John gasped. He grabbed the door to steady himself: in the heat of the moment, he'd forgotten to pick up his cane.
'Sherlock?' he breathed. 'What-what the hell-?'
Sherlock stepped forward into the flat. He looked the same as when John had last seen him alive: dark trenchcoat with the collar turned up, a blue scarf wrapped around his neck.
'John-John, I-'
'Is this some - sick joke?' choked John.
Sherlock shook his head in silence.
'But-but you were dead, Sherlock,' said John, and he started to feel anger overwhelming his shock. 'You - were - DEAD! What did you think you were DOING? I thought I'd lost you - these months have been ABSOLUTE HELL FOR ME, SHERLOCK! AND YOU DON'T GIVE A SHIT, DO YOU? NO, BECAUSE YOU'RE BLOODY SHERLOCK HOLMES AND ALL YOU CARE ABOUT IS YOUR DAMN INTELLIGENCE!'
The anger that had built up inside him over the past few months was now flooding out of him. John didn't care. All he wanted right now was for Sherlock to be in pain, the same pain he himself had suffered for the past few months.
Sherlock hadn't said a word while John was yelling at him. Now, he simply looked at him, fear – actual fear, in his eyes and he opened his mouth to speak.
'John, listen to me-'
'AND WHY SHOULD I?'
'Because you don't understand!'
'What?' John spoke quietly, all of a sudden: a warning sign. 'What did you say?'
Sherlock hesitated. 'I said you don't- you don't underst-'
He was cut off as John lunged for him, punching him hard on the side of his face. The force was enough to make Sherlock fall to the ground, and he gasped as he felt for the bruise that would soon be blossoming on his face.
As soon as he did it, John regretted hitting Sherlock. He sat down abruptly, not looking at him. The shock was coming back. What the hell was going on? Was this even real?
'John, please listen to me, please,' whispered Sherlock. John looked up and, startled, saw a single tear running down his face. The voice in his head was telling him to drop it, just let it go: Sherlock was hurting. Actually hurting. But something made him keep going: he wanted Sherlock to be in pain. He wanted him to hurt.
'What could you possibly say that could convince me that- that-?'
'Just listen, please, John,' Sherlock whispered. 'I did it to- to protect you-'
'What?' said John quietly. 'Protect me? Since when did making me suffer months of depression – the bloody dark ages – help protect me from anything?!' His voice was rising again, uncontrollably.
'He's gone… Moriarty's gone… I had to make sure you were safe. Please listen,' added Sherlock, as John started to interrupt. 'You saw it all, it was a mess, the press were being a nightmare, Moriarty- he had- there were gunmen- they were going to- I had to protect you.'
There was a silence after he had finished. John looked down at the ground again. What the hell was he meant to believe? He ran his hands over his head restlessly, thinking hard. Of course he was glad Sherlock was alive, but he just couldn't let go of the fact that he'd wasted months spent in depression, while clever little Sherlock had been off on his own, making everyone believe that he was dead. And John felt a fool, falling for a lie like that. He closed his eyes tightly and counted to ten in his head. Tried to think clearly. What he wanted more than anything was to forgive Sherlock, to understand that he was only trying to protect him. All he wanted, John admitted, was to hold him and tell him that everything was going to be okay. But he couldn't. He just couldn't. Not now.
John stood up suddenly, almost losing his balance as dizziness washed through him. Sherlock, having raised himself from the floor, grabbed his arm, holding him steady, concern flashing across his slate-grey eyes, his pale face.
'Are you alright, John? Are you okay?' There was panic in his voice. Strange, thought John.
'I need some fresh air,' muttered John, not looking at Sherlock in case he broke down completely. He turned away sharply, grabbing his coat from the door as he walked out of the flat.
'John!'
He didn't look back, hurrying down the stairs to the street below. Think. He needed to think.
