A/N: Sorry this is so late in being posted. It took me much longer to finish it than I expected and I'm not even sure it's finished. School got started up again and I had things to do and Shakespeare to read. Last weekend was fall break so I got a little time to wrap this up. I hope you enjoy the reactions of everyone to Sherlock being alive.
When John and Sherlock finally pulled away from each other, needing air and a rest from their awkward positions, Sherlock smiled blindingly up at his blogger. "The tea is getting cold, John."
"Oh shut it, you," the short man replied, smiling. He got up to get their tea and brought both mugs back to the coffee table. Sherlock stood up, stepped on and over the coffee table and sat down beside John on the sofa. They were close, thighs pressed tightly together and sipping their tea. Sherlock was curled slightly into John's warmth, breathing in the distinctive smell of his flatmate and best friend. "Your brother and our friends will be here soon."
"Then perhaps you should shower and dress. I will make some toast for us." John looked momentarily shocked before nodding and going to have his shower. When he'd finished and come back down the stairs in a fresh shirt and jeans, his friend was sitting at the kitchen table with two plates of toast and jam. Sitting down slowly, John looked mildly impressed at Sherlock's breakfast skills. "I am capable of rudimentary meals, John. There is no need to look so insultingly impressed."
John laughed. "Alright. I admit, you had to have survived by yourself somehow." He took a bite of toast, pleased to find that it was just the way he liked it. "So where did you go?" Sherlock looked shifty. "I want to know before Mycroft and Lestrade force you to talk about it."
Nodding slowly, Sherlock began his tale. They migrated to the sofa and John alternately rested a comforting hand on his flatmate's knee and laughed at his stories of incredible boredom. The whole story took a few hours; Sherlock is one of the most thorough story-tellers the world has ever known. By the time he was finished, it was nearly time to expect the assembly of concerned citizens.
"Help me get things ready for everyone to storm the flat," John said, leveraging himself up off the sofa. "But you're not getting out of telling me how you left all those notes."
"I wouldn't dream of it. You will get your answer, I promise you," Sherlock replied, getting up and helping to set up the sitting room. He brought the few chairs from the kitchen into the lounge and set them up beside the couch so John and Sherlock could face their friends from the armchairs. John was busy in the kitchen setting up a tea service for at least five people, but he had no way of telling just how many friends Mycroft and Greg had roped into this. What if Mrs Holmes was invited? Would they go so far as to invite Mary? "It's going to be fine, John."
The doctor smiled at his friend, relieved. "Thanks, Sherlock." The detective nodded and pulled a few more mugs down from the top shelf, just in case. John filled the kettle with water and they stood against the counter, waiting impatiently for their uninvited guests to arrive. At 12:30 there was a ring at the door and the sound of Mrs Hudson answering it right away.
"Oh, Inspector, I'm glad to see you," they could hear her saying from downstairs and the murmuring of two voices answered her.
"Lestrade and Donovan," Sherlock deduced quietly to John, who nodded in reply. Oddly, no one came upstairs yet. Knowing that at least part of the intervention force was downstairs waiting for the order to charge, but being stuck upstairs stewing was torture. John was nervously tapping his fingers against the countertop and Sherlock was fighting the urge to pace around the kitchen. Turning around quickly, John turned on the kettle and grabbed two tea bags, dropping them into the extra mugs.
"Tea?" Sherlock nodded and gave in to the desire to pace, though he was never more than two strides from John. A few moments later, a hot cup of tea was pressed into Sherlock's hands as he passed by. The taller man took a sip and smiled in delight. It was exactly the way he liked it. John leaned back against the counter again and sipped his tea calmly.
Downstairs, a phone pinged and Lestrade's voice drifted up to the open door of the flat. "He says to go up. He'll be here in five." Sherlock stepped out of the kitchen and closed the door leading from the stairs to the lounge. He sat in his armchair, sipping his tea and waiting. After a moment, they could hear footsteps on the stairs and John had started the kettle and taken the milk out of the fridge again.
