Part two, once again looked over by my friend and within believable limits.
I'd appreciate any feedback on the story or my writing style.
John heads back to the flat, not hurrying, but not dawdling either since it started to drizzle on his way back. It isn't worth hailing a cab and he knows being out in the rain a little longer is worth it as he turns onto Baker Street. He jogs up the stairs, unlocks the door, steps inside, and heads up to the flat. As usual, it's quiet and empty of any consulting detectives, but some days when John comes back he almost expects to be Sherlock doing something or other like he hasn't been gone for two years.
He shakes his head, trying to shake off the fanciful thoughts, Sherlock is dead after all and wishing won't bring him back. John takes a shower, which helps him relax some of his sore muscles as he cleans off anything he could have picked up at the clinic. When he gets done and dries off he pauses, hearing a sad, apologetic, altogether unfamiliar melody coming from the direction of the living area. John frowns, he isn't tired enough to be hallucinating this bad, so someone must be in the flat. He quickly pulls his clothes back on and slips out of the bathroom, wishing he had some sort of weapon. If it is who John thinks it is, John could be forgiven for suspecting otherwise. If it isn't well, then he would probably be thanking himself for his thoughtfulness later.
However, it seems John didn't have to worry because when he steps into the living area he immediately notices why there's a disturbance; there, sitting on the arm of the chair, playing the violin as if he'd never left, is-
"Sherlock"
Ten minutes prior, at Mycroft's:
The power flicks off and Mycroft frowns as the security footage cuts out with the power, leaving his laptop screen blank though it's on. He waits a few seconds for one of the other grids or the back up generator to pick up, but nothing does. So unless power to the entire city got cut, someone has sabotaged his office. "Steady" he mutters to the few agents in the room, listening for anything that would tell him what's happening. His laptop gets snapped shut as the lights come on and everyone in the room has a gun pointed at the woman standing in front of his desk. "At ease" Mycroft orders, narrowing his eyes "What do you think you're doing, Gambler?"
The agents holster their guns and return to their duties as the Gambler speaks "Boss man says you need to pull all surveillance on Baker Street until tomorrow" she says simply. "I've already convinced all the on-sights to stand down but I can't cut the cameras."
Mycroft raises a brow "You only take orders from me and-"
"The Detective" she answers, nodding. Mycroft doesn't have to ask who she means, the Gambler prefers using code names when discussing business.
"Sherlock's back and he didn't say anything?" Mycroft isn't so much surprised as annoyed, of course his little brother would pull something like this after all he'd done to help Sherlock fake his death. This explains why Sherlock hadn't asked Mycroft to have an agent to watch John on the streets, he'd left it to their adopted sister.
"This is for you" the Gambler hands Mycroft a slip of paper, looking rather smug. Mycroft snatches it out of her hand and opens it to see Sherlock's distinctive scrawl:
Pull your surveillance before I decide to deal with it myself and pay the Gambler for your bet, John admitted it first - SH
"That...how..." Mycroft stares at the piece of paper in shock.
The Gambler laughs "I love betting against my brothers, oh and thanks for the tip" she points to Mycroft's, borrowed, shirt. "I'll have to collect my earnings from Sherlock tomorrow. I'm surprised Mycroft, Sherlock was utterly convinced you'd top more." Mycroft shoots the woman a cold look which she laughs off as she saunters out of the room, typing on her mobile. He sighs and opens his laptop, cutting the video feed from Baker Street. Just this once, he'll let his little brother have some privacy.
Back at Baker Street:
John and Sherlock spent the time after John said his name staring at each other, Sherlock never stops playing the violin, even when they're interrupted. Sherlock's mobile buzzes on the table, but Sherlock ignores it, continuing with the apologetic tune John had undoubtedly heard while he was cleaning up. Out of his old habit, probably from when Sherlock would lock himself in his room, John picks it up and checks the message.
Clear - G
"Clear?" John inquires, dumbfounded.
"No surveillance" Sherlock clarifies, keeping his eyes on John so he can note every detail and change as John sets the mobile back down. Sherlock notices the subconscious shift in his playing to a much more delighted tune but decides to let it play. John looks thinner than Sherlock remembers and he can see a few grey hairs. Other than the obvious wear Sherlock's 'death' had caused, John seems to be caught between shocked, angry, and delighted at Sherlock's return.
He pauses in his playing, intent on switching back to the apologetic tune while he thought about what to say when John snatches the bow and violin out of his hands. Sherlock lets him, so the violin doesn't get damaged but John sets it down in the chair carefully, knowing very well how fond Sherlock is of his violin. "Two years and all you can do is just sit there playing the violin?" John asks quietly.
"I find myself rather...unskilled in ways to apologize" Sherlock answers almost (he hates to admit it) hesitantly.
John smiles slightly at that, a smile Sherlock hadn't realized how much he missed, but it doesn't last long. "Where were you, why didn't you say something?" John demands.
Facts, facts Sherlock can work with and they roll off his tongue with ease. "The bulk of the past two years I have been dealing with the remainder of Moriarty's network so it would be safe for me to return."
"To the cases and your work" John guesses, becoming rather subdued.
"To you, actually" Sherlock corrects, making John snap to attention, eyes wide with what could be disbelief.
There's a long pause as Sherlock tries, unsuccessfully, to get a better read on John while John stares at Sherlock, confused. "...What?" John says eventually.
