Typical reaction.

Sherlock sat in the street, a large handkerchief pressed firmly against the side of his mouth. The concrete and the blood and the bystander's teary eyes were reminiscent of that day exactly three years ago. But this Sherlock, sitting here on the steps of 221B Baker Street beside a bright-eyed John Watson was a picture of life. Blood rushing to his cheek to pattern a pretty bruise, eyes wide and colored with irritation. John regarded the detective with a grin.

"You're a doctor." Sherlock complained through the cloth. John laughed.

"I have bad days."

And you have good days. Today is a good day. The best day in years.

John stood up and gingerly flexed his hand.

"Come on, you bastard, I'll make some tea."

Ah, tea. I have very much missed your tea, John.

Sherlock followed John in through the front door, and nearly ran into him when the doctor stopped suddenly.

"I forgot in all the excitement," John muttered, mostly to himself.

"What?" Sherlock demanded.

"Just, ah, Suzy. Suzy and I share the flat now. I mean, I didn't think…didn't think you'd be coming back, you know?"

John's eyes wandered up the stairs, and then thoughtfully back to Sherlock. Sherlock was rolling his eyes theatrically.

Oh, brilliant, there's a new one.

"John, I'm perfectly capable of handling another one of your girlfriends. I'd gotten quite used to them by the time I left."

Which I'm sorry about, by the way.

Sherlock charged up the stairs.

Predictable, John. You would've had to find something to distract yourself from my absence. God, it must have been boring without me. I hope this woman's not dull. There's no evidence of a ring on your finger, so at least you're not married. I suppose it doesn't matter a great deal. No way your relationship will last now that I'm back.

Sherlock threw open the flat door while John bounded up the stairs after him.

You are the loudest man I know.

"Careful! Don't let her out!" He said worriedly. Sherlock looked querulously at his friend. Sherlock took only a moment's observation of the flat to realize that something didn't add up.

Oh God.

"Suzy, love, look who's back!" John sang as he hurried into Sherlock's old room.

Oh God, John, no.

John emerged from the room carrying a handsome orange tabby, who he was coddling with disgusting affection.

"Suzy, Sherlock." He smiled widely.

Not a cat.