A/N: WHOOPS! I uploaded the wrong chapter. Here's the right one... Thanks for letting me know, POPPY.0!

There were a few ways Sherlock had imagined John greeting him when he finally returned. Maybe a handshake, maybe a slap on the back, perhaps even a hug. What he definitely did not expect was to be held at gunpoint as an intruder.

John's face was tomato red, his finger curled steadily around the trigger. His eyes jumped from Ainsley to Sherlock and back again, trying to calculate what their next move would be.

"Look, I don't know what paper you two work for," he ground out. "But you have to be really desperate to break into my flat. So I'll give you one chance to leave before I call the police." No one moved. "Do you want to go to jail?" he demanded, looking ready to explode.

"John," Sherlock began, sounding amazingly calm. "Calm down. It's me. It's Sherlock." John's eyes widened and he stiffened for a moment. Then, in a flash, he was back to being angry.

"You are one sick human being, impersonating a dead man," he snarled.

"I'm not dead-"

"I watched Sherlock Holmes jump off a roof!"

"Ah, but you didn't!" Sherlock insisted. "A bike knocked you down, remember? You didn't actually see anything-"

"There were other witnesses!" John shouted, before taking a step back and laughing bitterly. "I don't even know why I'm having this conversation with you; you've clearly lost it-"

"You've lost seven pounds since we last met," Sherlock blurted out. John jumped in surprise.

"W-what?"

"You miss the army more than ever now, but you've distracted yourself from it by picking up extra shifts at the hospital. You stopped taking appointments and switched to the ER in the hope that things would be more exciting. It doesn't matter, though; you're still bored. You used to go on dates, but you stopped for the same reason you don't talk to your coworkers: everyone thinks you're mad for being my friend." Sherlock tilted his head slightly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I promise you, you're not, John. You were right all along. Moriarty was real, and I left to stop his partners from carrying on his legacy. But I finished, and now I've come back. I just have blond hair as part of my disguise."

"H-how... You couldn't possibly figure that out just now," John gulped. "You- you've been spying on me, or something. Sherlock Holmes is dead."

"The seven pounds was easy," Sherlock said automatically, launching into his explanation. "That's an old jumper, and it always fit you perfectly. Now, though, it's baggy. Not baggy enough for a drastic change, but baggy enough to be noticeable. Seven fits. You're starting to hold yourself like a soldier again, so you obviously miss the army, probably because you crave danger and it's the easiest way to get it. Since you can't enlist again, you've been doing what any normal human being would do and turning your attention to something else; you don't have any notable hobbies, so work would make the most sense. There are bags under your eyes, so you've been up late at night. This could either mean you can't sleep, or have been doing something that requires you be ready at a moment's notice, like working in an emergency room. Your hands are steadier and stronger now, like you've been working with something delicate. This points to surgery, and the ER is looking good.

"I know you, so I know you're always trying to get a date, God knows why. My 'death' wouldn't stop you. But a girlfriend would encourage you to tidy up the flat, which you obviously haven't done. In fact, any friend would tell you it's a mess. So you clearly haven't gotten close enough to anyone to invite them over. Why? Well, Scotland has newspapers too, John. I know what everyone thinks of me, and you're guilty by association. You hate that people are so judgmental, so you've stopped spending time with them. Is that enough proof for you?"

John looked away, muscles still not relaxed. He inhaled deeply, preparing to speak. The air crackled with tension as Ainsley and Sherlock waited with bated breath to hear what he would say.

"It's really you?" he said finally.

"It's really me," Sherlock confirmed. John smiled happily at him, and for a moment, it seemed like the two would just revert back to being inseparable.

...That was until John wound back his fist and swung it into his best friend's face. Ainsley gasped as Sherlock doubled over, clutching his cheek. Meanwhile, John simply rubbed his sore knuckles, glowering cruelly at the detective.

"You're unbelievable," he hissed. "You put me- you put Mrs. Hudson, through months of torture so you can go off and have a holiday? And 'stopping Moriarty's partners', what does that even mean, Sherlock? How is that any different from what we were doing right here? Did you think I was too incompetent to handle the pressure?"

"I-"

"And who the hell is this?" he ranted on, jabbing his thumb at Ainsley. "I suppose you figured your best friend couldn't take Moriarty, but some random Scottish woman could. And now you've come back and just let yourself into my flat? You know, that is just like you, Sherlock: you think everyone's simply going to wait for you, because you're Sherlock Holmes, the genius! Well, guess what? I was still here, after you left! Everyone was! Do you know that everyone who ever even spoke to you was hounded by reporters for weeks, and then labelled a lunatic follower of the fraud detective?"

"That's better than what could have happened to you," Ainsley pointed out, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she could stop them. He glowered at her.

"And that would be?" he prompted snidely.

"Torture," she said bluntly. "Or death."

"It must have been some pretty weak torture if you came out unscathed," he huffed.

"That's because my sister was tortured instead," Ainsley explained, face devoid of all emotion. "She was pregnant, too. But not anymore." John looked horribly uncomfortable. He fidgeted restlessly, avoiding her eyes. "And Moriarty killed my mum and put my dad in a hospice, too. That had nothing to do with Sherlock, I'll give you that, but I think that gives you a pretty good idea of how vicious these people were.

"And Sherlock Holmes, the man famous for caring about nobody, cared for you enough to spare you from that," she continued. "So I'd be a little nicer about it. Because a couple of annoying reporters is nothing compared to what my family went through."

After her grand speech ended, the room was silent. Sherlock glanced at her from the corner of his eye, unsure of what to feel. On one hand, she seemed to have calmed John down nicely. On the other, Ainsley was usually strong as steel, not breaking for anyone. It was jarring to watch her put her entire life on the table.

"I'm very sorry for your loss," John said politely in a clipped tone. She nodded appreciatively. "If you don't mind my asking, how did you get involved in all of this?"

"I got mixed up with Moriarty in university," she shrugged. "It was a mistake. When I figured out who Sherlock was, I decided I wasn't going to let that man ruin anymore lives."

"Now that it's done, what brings you to England?"

"Better care for my dad. Therapy for my sister." She glanced at Sherlock. "We're also, um... involved."

"What Ainsley means is that she is my girlfriend," he intervened, oblivious to John's awestruck expression. "Can I take your civility as forgiveness?" The doctor assessed his old friend before replying.

"No," he grunted, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, but no." He hesitated, noticing Sherlock's miserable reaction. "You're welcome to stay for some tea though," he added. "And you two can explain to me exactly what is going on."

A/N: Maybe not the best chapter, but the next one will definitely be better! I just need to get used to writing for John, lol. Review please!