It has been exactly one year since Sherlock Holmes had seen 221B Baker Street. Exactly one year since he had jumped from the rooftop of St Bartholomew's Hospital on the day he faked his own death. Exactly one year since the day that changed everything. A year ago he was the famous Consulting Detective, Sherlock Holmes. Now, here he was standing amongst the commuters and the tourists- anonymous. That was one of the brilliant caveats in British Media, today you can be front page news and the story on everyone's lips, but tomorrow you're nothing. The media had to have their villain, and a year ago that villain was him. "Fairy tales" he thought as he recalled the media attention from a year ago.
He was looking up at the windows of 221B. He could still see his music stand in the window- exactly as he had left it. A figure briefly crossed the window and he knew it was John. It couldn't be Mrs Hudson as he had seen her leave about an hour ago. He felt a pang of guilt as he thought of his friend- his best friend. Sherlock had allowed John to believe him to be dead for all this time, he allowed him to watch the drama unfold on the rooftop of the hospital and he allowed him to attend his funeral. Sherlock knew the pain he had caused his best friend and the damage was almost certainly irreparable. The guilt in his chest grew stronger as the urge to cross the road and go home to 221B threatened to overwhelm him.
No. He pushed any emotion he felt away and steadied himself. He couldn't return to 221B just yet- the time wasn't right. He couldn't just drop back into his old routine and move back into 221B as if nothing had happened. If he was going to return to London permanently, he had to do it right. The world would need an explanation. Lestrade would also need an explanation. However, Mycroft would need no explanation. Sherlock was sure that his brother knew he was alive and had possibly been tracking his movements for the past year, so providing Mycroft with an explanation would simply be a waste of time and breath. As for John…well, John would need the biggest explanation of them all.
As if on cue, John appeared in the window of 221B yet again. He was standing just by Sherlock's music stand and looking out onto the street below. Even from this distance he could see the grief and the pain he had caused. John looked just as he did when they first met- broken and lost. Sherlock had given John his confidence and his health back and then he had taken it away exactly a year ago. Sherlock unwittingly took a step closer to 221B before stopping himself. Not yet. Sherlock steadied himself and tightened his blue scarf against the cold wind. "Caring is not an advantage" he thought, as he watched John turn away from the window and disappear out of sight. How wrong his brother had been. Caring was the only reason he was still here today. Caring had brought him to the friendships that preserved his life a year ago. It had brought him to Molly, to Lestrade and to John. No, caring was an advantage- he saw that now. Caring is the reason he is here standing on the pavement, staring at the place he once called home. He was here because he cared about John.
John would understand the reasons for Sherlock's actions one day. Sherlock knew it would take time, but he would explain everything to John when the time was right. But for now, his best friend would have to wait, just a little longer. Sherlock turned his coat collar up against the wind and turned his back on the façade of 221B. He smiled as he thought of what John would say about him turning his coat collar up. That memory of John made him turn and take one last look up at 221B, before silently walking away.