair of nervous but strong arms, and that he would return the gesture without a thought.