Sherlock spent the days, for the most part, in John's hospital room. Unfortunately, that time was almost exclusively spent reading. Not that reading was bad, but he would have preferred to spend the time with John. His friend wasn't conscious for a great part of the time, and when John was awake he wasn't entirely conscious of his surroundings. But he was obviously improving.
Now that the last of Moriarty's men had been taken care of, it would be safe to go back to London. He could go anywhere in the world to set up business again, but London was preferable to anywhere else. In that city, there was rarely a shortage of crime. It would have to be done discreetly, of course; his name was now associated with fraud. But Sherlock still felt excitement at the prospect of getting back to work. When he was on the run he had to keep a low profile, which meant he couldn't work as a consulting detective. It would be good to be back in London.
Speaking of things returning to normal... John woke up and rubbed his eyes, obviously a bit groggy. "How are you feeling?" he asked, after giving him a few seconds to become more alert.
John seemed to take stock before answering. Typical behavior. He was getting close to normal. "Very good, thank you. A bit more lucid, I think."
"A good deal more lucid, actually." Judging by the way his eyes were more focused. He also sat up straighter, like the soldier he was.
John smiled at his "diagnosis." It was clear that he had questions. That was sensible; there were a lot of things in his explanation that didn't line up, but John wasn't able to think clearly enough to see them before. He had thought it would take more time for his friend to get to that point... "I hate to be rude," John rudely interrupted his line of thought, "but do you mind me asking why you're staying with me?"
Yes. But there was no excuse to not tell him the truth now, only that it was hard to know how to do it. It's because you're scared. But you're not allowed to be scared, so you'll just have to stop. He had hesitated too long, and now a false explanation wouldn't be accepted. "How much do you remember of our earlier conversations?"
John didn't seem to like the change of subject. "Bits and pieces. Is it important?"
Ease into it. He's still sick, he doesn't need a shock. "Earlier I told you that my name wasn't James Watson." Of course, I had other fake names during the rest of the time I was on the run. Of course the only time I was using an obvious one, you showed up. If I had thought I might run into you, I wouldn't have picked it. But then it was too late to change it...
There was hope in John's eyes. Hope? Maybe it wouldn't be a shock after all. "Well, what is it, then?" his friend asked impatiently.
I believe you already know, Watson. "Sherlock Holmes."