Lestrade, Donovan and Mrs Hudson stepped through the open kitchen door from the stairs and found John standing there, obviously anticipating them. "Tea anyone?" All three of them nodded bewilderedly.
"Better fill them all John. Mycroft will be here soon," Lestrade advised, seeming a bit anxious about the whole affair. John did as instructed and picked up the tray, leading the way out to the sitting room. There he set it down on the coffee table and picked up his own mug, before retreating to his armchair. If Lestrade had seemed anxious before, he was positively freaking out now. He had gone white and was slumped on the sofa with his tea, staring. He'd only just noticed the occupant of the other armchair. Mrs Hudson was still fixing her tea and Donovan hadn't looked up yet. And Greg hadn't yet regained the use of his vocal chords. When Sally and Mrs Hudson finally did look up to see Sherlock sitting in his chair, sipping his tea like he'd never been gone, they could do little more than splutter and sit down firmly on the couch. John smiled awkwardly at them and waited for one of them to say something.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, Mycroft walked in through the kitchen before anyone had managed to find their voice. "I hope you all will excuse my slight tardiness. I was fetching Mummy from the manor and traffic returning to the city was horrendous," he explained, Mrs Holmes walking quietly and rigidly behind her elder son. "Sherlock," he said, slightly surprised, but much more controlled than anyone else's reaction. Even Mrs Holmes couldn't speak. "I hadn't expected you today."
"Then your incompetence has increased with your weight." John stifled a giggle and the tense atmosphere was broken. "Mummy?" he asked, voice a little small as their eyes met. It occurred to John then that Sherlock hadn't seen his mother in a very long time, more than the three years he'd been 'dead' and they'd been fighting the last time he'd seen her. Though, judging from any conversations between the Holmes brothers pertaining to their mother that John had overheard, he must care quite a lot about her. Sherlock stood quickly, setting his tea on the arm of his chair, and crossed the room to hug his mother. It was a rare moment of affection that even Mycroft couldn't bring himself to interrupt.
"I'm so pleased to see you Sherlock," she said as he pulled back. Her words couldn't do justice to the love shining in her face. The youngest Holmes guided his mother to one of the kitchen chairs and smiled at her before returning to his seat. Every movement was the picture of grace and despite the audience, not a second of it felt awkward.
As soon as Sherlock was seated, Greg seemed to find his voice. "Alright, I think we deserve some sort of explanation, but I don't know which one of you needs to give it." John and Sherlock glanced at each other, their wordless communication unhampered by the years apart. "How long have you known John?"
"I never really knew for sure. I've been finding paper cranes since about three months after the fall. I got one every day with a note inside from Sherlock. At first I just wanted to believe it because it was better than believing he was dead and then I didn't want to believe it because I didn't want to be let down, but I've believed that it was really him for a while now. I came down here this morning and he was sitting in his chair waiting for me to notice him. I swear it was the first time I've seen him in three years." Greg nodded and looked at Sherlock imploringly.
Rolling his eyes, Sherlock added his own side of the story, "Obviously I didn't die when I fell. Moriarty was dead, but his operation didn't necessarily need him to wreak havoc. His second in command, Sebastian Moran, was still at large and he had a grudge against anyone who contributed to the downfall of his boss and people I care about would have been hurt if I didn't jump. So, I've spent the last three years tracking down and disposing of Moran and dismantling Moriarty's criminal network. Thankfully, most of my work could be done from London so I was able to maintain surveillance on those of you who could have been targets."
Sally raised a sceptical eyebrow, "You left paper cranes? What a thousand of them?" Then she stopped for a second. "Wait, you kept us under surveillance?"
Sherlock scoffed. "Don't flatter yourself Donovan. You were not a target. And no doubt my brother has had you under surveillance for several years."
