This was inspired by what John's therapist said to him after Sherlock's "death": "There's stuff you didn't say. You wish you'd said it".
I believe that the "stuff" are the words John spoke at Sherlock's grave. After Sherlock has returned, will John say it to him then? This is an idea of how it could play out.
...
What was Left Unsaid
"You were… the best man… and the most human… human being… I've ever known, and no one will ever convince me that you told me a lie, so… there!"
"I was so alone, and I owe you so much".
The words kept playing in John's mind every time he was alone with the detective in a quiet moment, not chasing criminals around London or Sherlock ranting angrily about how bored he was.
They had just got home from their latest case. Home at the moment meaning in John and Mary's flat, in which Sherlock spent half his time. Though, 221b was certainly also still home to both of them. Or it felt like it.
He cast a glance up from his book over at the detective, bending over the kitchen desk, which somehow had been turned into a small laboratory. The man had no sense of personal space! With Sherlock working on some tests, and Mary out shopping, it was quiet, and as in any recent quiet time, John had the same thing on his mind.
I should tell him.
His stomach clenched, and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He knew exactly why it was so difficult. Well, for two reasons. One; it was sentimental, in fact very much so. Two; he would have to bring up the topic of Sherlock's 3-year "disappearance", which was still a delicate subject for both of the two friends.
'You regretted not saying it, when you thought he was gone forever', a voice inside reminded him.
For heaven's sake! John sighed. Why can't I just not give a crap about my pride and tell him? But he instantly knew the answer to that one as well. Because he will be uncomfortable..
'And what happens if one of you dies?' the voice demanded, and John swallowed audibly. It was a very real danger. They often put themselves in harm's way for the sake of the case. Or rather, Sherlock did it for the sake of the case. John did it for Sherlock. 'You don't know if you can always protect him'. His heart sank at the thought of losing Sherlock – again.
The inner argument had gone on for weeks, despite the good man's attempts to shut out that voice permanently. He and Sherlock didn't need words! They told each other what they meant to each other through their actions, and actions speak louder than words.
Great, now I'm resorting to clichés! Absentmindedly, the doctor gripped the arms of his chair and leaned forward.
An exasperated sigh came from the kitchen. "John, if you are going to continue to disturb me with your noises, please go to your room!"
Good God! John turned in his chair to face the man. "Sherlock, this is my home!"
His friend stiffened slightly as his eyes met John's, and the older man immediately knew he'd hit a soft spot.
"Don't give me that look; of course this is your home too. But I'm not going anywhere!"
The tension vaporised immediately, and Sherlock relaxed again, uttering an annoyed sound.
Such a child!
….
Calcium… Hm… Cellulose… and… What's this?... The detective looked closely over his test tubes.
(Sound) - Fabric against fabric. Sherlock cast a brief glance at John, who was sitting in the living room, obviously not reading the book in his hands.
I need more data. He started scraping the substance off from underneath another fingernail. With a slightly puzzled look, he turned to his microscope.
(Sound) - Saliva going through throat. Another glance at John told him that the man was a bit out of sorts.
Sherlock tried to refocus on the fingers in front of him, but it was difficult with John sitting so close and clearly feeling every bit as uncomfortable as every other day recently. It was about him, Sherlock knew it from John's behavior around him.
'Since when did you care about John's antics?'
Focus.
He was about to do so, but then he heard John shift in his seat again. Frankly, it was getting annoying!
The detective spoke without looking up: "John, if you are going to continue to disturb me with your noises, please go to your room!"
Obviously, that did not go down well!
….
"Did we lose them?" John panted as he and Sherlock stopped for a moment to catch their breaths.
His friend looked around the corner. "For the moment", he confirmed breathlessly.
They both chuckled.
Their new case had led the detective to break in to a house where he suspected to find a woman dead. He did not. Nor did he bother letting John into the house after he had found a way in. Somehow, the police were onto them, and now they were being chased by two officers.
As the adrenaline started to wear out, they walked on, still apprehensive, but also still smiling widely. Unknown to the other man, both were reflecting on the familiarity of the situation.
However, another thought pressed its' way back in the forefront of John's mind. 'Everything you have could be lost in a heartbeat'. John frowned and tensed.
Sherlock noticed the change in the man's posture. "Problem?" he asked.
"No. None at all".
'Coward'. John felt small and ridiculous, and he had to suppress a sigh. Working and living with Sherlock Holmes had taught him to cover up the evidence of his emotions when he wanted them to go unnoticed from his observant friend.
His tone of voice did nothing to help in that regard, though. There it is again, the evidence of John's troubles. It was no secret to either man that their friendship had been a bit on edge in the two months since Sherlock got back. Emotions - mainly anger - had run higher than normal, and they were both trying to make amends, not wanting to damage what they had just got back.
"I'm sure. Which is why I've had to listen to your exasperated sighs and watch you flinch and squirm for weeks; now – is there a problem?" Sherlock dragged out the last words and stopped walking.
This is stupid, stop worrying, John chided himself. To Sherlock, he said, "There is no problem, I promise". He tried to keep his tone light, but Sherlock just rolled his eyes and then fixed them more keenly on the man he now faced.
"John, you are being extraordinarily tedious".
The older man instantly understood the meaning behind the words. His friend could read him, and there was no use pretending. Unless he could come up with some half-truth that would appease the man...
This is getting bloody ridiculous, he mocked himself and nearly giggled with the realisation.
"...I owe you so much..." As the words resounded in his head, the memories hit him again of the circumstances under which they were spoken.
John looked timidly at Sherlock and was annoyed to find that scrutinising look in his face. Sighing, he determined to get it out.