"If I hadn't have jumped they would have killed you, John. You, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade but it was you I was truly worried about. That is the reason I faked my death, the reason I spent those two long years away, and, sadly, the reason I had Mycroft keep an eye on you." John starts to protest but Sherlock interrupts him before John decides to start shouting. "It pained me to do so but if any of Moriarty's network escaped me and managed to kill you I..." Sherlock longs to finish that sentence in the way he is thinking: I would have made them suffer for taking you away and then followed you but decides to amend his statement "wouldn't have been able to live with myself." It isn't lying, but it isn't the whole truth either, for now it would work.
John notices his hesitation but decides not to pry, for which Sherlock is rather grateful. The silence that follows is more companionable and Sherlock finds himself itching to do something, anything, preferably something that involves John but restrains himself. He notices John pale about one thing or another but finds himself unable to find that last hint that will tell him what exactly John's worried about. "Is there something you're concerned about?" He asks after an (he suppresses a shudder) unsuccessful deduction.
"Mycroft" John groans "I may have uh...said a few things he might have heard" he blushes. Sherlock finds his mask slipping as a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth but manages to stop it.
"Something like this perhaps?" Sherlock reaches into his coat, pulling out a dated envelop. John takes one look at it and pales, Sherlock notices, when John sees the date. "Mycroft didn't see this and only one person know what's on here besides you and I. They've agreed to keep their mouth shut." Sherlock says softly, trying to sound reassuring and hands it to John. "I don't need it anymore, I have every word filed away."
John manages to go even redder as he accepts the envelope "Of course you do." He hesitates and looks from Sherlock, to the envelope, and back to Sherlock. "So...it doesn't bother you at all?"
Sherlock shakes his head "No, I don't believe something as...encompasing as sexuality should be defined by strict terms."
"Says the man who told me he's married to his work" John smirks.
"For the past two years, you were part of that work, John" Sherlock points out. John stills, eyes widening in a mixture of disbelief and recognition as there's a knock on the door. Sherlock glances in the doors direction and back at John "Mrs Hudson" he says lowly, he had heard her coming up the steps after all.
"Come in" John calls, not taking his eyes off Sherlock. He seems reluctant to let Sherlock out of his sight and Sherlock can hardly blame him, especially when considering what Sherlock had just told John. Sherlock turns to look at Mrs. Hudson as she stops, dropping her tea tray in shock. The china shatters though Mrs. Hudson doesn't seem to notice other than the automatic step back to avoid glass cutting her foot. She steps around the shattered china and marches over to Sherlock, landing a solid punch to his jaw.
Luckily he'd read the intent in her posture and turns his head as her fist lands, making the blow hurt less. "It's good to see you too Mrs. Hudson" Sherlock admits as he turns his head back towards his landlady. She's trembling and pulls him into a hug as she starts to sob. He lets the older woman cry for several minutes before gently trying to pry her off. John had set about cleaning up the mess while waiting for Mrs. Hudson to collect herself.
"Where have you been?" She asks when she finally steps back. Mrs. Hudson still appears to be shaken but unlike John, she doesn't seem as physically affected by Sherlock's absence.
"Working so I could come back and enjoy your biscuits and tea" Sherlock offers a half-smile.
Mrs. Hudson smiles "It's good to have you back, but I'm not your housekeeper." She turns towards John, accepting the tea tray back with what could be salvaged "Thank you dear."
"I'm going to go get some groceries" John offers. "Need anything Sherlock?"
"Tea would be nice" Sherlock comments and John shoots him a look before he grabs his coat and exits the flat. There is a level of intensity in that look Sherlock is unfamiliar with and he decides to contemplate it later.
Mrs. Hudson watches him go "Well, I'm going to head back down, you need to make sure that boy eats properly."
"He's usually the one telling me I need to eat" Sherlock points out, prompting a chuckle from Mrs. Hudson.
"Sometimes the caretaker needs to be taken care of too" she points out as she leaves. Sherlock shakes his head slightly as he picks up his violin again. He and John will need to talk later, but it would have to wait for now. Sherlock starts to play a piece that doesn't require much thought while he contemplates Mrs. Hudson's words. John had been his caretaker in every sense of the word; treating wounds Sherlock obtained, making sure to grab his favorite kind of tea, and picking up around the flat even if most of the clutter is Sherlock's.
What would be a good way to pay John back? Dinner, he decides, would be a good start since John hasn't been eating well and Mrs. Hudson had pointed it out. Sherlock briefly considers cooking but scraps the idea, the flat is clearly empty of food, it would take a while for Sherlock to find a good recipe in his Mind Palace (there are a few he has stored), and John is already getting groceries. He could go get something and bring it back to the flat, but that doesn't seem quite right either. Not to mention if John returned before Sherlock the doctor may panic. That just leaves dinner out.
Angelo's would be good but Sherlock would rather avoid causing a scene. His eyes flicker to his mobile and he stops playing, placing the violin back in its case. After picking up his mobile, Sherlock types a quick message and sends it.
Could you stop by Angelo's and let them know John and I are coming? - SH
Sherlock isn't waiting for more than a few moments before he gets a reply.
No problem, you won't even owe me - G
Satisfied with his arrangement, Sherlock settles down in his chair and waits patiently for John's return.