"The cranes Sherlock," John prompted. He was tired of his friends looking at him like he was crazy.
"Yes, I'm getting to that, John," Sherlock replied. "I did leave one thousand paper cranes in various places for John, beginning one thousand and one days ago. I kept a watchful eye on John and planted listening devices in both the skull and on my headstone."
Mrs Hudson seemed to be catching on and regaining her composure after seeing that Sherlock was not, in fact, dead. "So those were the messages you were always passing on, John."
The doctor nodded. "Yes, he sent me a lot of messages to pass along. You've all gotten them at one point or another."
"So where are these mysterious cranes?" Mycroft asked, deciding to finally contribute to the conversation.
John looked sheepish for a moment, before standing up and walking to the door to Sherlock's bedroom. Once he opened it, large strands of cranes could be seen lying across the detective's unused bed. "I needed to keep them somewhere out of sight. Last place anyone would want to look." Then he closed the door and walked back to his chair.
"It seems plain to me that this entire ordeal is unfounded. Dr Watson has every right to not move past Sherlock's death, seeing as he is not dead. So if you don't mind, I believe now would be the time for us to make arrangements to get reacquainted with my son and then get out of his hair. I believe he and John have much catching up to do," Mrs Holmes said, almost scolding the other members of the intervention. She stood up, placing her mug on the tray and crossed the room to where John and Sherlock were sitting. Both of them had stood up to see her off. She shook John's hand warmly, "Dr Watson." Then she moved to hug her youngest son again. "I trust you both will be able to come to lunch at the manor on Thursday." Sherlock nodded. "Good," she replied, smiling. "Mycroft, say goodbye to your brother. The car is waiting downstairs."
Pretending not to huff, Mycroft stood and nodded to both of them. "I shall be keeping an eye on both of you. And I will send the car around on Thursday." John and Sherlock nodded back at him. Then the rest of the Holmes family left the flat and could be heard walking calmly down the stairs and out onto the pavement.
Lestrade stood next, recognizing his cue to leave and take Sally with him. "John," he said, sticking out a hand to shake and pulling the doctor in to clap him on the back. "You have a patience of a saint. I wouldn't have been able to wait that long. But I think it's about time we left, too." John smiled back at his friend. Greg turned to give Sherlock the same farewell and the detective actually accepted the semi-hug. "I'll call you if any interesting cases turn up. You've probably been bored out of your mind."
"You have no idea," Sherlock replied, much to Lestrade's amusement.
Donovan smiled at both of them and waved pleasantly. "Guess I'll be seeing you at my next crime scene, then. It's good to have you back, Sherlock." He smiled back at her and watched as she and the DI walked out of the flat and made their way back home. Now only Mrs Hudson was left sitting on their sofa.
"Are you really alright, Sherlock?" Mrs Hudson asked as she stood from her seat.
He nodded. "I am in perfect health, Mrs Hudson and very pleased to have returned to Baker Street." He embraced her and smiled as he let go.
"Oh, I'm so sorry for all of this, John. I'm so glad you're alright," Mrs Hudson said, moving to fuss over John.
"Thank you, Mrs Hudson." He wrapped his arms around her as well.
"I'll just leave you two, then." She smiled at both of them, her hands flitting back and forth in her joy. Then she left the room, walking down the stairs to her own flat.
Alone once more, John turned to Sherlock, smiling brightly. "So you love me?"
"Yes, John. Don't be dull," Sherlock replied in a measured voice. His hands were clasped behind his back, but John could see the tensing of the muscles in his forearms. The consulting detective was wringing his hands nervously and didn't want his blogger to know, but John had been brushing up on his deductive skills in the last three years.
"Good. I love you, too." Sherlock smiled blindingly down at the ex-army doctor and met him halfway in a passionate kiss.
A/N: So that might be it. If you want me to write the lunch at Holmes manor, I would love to do so but it might be a while still. Leave a review and let me know if you feel so inclined. =]