Sentiment is a Chemical Defect
Being dead was such a hassle.
Or should he say, faking being dead was such a hassle. It was quite bothersome, but necessary all the same. If he wanted ensure the safety of the closest things he had to friends, he had to lay low. Low in a way that means everyone thinks you're six feet under. But if it meant snipers weren't pointed at Lestrade or Ms. Hudson, so be it. And especially John.
John, who was his only friend. John, who believed in him through and through even as he lied through his teeth, insisting that he, Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, was a fraud. A scam, a hoax, a ruse, a deception, all of the words the media used to describe him. The media always blew things out of proportion. If Scotland Yard was thinking logically, they would've realized that he couldn't have been a fraud and stayed silent. But instead they went for the irrational route and it resulted in his public image falling to ruin. Not that he minded, although if he did ever resurface, it would make it hard to get cases. John cared, though. He cared a lot about what people thought. No idea why, but he must be suffering now as he was stubborn with his belief in Sherlock even as people mocked him.
Sherlock knew. He'd been keeping up with John's activity. Not in a stalker way, although he could be quite good at that if he wanted to be. He just observed John at various points in the day. Surprisingly, John was still living at 221B Baker Street; even though Sherlock had figured the memories would've been too much. He supposed Ms. Hudson would've been comforting for John to lean on, with her undeniable housekeeper tendencies and grandmotherly nature. From observation, however, John was at the flat almost always. Ms. Hudson was even the one who went out to get the milk. Basically the only times John went out either to see his therapist or to go to a local bar to mope about.
Not that Sherlock followed him to these places or anything.
Really, he didn't. He allowed John enough privacy to do these things. He only followed John as he walked the streets aimlessly. That was another surprising thing. John didn't do any sleuthing of his own. He supposed that did make sense, as that would've also provided bad memories, but the thrill of solving cases would outweigh that, wouldn't it?
He wondered whether Mycroft was looking out for John.
Never a fan of his brother, Sherlock did admit (secretly) that he could be of assistance in some cases. Perhaps Mycroft wouldn't be interacting with John, as Mycroft knew that Sherlock was alive. He would probably be unable to talk to John without revealing guilt. So severing all apparent connections with John was wise. Maybe that was also why Molly didn't seem to be trying to visit John.
Sherlock himself had stayed at Molly's flat once, several months after the incident. He had been nearly certain that Molly was not a target of Moriarty's snipers. The snipers probably were not still hanging around after all this time, but they could still be suspect of Sherlock's survival. Molly had updated him on things, mostly trivial facts like gossip at St Bart's, but she also revealed the few things she knew about John's recent activity. Of course, Sherlock had known already, but it was good to humor her.
Sherlock figured that John went to his therapist to talk about John's renewed trauma—mainly, trauma over the 'death' of his best friend. It filled Sherlock to the brim with remorse, but he knew that his actions that afternoon were essential in protecting John and the others. Even when he did come back, he needed to become detached. His tendency towards emotion lately is what allowed Moriarty to expose his weakness. It was possible, very easy in fact, for Moriarty to try and burn the heart out of him. He couldn't have friends. He didn't have friends, except for John. And if John wasn't safe because of him, could he sacrifice that friendship? Would it be possible to be alone again? Sherlock Holmes, the high-functioning sociopathic loner.
Could the team of Holmes and Watson be broken up? Clearly, the whole death thing had broken it up, but, if he revealed himself as fully alive, could he really confront John and just break their friendship? John would never allow it. And the emotional part of Sherlock's brain that was steadily increasing in strength would never allow it either. So the only solution was to stay in hiding, for now, until he could figure out a way to deal with this. After all, if Moriarty's snipers didn't care about him anymore, he could easily just come out of hiding. He didn't need to worry about becoming more human. He could still be with the people closest to him without worrying about a bullet going through their head.
He could ignore the fact Moriarty could still easily haunt him in death.
A/N: Sorry it's short, hope you like it! I like this story, and will try to update it, but as this month is NaNoWriMo I'm kind of busy with another project. I'll work on this on the side, though. :) Review!