"After you... after I thought you were dead -"
John is still blaming me, Sherlock thought defeatedly and his gaze dropped.
"- I-I was... pretty lost -"
It's always about this...
"- and... well, my therapist said -"
You went to her again? Really, John...
"- that is, she wanted me to talk about -" John stopped.
I just want to move past it...
"You know what... doesn't matter what she said. The point is, I -"
This is tedious! When is he going to let this go? Alright, I need to get out of this; say something to make him stop...
"- I regretted never telling you how much you mean to me".
Sherlock's head snapped up in surprise.
"More importantly, I regretted never telling you that you're a much better man than you think you are", John said with his eyes fixed on his friend. Imagining what Sherlock might be thinking of this comment, he smiled and continued, "And I'm not talking about intelligence; you're an arrogant arse when it comes to boasting about that. But you're a better person - the best I know".
A corner of Sherlock's mouth twitched and his eyes twinkled. It was all he could do to keep himself from snorting at the inarguably wrongful praises. How on Earth has John reached such a conclusion?
"Hardly the truth, John; besides, I leave that kind of dull normality to you". With that comment and a genuinely amused smile, he started walking again, expecting his friend to follow.
John's mouth fell slightly open. Then he half-walked, half-jogged to keep up with Sherlock's long strides. Is that really it? He had been expecting either an awkward silence or possibly even an awkward attempt to reciprocate, but in either case he had been sure it would be awkward. He did not think that Sherlock would smile! So, he had finally spoken up, and now he felt... relieved. Disappointed. Sad. On one hand, it was nice to get the words out in the open, though he didn't get the chance to say everything he wanted. On the other hand, it did not have the desired impact. Sherlock had not taken it seriously. That fact was equally disappointing - John wanted Sherlock to know exactly what their friendship meant to him - and sad - because the man simply did not believe that he was indeed a good man.
The detective pondered John's words as they walked in silence. While he certainly would argue any day against being 'the best man John knows', the weight of everything John had said washed over him, and his smile vanished. Obviously, John meant what he said; he would never lie about something like this, nor would he have any reason to say these things if they were not important to him... Sherlock cast a glance at the man and saw something in his face expression. Worry or disappointment, he couldn't determine. He could, however, easily deduce the source, and he thought back at his own response.
"I leave that kind of dull normality to you".
So, he'd called John dull and normal, but that hardly warranted any grief; he'd called John an idiot, and his friend had never been offended. Has that changed? What a horrible notion! His and John's friendship depended on John not taking offence, because Sherlock was not inclined to sensitivity, nor did he wish to be.
He tried to think of what John had said that might cast some light on the situation.
"I regretted never telling you how much you mean to me".
His heart skipped a beat, and a warmth spread in his chest. The words touched him - but also left him puzzled. Why would John feel the need to tell me? Oh, right, John had said something about his "death" and how he'd felt lost... Sherlock swallowed. This wasn't news to him; they'd talked about it, but it was still a painful thought. However, he could not understand why his supposed death had anything to do with his friend's need to be explicit, so he chucked it up to sentiment.
"I regretted never telling you how much you mean to me".Sherlock cast another furtive glance at the quiet doctor while they kept striding towards John's and Mary's flat. He needed to tell me, but why? It's obvious, isn't it? Or was it? Sentiment had never been his area of expertise. But if John had found it necessary to state the obvious... did he want him to do the same?
Meanwhile, John was again filled with regret. He had failed getting through to his friend about how much this meant to him.
They reached the flat in silence, and John unlocked it for them both to walk in. It was late, and he knew Mary had gone to sleep.
As he slumped on the sofa, he wrestled with an idea in his mind. Sherlock had settled down in an armchair, fingers steepled under his chin in his usual thinking-position. John was surprised, though, to find an almost worried look on his face.
Pursing his lips, he went to grab a pen and a piece of paper and then settled back down in the sofa. Immediately, he started writing. He had never forgotten the words.
"You told me once that you weren't a hero. There were times I didn't even think you were human, but let me tell you this: You were the best man and the most human human being I've ever known, and no one will ever convince me that you told me a lie.
I was so alone, and I owe you so much".
"What are you writing?" the voice came quietly from a few feet away.
His heart pounding in his chest, John reached over, handing Sherlock the small slip. Before he let go of it, he said: "These were the words I spoke to you - I mean your grave - when I first visited it after your funeral".
The words were so seriously spoken, and adding that to the solemn and very painful expression on John's face, Sherlock's heartrate began to speed up. He took the slip from John's hand and started reading with some apprehension.
I remember that... John was so disappointed in me that day. He smiled briefly as he read, "There were times I didn't even think you were human". Then came those unbelievable words again. Best man... most human human being... and then... Sherlock looked up at John. Loyal, faithful, trustworthy John. His heart swelled in a way he'd only experienced one before - the day he had seen John again after three years in hiatus.
He swallowed a lump in his throat and continued reading.
"I was so alone, and I owe you so much". He might as well not have swallowed that lump, because a new one just settled there anyway. Instantly, he felt that those words were his own. And then his vision got blurry. Damn it! He tried to clear his throat.
The change in his friend's expression did not, however, pass by John's attention. Astounded, he watched those greyish blue eyes grow moist. John remained quiet, waiting patiently for Sherlock to recover from what he would surely be experiencing as a defect.
When he felt he had regained some control, Sherlock looked up at John. Carefully, he folded the little slip and rose from his chair. "Stand up", he ordered his friend quietly.
John looked up at him quizzically, but then got to his feet. As soon as he was there, he was envoloped in two long arms.He was shocked, but instinctively he brought his own arms up and hugged back.
"Thank you", Sherlock's low voice resounded in the silence. "For everything".
John smiled.