Second Chapter is up sooner than I thought it would be. I had a writing streak. Third chapter should be finished in the next couple days. Self edited, sorry for any mistakes. Please R&R, as well as follow if you want more it will help encourage me to write more. :) Have fun reading...
Last time on 'Technically, it did kill me'
"Alright, deary, John will be home soon. Don't scare him too much. He's pretty unstable at the moment," Mrs. Hudson chided as she moved aside so that Sherlock could enter the house.
"Can you help me make sure there isn't anything too hard that he can throw at me, Mrs. Hudson?" Sherlock chuckled as they walked up to his old kitchen still full of his things that John hadn't brought himself to throw out.
- Now on 'Technically, it did kill me' -
"Would you like some tea, dear?" Mrs. Hudson asked as she wandered around the kitchen.
"Yes, please. Oh good, John didn't throw out any of my possessions! I was dreading having to actually go to the shops and buy new things," Sherlock stated as he looked around his old room, a layer of dust over almost everything bar the few items that looked as though they were picked up regularly.
"I don't think he was thinking of your comfort when he left those things in there, Sherlock! I could hear him going into your room sometimes, he missed you terribly. At first he barely ever came back to the apartment, and then he would only leave for work. I was getting very worried, but he seems to have been getting better. He goes out to see that nice Greg boy for cases sometimes, saying things to me like 'it's what Sherlock would have wanted'. He hasn't been the same since," Mrs. Hudson informed Sherlock as she placed the tea on the table in front of the arm chair that Sherlock had sat down on.
Sherlock wiped his hand down the arm of the chair, pushing the dust onto the floor. He noticed the table had stains on it where there had been tea spilt by shaking hands. With the amount of dust on the chair he doubted anyone had sat on it for months, maybe even the whole year that he had been away. That was when he remembered again that John was a man of sentiment; he must have laid out tea for Sherlock even after Sherlock's 'death', part of him still refusing to believe that Sherlock was gone. Sherlock sighed as he sipped his tea and looked at Mrs. Hudson, she looked basically the same as the last time he had seen her, a few more wrinkles maybe. Then a memory came up in his mind without his permission, one of the last time he had seen Mrs. Hudson and John – it wasn't the day of his fall it was a months after that. He had come back to see them one last time and pick up a couple of his possessions before leaving the country.
The curtain twitched on the second story window and Sherlock saw John's head poking out of the small gap he had created.
John searched the street, as he did almost every night, for a glimpse of his best friend that was never coming. He gasped a little as he saw a face turn around the end of the street. John blinked to make sure he hadn't imagined it, but it was gone leaving John to wonder what his subconscious was telling him.
"Damn, he saw me!" Sherlock whispered to himself as he turned back around the corner. He slid down the wall and waited another ten minutes before he knew that John had exited the house to go to the pub with Lestrade as he had been doing a lot in the past week.
Sherlock sighed, at least it was better than John staying out till all hours, avoiding going home except when it was necessary for him to sleep. He stepped out from behind the wall and ran to the door of 221B Baker Street. Knowing that Mrs. Hudson would be well and truly asleep by now he put his key into the lock and then turned it. Sherlock made sure he didn't make too much noise as he strode up the stairs to his old apartment, he opened the door and then looked upon the flat still full of his things and experiments.
"I hope John will get rid of everything that will become mouldy eventually," Sherlock whispered to himself again as he walked around the flat.
He picked up a couple possessions that John wouldn't notice missing and then went to his room, picked up a jacket, shirt and trousers and then walked back out of the flat.
He shut the door and then went back downstairs. He decided against going into Mrs. Hudson's flat for the pure fact that if it was one of Mrs. Hudson's more restless nights he may be caught and forced to explain what had happened which would just put himself and her in more danger.
The lock clicked as he locked it and then went back to his spot behind the wall, waiting till John came home later that night just to make sure that his best and only friend was alright.
"Sherlock? Sherlock! It's not polite to tune people out when they haven't seen you in a year!" Mrs. Hudson said as she took the cup from Sherlock that he had emptied over the past five minutes.
"Sorry, Mrs. Hudson. I was just thinking over the last time I had seen you and John," Sherlock said, disturbed by his own inability to control his thoughts.
"That's alright, dear. But remember, while I may not want to ask any questions about why you did what you did, John definitely will," she responded when she had come back into the living room.
"I know," Sherlock drawled, "but whether he asks questions or not, I still cannot tell him what happened, it will only endanger both of us!"
"Yes, of course Sherlock."
Suddenly there was the sound of something falling downstairs followed by a muttered swear word.
"John's home. Be nice, now," the landlady said as she moved off down to her own room before John had a chance to see her.
"I'm back!" John half yelled up the stairs.
"I realised, dear. Now be careful when you get into your apartment!" Mrs. Hudson replied.
John wondered what the warning was all about as he climbed the stairs. He opened the door and walked into the empty flat, looking around and seeing everything in it's usual spot. He walked into the kitchen and put a bag on the counter, then stopped. He turned around slowly, thinking over what he thought he had just seen.
He blinked his eyes a couple times as they came to rest again on the figure hunched over Sherlock's arm chair in his living room. The ice blue eyes looked up at him from under the curly mop of hair.
Slowly John walked over to the arm chair with his hand out in front of him, this wasn't the first time his mind had imagined Sherlock sitting in that chair but it was certainly the only time the image had stayed there so long.
He gasped as his fingers hit cloth covered flesh and then stumbled back.
"Oh, God. Sher-Sherlock?" John asked not believing his own sense of touch.
"Yes, John?" Sherlock smiled at 'his' blogger.
"Sherlock!" John said, his voice full of relief and curiosity.
Sherlock just smiled yet again in response as his old flatmate's face cycled through emotions; confused, intrigued, relieved, wonder, anger.
'Wait? Anger?' Sherlock thought to himself. He had expected everything else except the anger.
John advanced on Sherlock with a flame in his eyes, his hands were balled into fists and his face was flushed angrily.
"What's wrong, John?" Sherlock asked, confused for once.
"You know bloody hell what's wrong! You fell! You died! You left me!" John yelled as he grabbed the front of Sherlock's shirt, pulling him into a standing position.