I got this idea listening to the song Shake It Off by Florence and the Machine. It is my first attempt at fanfiction, reviews are appreciated.
In no way do I own Sherlock (No matter how nice that would be) It belongs to BBC
Sherlock sat on the couch for all the world looking like a lost child who had no idea how he had wound up in a place entirely different and unfamiliar then his own flat. But it was his flat, well it used to be three long years ago. It was clean now the experiments cleared from the table and the books placed neatly on the book shelf. The only indication that it used to be home was the violin placed next to the skull on the mantle and the deerstalker hat hung on the coat rack by the door. His scarf was being twisted in his long fingers in an uncharacteristic bout of nerves.
John Watson stood in the door to his flat for only a few seconds before turning to deposit the groceries in the kitchen "back again I see" he said in a tired voice his back still turned from Sherlock, missing the look of guilt and confusion that flashed across his face for a split second. "everyone thinks I'm crazy still seeing you after all these years, my therapist wants me to take medication. I'm starting to think that would be preferable to you popping up randomly and reminding me that I saw my best friend fall to his death." he turned to face Sherlock who had stood up and taken a step towards John, guilt shown clearly on his face " I have half a mind to punch you in the face like all of the other times you've shown up, but I'm too tired, and you will just show up again in a day or two" Sherlock blinked at this confession still not saying a word, but mouth hanging open like he was trying to force them out and none would come.
"John" the voice was weak and tinted with sorrow ," I'm sorry" John looked at Sherlock in mild surprise "Of all the times that you've shown up your apologizing now?" Johns words were angry and slightly hysteric , " now I know I'm crazy the great Sherlock Holmes doesn't say sorry." Sherlocks shoulders slumped "What would you like me to say John?" the words were laced with an uncharacteristic amount of pain and hopelessness. Johns eyes widened slightly, never had the apparition of Sherlock sounded so worn down, so much like he had when he had called him his only friend during the Baskerville hounds case; and the last time standing on top of the hospital arm out stretched towards him.
"At this point I'm not really sure" John said crossing his arms over his chest, "how about a proper goodbye?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the request, "You don't say proper goodbyes to people you will see again" John raked his fingers through his hair at Sherlocks response. " Right because you knew you would come back to haunt me" he mumbled, "If you didn't want reminders you wouldn't still be living here John, let alone have my stuff on display" Sherlock said gesturing to the mantle. "That's what people do Sherlock, when their best friends die they keep their stuff." Sherlock looked baffled for a second before he replied " Do they? If you died imagine how much more room I would have if I got rid of your stuff."
Johns arm shot out to punch the apparition in the face to make it stop talking, fist colliding with Sherlocks cheek. Hard. John left out a small yelp as he felt the bones in his hand connect with Sherlocks cheek bone. Sherlock staggered backwards towards the couch clutching his face with both of his hands. " I guess I deserved that" Sherlock stated looking towards John for the confirmation of this fact. John stared dumbly at Sherlock for a second before moving very slowly towards his chair and plopping down into it.
"I really am crazy" he mumbled between his hands " I knew that almost from the first time I met you, I mean who else goes running off after someone they just met into dangerous situations" came Sherlocks blunt reply. Johns eyes snapped to Sherlock who was rubbing his cheek absentmindedly where a dark bruise was already forming. "Are you really here?" John asked voice wavering slightly at the last word " where else would I be John, seeing that I'm not really dead?" The question had an underlying tone of confusion but was stated more like a fact than a question. " How?" the word came from Johns mouth but he didn't remember moving his mouth to ask the question. " Doesn't matter at the moment" Sherlock said waving his hands around flippantly. John scoffed at the purely Sherlock response to such a question. "Why did you come back now after all these years?" Johns voice was laced with hurt. Sherlock stood still like he was contemplating his response fingers steeped over his lips in an all to familiar gesture. "Do you want all the reasons?" John pulled a well duh face and Sherlock nodded his understanding. " The first reason would have to be that the my name was cleared on all accounts." "But" interrupted John, "your name was cleared last year."
John remembered all to well when two years after Sherlocks supposed death his name had cropped up again on the cover of every news paper he could find, clearing the genius sociopaths name, when some of Moriarty's inner circle and others close the the crazy psychopath had shown up dead, along with quite a bit of information on what he had been up to.
"As I was saying, my name was cleared" Sherlock started again, "and I wasn't informed of the fact until later, second the immediate danger on you life was gone, and lastly I missed my blogger." He finished with a small smile towards John, who stared at him brow furrowed in concentration at his words. "Where were you that you didn't know your own name was cleared?" "Unimportant" came the abrupt reply as Sherlock fell backwards onto the couch using his legs to push his head up onto the arm rest. "And what do you mean immediate danger?" Sherlock turned his bright eyes to John "I don't normally jump of roof tops for fun pleasure John." John chucked at his friends words picturing him doing exactly that. "I had to jump" he continued, "Moriarty had a gun pointed straight, not only at you but at Mrs. Hudson and Listrade."
John had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach at his words, just realizing all that Sherlock had to go through alone. "They would only be called off if I jumped" John could only stare at Sherlock, who was staring at the ceiling lost in thought. "Anyway" Sherlock said as he suddenly jumped off the couch, startling John at the abruptness, "I thought I would come back here, it was either that or staying with Mycroft." Sherlock pulled a face as soon as the words crossed his lips. John laughed at the look on Sherlocks face and soon the two boys were in a fit of laughter.
Hours later Mrs. Hudson found the two boys sitting side by side on the couch, boxes of Chinese take out in front of them laughing an talking as if no time had passed. The telly, which had been turned to a crap channel was forgotten as Sherlock told John a story about his travels and what he had been up to. John pulled a face at something he said and Sherlock asked a question he had asked many times before "Not good?" Instead of Johns normal reply of not good she herd him say "Just fine, Sherlock, Just fine."