At the moment I'm sitting at the cafeteria of my school and waiting for my friend to finish her English test. So I have time to post a new story for all my lovely readers to enjoy.
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine.
"Trevor? Really?" John laughed.
Sherlock did not look anywhere near his ex-flatmate. "I thought it was the usual thing to do to take your partner's last name when you get married. I hardly see anything amusing in that, John." Sherlock said his name like it tasted bad.
"Sorry. Sherlock Trevor just lacks that special ring to it." John said while surreptitiously taking a look around the tastefully decorated apartment.
On the walls there were framed pictures of Sherlock and Victor. In some of them Sherlock had even managed to smile. The ones of Sherlock and Victor kissing sweetly John tried to avoid. They made something his stomach clutch unpleasantly.
Apparently things change a lot in three years. John did not like that.
Sherlock was practically sneering at him from his place on the comfy-looking sofa. "So did you actually have a reason for being here? Other than turning up after being dead for three years, John." There was that name-thing again.
Well, John could understand.
"Sherlock, what I did had to be done." When John noticed Sherlock staring firmly at the wall, he could not help shouting, "Listen to me, you idiot! Someone had to stop Moriarty after the pool accident. And since you were confined to the hospital bed, Mycroft chose me."
At hearing his brother's name being mentioned, Sherlock turned his case back to John. When the realization hit, the genius leaped off the sofa. "That bastard!"
Angrily Sherlock picked up his phone and started typing. A text message, most likely, thought John.
Seeing a glimpse of the old Sherlock made John smile sadly. This man was nothing like that crazy detective John had used to know.
The kitchen was in pristine condition. There were no experiments anywhere and every room that John had seen had been clean and organized. For a moment John had hoped that Sherlock would hate it here. Then he had actually seen the man.
Nowadays the brilliant ex-consulting detective was the very epitome of the perfect house wife. It made John sick.
Sighing Sherlock flopped back on the sofa. However, he was still sitting and not reclining like he used to. "John, you must know that it took Victor a year of asking before I even agreed to thing about dating. A year of missing you." Sherlock's long-fingered hands rested on his jean-clad knees.
John swallowed. "I know. Mycroft told me. And so did Lestrade. After punching me in the face for leaving." The mute 'you' was still obvious at the end of the sentence. Both of the men chuckled softly. "They care for you, you know." The doctor added. Sherlock nodded quietly, cleared his throat and, giving a quick glance at the clock above the mantel, stood up.
"John, I'm terribly sorry, but I have to get the dinner started." After a little pause the taller man continued, "It's good to have you back, though." Without another word Sherlock retreated to the –scarily clean- kitchen.
John made his way to the door and left without looking back. This had gone better that expected. He smiled.
When he made it back to Baker Street, where both Mrs Hudson and Mycroft had promised he would still be welcome after his long disappearance, John took a shower and ate a modest meal that he just warmed in the micro.
Admittedly, meeting Sherlock had scared him. After three years of no contact it was difficult to find some common ground.
However, when he saw Sherlock standing at the door two days later, John knew that it could only get better. And when Sherlock's lanky arms came to embrace him, John could not help sighing in relief.
Finally he was back home.
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