Sometime in the near future…
John unlocks the door of the flat and walks in, flipping through a bundle of post.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Hudson," he calls, but gets no reply.
"Mrs. Hudson?" he calls again. When he's left in silence, he shrugs to himself and continues up the steps.
He opens the door at the top of the stairs. He places his keys on the desk by the door.
When he's flipped through all the mail, he also places that on the desk.
He looks up and finds one of the chairs—his chair—occupied by someone reading a book. It covers their face.
"Hello," he says.
"John," the voice says, and it's…
No, it can't be. It can't.
But the book lowers, and it is.
"Sherlock?" he chokes out.
He smiles, but not smugly. "You asked for one last miracle."
"Of course you were listening," John murmurs to himself.
Now Sherlock's smirking.
"Oh my god," John whispers. "It's really you, isn't it? This isn't some hallucination or something?"
Sherlock stands. "No, John. I am here, in the flesh."
John takes a few tentative steps forward, reaches out slowly and taps Sherlock's arm, testing his existence.
"Told you, in the fl—"
He's cut off by John's fist hooking the left side of his lower jaw. Sherlock stumbles back into his chair, John standing over him, holding his fist.
"What the hell was that?" Sherlock asks.
"Where have you been?"
"Around," he mutters. "Why'd you hit me?"
"Because I felt like it," he says.
Sherlock stands. "I suppose I might of deserved that."
"Might of?" John repeats.
"Okay, I did."
"Damn right," John says, tackling Sherlock in a hug.
It takes him a second to realize, but he claps John on the back and he pulls away. "Sorry," John mutters.
"No problem," Sherlock says.
"How'd you do it?" John asks. "Fake your…death, I mean? I saw you jump."
Sherlock side-steps John and heads for the door. "I'll explain on the way."
"On the way where?"
"To solve a case."
"You've been back from the dead for all of five seconds and you already have a case? What about all that rubbish about you in the papers?"
"Fortunately, I found someone other than you who doesn't believe it. Now, come on!" he says, already on the stairs.
John grabs his keys and runs after him.
At the bottom of the steps, Sherlock opens the door for Mrs. Hudson, who has two arms full of groceries.
"Evening, Mrs. Hudson."
"Oh, evening, boys."
"Off we go!" Sherlock says, disappearing to hail a taxicab.
"Bye, Mrs. Hudson," John calls, closing the door behind him.
Mrs. Hudson stops at her door. "Boys?" she asks herself, drops both bags of groceries to the floor, and faints.
A/N: Wrote this ages ago now…well, a month or two. Couldn't decide what I wanted to do with it. It's a non-angsty take on Sherlock's return to Baker Street, which I don't think is very plot-accurate because SO MUCH ANGST, OH MY MOFFAT. Posting it here for fun. First Johnlock fic I ever wrote. Expect many, many more (mostly because that's what my muse is INSISTING upon). SHIP IT LIKE FEDEX. And review, please!
