A/N: Second update in just as many days! Unfortunately, I wouldn't get too used to it. I'm hoping the other chapters will be longer, and I do attend school full time which really leaves me with less writing time than I'd like to have. However, I'll try my best to upload frequently! I hope you enjoy~


Sherlock paced impatiently. It was only eleven and yet he was already having second thoughts about texting John. He hadn't received a reply back, and he had a strong feeling John wouldn't show up. The man hadn't texted back, nor had he called. Sherlock wasn't even sure that John had received the message, but he would wait all the same. Just in case.

Mrs. Hadson came into the room, slowly entering through the kitchen. "Oh, Sherlock. Stop pacing, will you? I can hear it all the way downstairs."

Sherlock simply hummed in reply, moving back towards the couch and grabbing his violin. He plucked a few of the strings, but felt no urge to play. He just needed to keep himself busy somehow.

"Sherlock I'm sure he'll come, stop fussing about and just relax."

"Mrs. Hadson if I am not sure he's going to show up, there is no way you can be sure." He took a deep breath, "So if you could please just leave me alone until his expected arrival time, it would be greatly appreciated."

"Now, Sherlock. You know I'm only trying to help. Not right seeing you worrying like this about—"

"Mrs. Hadson," Sherlock yelled. The small woman took a step back, her eyes flying wide. Sherlock's outbursts had become more frequent as of late, likely because of his anxiousness upon seeing his old friend—even if he would never admit to it. "Leave."

Just before Mrs. Hadson could reply, the doorbell rang. Sherlock glanced down at his watch. It was still forty-five minutes before he was expecting John. It was unlikely that it would be the shorter man, but not impossible. Sherlock sat down in his chair, pulling his violin back out and pretending to ignore the look of annoyance Mrs. Hadson was currently giving him.

"Oh, fine. Be stubborn, then. I don't understand you boys, I really don't." She headed back down the stairs. Sherlock listened closely for the click of the knob being turned. Upon hearing Mrs. Hadson's excitement, he knew that John had in fact decided to show up. He ignored the minor skip in his heartbeat, instead choosing to focus on plucking aimlessly at the strings of his violin. He listened for the footsteps on the staircase. Only one set, and much to heavy for Mrs. Hadson. John Watson was about to entire flat 221b Baker Street for the first time since Sherlock's death. Really rather dramatic, Sherlock had to admit.

"John, you came. Good," Sherlock didn't look up, he saw no need to. A few months had passed, yes, but things could easily return to how they had been before. No need to change his habits now. "I've got a triple homicide on my hands, and could definitely use the help of an army doctor."

"Sherlock." His name sounded different than usual. Much too dark. Sherlock looked up, trying to keep himself indifferent even as he saw the aging in John's face, obviously caused from stress. Stress and mourning.

"Yes, John? What is it?" Sherlock stood, "And can it wait? I have a lot to fill you in on."

"No, no I don't think it can."

Sherlock sighed, "Fine, what?"

"You may want to put your violin down?"

Oh. Oh he got it now. John was planning to take some anger out. Of course, Sherlock had almost forgotten; Sentiment. People and their feelings could get so annoying. Regardless, he placed his violin back on the couch. "Now, John. Do you really think this is nec—" Sherlock grunted as John's fist hit his stomach. The wind was knocked out of him, and he stumbled back, grabbing helplessly onto the back of the chair and struggling for air. That one had definitely hurt.

"John—" Sherlock wheezed, "If you would—if you—minute to explain—" Another fist flew his way. He managed to move, but not enough to avoid the blow completely as John's hand collided with his cheek. Mrs. Hadson had appeared in the doorway yet again, yelling and complaining about the fighting happening in her flat.

John didn't stop though, oh no. He moved to where Sherlock was still supporting himself and grabbed a handful of the man's shirt, pushing him back until he was pressed against the fireplace. The skull was visible out of the corner of Sherlock's eye, and he was really starting to wish he had just stuck with it.

"How dare you!" Shouted John, "You—you jump off a building, making everyone think you're dead—there was a body, Sherlock!—and then you text me out of the blue months later expecting what? That I'd just drop everything to come follow you around like a lost puppy again?"

"John, I don't think you quite understand."

"What is there to understand, Sherlock?" John asked impatiently. Despite his shorter build, he was still rather intimidating. "You faked your death and didn't think to tell anyone, then out of no where you decide that things can be just as they were before."

"John—"

"Do you know what kind of grief you caused? Mrs. Hadson, Lestrade… me!" John sighed, "We wouldn't have cared if you had done it Sherlock, but you lied to us!"

"John!" Sherlock shouted, pushing back for the first time and catching him off balance. "I did what I had to do to stop Moriarty and to keep you all safe. I knew what was going on, I always knew. Moriarty wasn't ever ahead of me, but I had to have him believe he was. I had to convince you he was right or you all would've died."

"And why could we still not know at your funeral, or a month after that?"

"It was too risky. I couldn't assure your safety, nor could I assure my own." Sherlock brushed himself off, side-stepping John and making his way over to Mrs. Hadson. He lightly placed a hand on her arm, giving her a reassuring smile. "It's fine now, you can go back downstairs."

"No fighting, boys. Not in my flat." She told them once more. Sherlock closed the door behind her before spinning to face John again.

"I am sorry, John, but you must understand that I thought of every possibility. If I could've told you sooner, I would have."

John fell into the closest chair, dropping his head into his hands and rubbing at his eyes. "Why did you tell me at all, Sherlock? After all this time, why bother?"

"Who else is tolerant enough to be my flatmate?"

"I can't just come back here, Sherlock." John shook his head, "I have a practice now, a girlfriend. A steady girlfriend. Do you really expect me to leave all that behind?"

"Your limp is back."

"What?"

"Your limp," Sherlock pointed out, "The psychosomatic limp you had. It only returns when you're bored, unhappy with the events of your life. Hence psychosomatic."

"What does that matter, Sherlock?"

"You miss it. You miss the crimes, the running, the danger." He smirked, "Admit it, John, you miss it."

"Even if that's true, I can't just leave my flat and come live here. What am I supposed to tell Kate?"

"Bring her with you."

"Really Sherlock?" John sighed, "Do you really think just anyone would be okay with finding a foot in the shower?"

"Tell her something's come up." Sherlock waved his hand, "Business emergency, sick family, long lost friendship reunion. Come back for a week, that's all I ask. Just until I solve this case."

"You want me to lie to my girlfriend?"

"Oh people do it all the time, John. Don't act like it's a big deal."

"I don't, Sherlock."

"Fine!" He rubbed his temples in frustration, "Tell her the truth then, it's only a week. I think she can live without you for that long."

"What if I don't want to come back?"

"As I said, you miss the danger. The thrill of it, John, you need it."

"Maybe I just don't want to be around you." John stood again, "I know you don't have emotions, Sherlock, but the rest of us do."

"Oh don't be so sentimental."

"Goodbye, Sherlock." John headed for the door, and Sherlock panicked. This was not how it was supposed to go.

"I'm going to the crime scene tomorrow, John. If you change your mind meet me at Big Ben at nine. I'll wait for you regardless of your decision, so just don't bother answering. Think about it for a bit."

John didn't answer, instead simply walking away. Sherlock had no idea if he would show up tomorrow. However, he would wait. He would always wait for John.