Sherlock had always been the one who was brave. He was the one who pulled John along when they were chasing a killer, but now John did the pulling. He had to reassure his mind that it was right.
The cabbie pulled up to Scotland Yard and before he even stopped John was running to the front door. He barged in the door with a look that said "Captain" more than "Detective-in-training". Immediately everyone knew that he had important business on his mind, Donovan didn't pull her usual "Hello Little-Freak." before she would nod in respect for Sherlock and Anderson didn't speak either for he knew that he would "lower the IQ of the entire street". John walked to the very back and knocked on the door that had "D.I. LESTRADE" written on a plaque.
"Come in!" shouted Lestrade from the inside of the office. John turned the knob swiftly and silently before he opened the door and walked in. Lestrade motioned for him to sit down but he kept a firm military position. Greg (Lestrade) took this as a sign that John had an important conversation worked out in his head. "Lestrade, there's something important that I need to tell you. It will make me sound crazy but I think that I'm right about it," John said his sentence as Sherlock would, fast, baritone, and just a tad breathy. Lestrade processed this drawn out sentence as though it were an intense mathematical theory. He smiled "Well spit it out then!" he said jokingly. John leaned in to Lestrade's ear and whispered to him. When he finished Lestrade, almost breathlessly, asked, "Are you sure?" This is why John came to Lestrade, he would take John seriously even when his thoughts were seemingly crazy. John nodded and Lestrade fell back in his chair, thinking again. John tried to think like Sherlock, he memorized Lestrade's perplexed face relevantly quickly, taking in the perimeter of each curve and the circumference of each circular dimple. When Lestrade had finished thinking, it felt like it had been ages but really it was only minutes, John spoke again, rather softly. " Thank you for your time Greg. I couldn't talk to anyone else. I normally come to Sherlock with things like this but that's... complicated.
As John left Scotland Yard a great burden lifted from his shoulders. He knew that he could really trust Lestrade, always. He called a near cab and got in. "221B Baker St. please," he told the cabbie, resting on the soft leather seats. The warm cab helped his thinking and by the time he got home he had at least 8 theories in his head about how Sherlock had did it. He recalled what he told Lestrade.
'I think Sherlock is alive.'
John entered the flat and couldn't help but to cry. Sherlock's microscope rested on the desk where he had left it, his extra purple shirt was strewn across a chair, his chair. John hesitated but he finally decided towards it, he moved the purple shirt and sat down in Sherlock's chair. Almost immediately John's heart began beating fast again. It got faster and faster until it reached it's climax when John felt the warm hand on his shoulder. The hand swept down his back and removed itself. The soft click of loafers could be heard behind him. John closed his eyes and when he opened them, there he was. Clad in his black suit with that oh-so-tight purple shirt of his. The black trench coat hung at his shins for he had out grown that coat a year ago. His deep brown curls were placed perfectly in a halo around his head and his eyes, oh those eyes, the blue was as vibrant as it was on the day they met with those brilliant sparkling drops of silver invading his chance at being human with alien beauty. Yes, he was beautiful, that sociopath, John's sociopath. He smiled.
"That's my seat."
