It probably wasn't a good idea to leave the bomb just lying there at the poolside, but Sherlock really didn't want to answer any questions tonight, so he called Lestrade, knowing that Lestrade wouldn't push him for answers this evening. After the DI arrived at the scene, with bomb-squad at his heels, Sherlock left. He didn't want to go back to baker street, knowing that if he'd go there, he'd have to face John, and he really didn't want to. The fact that for even a moment he had believed that John had betrayed him had shaken him to his core. So he wandered around London a bit, just turning at random spots, walking aimlessly. When he finally did look up to see where he was, he found that he was only a couple of blocks away from Lestrade's place. Not really coming to a conscious decision about it, he let his feet carry him there.
Fortunately he still had the key of the place on him so he could let himself in, knowing that the DI would be tied up for at least an hour. He threw the Belstaff on the coat rack and went to the kitchen to make coffee. Lestrade didn't often indulge in luxuries, but his coffee machine was splendid. Inhaling the aroma of the coffee, Sherlock just sat there, reliving everything that had happened that night and hoping the DI would make it home quickly.
About an hour later Sherlock was startled out of his thoughts by the sound of a slamming car door. Knowing it would be Lestrade coming home, Sherlock got up to make two fresh cups of coffee, his own went cold half an hour ago. He heard Lestrade opening the door, and heard him hesitating, so he took the mugs and went out to greet the other man. Lestrade sighed upon seeing him, but accepted one of the mugs anyway and Sherlock let himself be steered toward the living room. He didn't normally liked to be touched, but in the case of Gregory Lestrade, he didn't mind. He had never minded, and that had been one of the reasons he had stayed away. It had scared him immensely.
They sat down on the couch, like they had done a hundred times before, just mindlessly watching the telly, not speaking about what had happened. Sherlock was glad, he didn't think he could make any sense about what happened tonight if he had to talk now, better to wait until the morning when his mind had cleared a bit and he could focus again. Now the only image he saw was of John stepping out and the sense of betrayal that had come over him.
Suddenly Sherlock couldn't take it any more, he needed something, anything, to anchor him to this moment, to this couch, to Lestrade, so he wouldn't get lost in the jumbled mess his mind palace was turning into. So he pressed his leg against Lestrade's. He hoped Lestrade wouldn't mention it, he didn't want to talk about it, since it would make all of this real, and not just an accident. And he knew it didn't make sense, that it was real, but he didn't want to face it. Like he hadn't wanted to face it when Lestrade's wife had questioned him about coming over at the beginning. It had taken Lestrade three weeks to convince Sherlock that it really was okay to come over, and luckily when he had gone back over, the wife had kept silent about it.
Sherlock didn't really like it when people touched him, there wasn't any particular reason why he disliked it, he just did. He often had to stop himself from cringing away when anyone touched him. It was fine when he did the touching, just not when anybody touched him. His parents had never laid a hand on him or anything like that, he just didn't like touch. John, fortunately, hadn't noticed. Yet. And Sherlock knew that when he did notice, he'd ask about it. And assume, that when Sherlock said there wasn't any particular reason, that Sherlock was either lying or had some deep-seated trauma about touch or something. There wasn't.
The only person he could stand touch from, was Lestrade. He assumed it had something to do with being in a kind-off relationship with the man.
Fortunately Lestrade didn't mention it and when the older man went up to go to bed and Sherlock squeezed his hand, he didn't mention that either. Sherlock sighed in relief and laid himself down on the couch to go to sleep.
The next morning, Sherlock saw the startled surprise on Lestrade's face, but he hadn't been able to make himself leave. He was still a bit shaken up about the night before, but he felt he could face the world again after breakfast with the other man. Sherlock made coffee as Lestrade made breakfast and the routine that they had had before John, was still familiar. Sherlock knew that he wouldn't be able to stay away any more, and for once, that thought didn't scare him half as much as it did before last night.