So, it turns out my head was not finished by far with this (lack of) plot! So here is the sequel to "A portrait of a Genius". This prequel takes place about ten months before the first chapter of that story. All recognizable content belongs to its respective owners like always. Just like the first fic I mean no copyright infringement and make no profit from this story.

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John returned with heavy, hesitant steps to Baker Street after his work at the surgery. He wondered if Sherlock would be there. After all, it was his flat. Mycroft, or rather the assistant he had no doubt given the assignment, had taken over the rent when Sherlock fell. John had always attributed it to guilt. He stopped dead in his tracks at the middle of the staircase at that thought, realising that it couldn't have been.

Whether the Holmes were acting on his little brother's orders or his own initiative, he was clearly taking care of him. John might not be as brilliant as the brothers, but not only was he not a fool, no, he also knew far more about emotions than they both did put together. And now that he knew what he was looking for, he knew concern when he looked it right into the metaphorical eye.

John entered the living room cautiously, hoping now that Sherlock would be there. It was well overdue that they spoke to each other, he knew that now. He was ready to listen to his roommate. He wanted to know the story, hear his reasons. He was suddenly sure that they'd be good.

"John?" Sherlock was sitting in his long abandoned chair. John winced at the large, deep bruise on the genius' cheek. He went up to him and turned his head with his fingers underneath his jaw, touching it gently to determine if it needed any care. To his surprise, Sherlock did nothing to resist, obediently letting him check, though the first touch had him flinching. That saddened John, but he guessed that he deserved it. "I am not hitting you again" he assured the genius as he finished his examination. "It should heal well, but it will take a few days".

The Consulting Detective watched him silently as the former army doctor went to sit in his own armchair, watching him right back, but he said nothing. Like so many times before, John decided to give him a hint. After all, Sherlock sat there looking merely unsure. If anything, he was trying to read John, trying to figure out how to act, how to make this right. "I was upset, the day before yesterday. I am sure even you can understand why by now. I shouldn't have hit you, but you had it coming, frankly. I am ready to listen now". And John knew the genius just well enough to catch the look of thorough relief on his face at that statement.