Hello again! Its been soooo long hasn't it? Well, this chapter is pretty short and I was planning on making it much longer but, guess what? FINALS! TT3TT Great, that got in the way! Plus this specific chapter wont have have a lot of emotional moments like in the first chapter. Anyways, I hope you review this and put it on alert because that will make me extremely happy and having a greater chance on uploading quickly. Enjoy! :D

John awoke on the sofa, fluttering his eyes awake. He groaned softly and studied the features around him. Everything seemed to be normal and not out of the ordinary; the laptop was on the desk, papers scattered about, the smell of tea, Sherlock was-

Sherlock!

The memory of last night's events came rushing back into Johns head. It seemed so much like a dream, John unhurriedly lifted himself up from the couch, and the blanket that was previously around his figure was now making its place on the carpet.

"Sherlock?" John noticed that the ex- consulting detective was nowhere in sight. Panicking, he scurried his way to the door.

Reaching a hand out to grasp the knob, the door opens itself up. John was lightly hit on the nose, fluttered back by surprise of the impact he covered his freshly bruised nose.

"John?"

John looked up to meet faded green eyes. "B-bloody h-hell, Sherlock," He backed away from the door as it squeaked open to reveal Sherlock, with his hands wrapped around two full brown paper bags. "Where have y-you been?"

"Urgh, questions."

'He's not even going to apologize about my nose?' John thought. Sherlock made his way through the door and quickly set the bags down at the table. "So, um, where have you been?"

Sherlock took off his hat and turned to face John, who was rubbing his bright pink nose. "Well," he sighed. "If you're awfully eager to know, I was out."

John walked over beside Sherlock, picking up his hat; inspecting it thoroughly. "Getting what, may I ask?" A carton of milk was set down, along with other materials'.

"You went to get...milk?"

"Precisely."

"Why?"

"Urgh! So many unnecessary questions."

John remembered back when he asked Sherlock to get his fair share of the groceries' and never did. It seems unusual to do it now. "Isn't it a bit late for that." John furiously mocked.

"How's your blog?" Sherlock casually asked John, not even bothering to answer the question.

"What?"

"Your blog, John. How is it?"

'Asking questions are 'unnessacry', huh?'

John dropped Sherlock's hat softly on the kitchen table. He ran a sweaty hand through his sandy blonde hair. John had no idea if he should even mention about his blog or about what kind of unfortunate things occurred while the ex-consulting detective was in hiding for three years. Sure, Johns spirit was - to some extent - high, but, just the sight of the detective was splendid. 'I wonder if he knows if he's that fucking gorgeous'. Realizing he was completely off topic, John said:

"If you honestly that curious...I never blogged after you death - in fact, I've never once blogged about it. I suppose I was too...torn up..."

John didn't notice he was staring at the kitchen floor; he had a faint urge to look up, since he could feel Sherlock's eyes directly on him. The existing nostalgia atmosphere began to shift apart into an awkward position.

"I don't think you were so considerate about me."

John scoffed. "Flattered?"

"Surprisingly, not in the least."

Now it was turning into a bitter situation. It was a sudden irregular feeling for the both of them. John's eyes wondered about for a bit and landed hastily at the groceries', and noticed something that was very out of place.

"Sherlock is that, bleach?" asked with eyes wide in disbelief. Even though it was quite common to notice that chemical stench back when everything was at least considered normal, whereas it was now giving of the impression of abnormal.

Sherlock wasn't even affected by Johns amaze reaction. He took off his jacket and pulled the cuffs of his sleeves up past his elbow and popped a few buttons of his purple dress shirt. "It most certainly is." He decisively answered.

John hitched in a breath as he peered at Sherlock, taking a much well notice at the detective's neck and clear as day collarbone. An unsuspected blush burned upon Johns cheeks. The warm, regretful sensation tore open a past wound. The thought of Sherlock returning was an astounding blessing, but, John hadn't forgotten about his feelings that had managed to pile up over those three years. He wanted to ignore it so very much!

Clearing his throat John questioned again, "Um, what for then?"

Sherlock broke off the stare at John and ran out of the kitchen with the bleach in hand. "To alter my accessible image."
John exited out of the kitchen to follow Sherlock, Looking up he shouted. "Wait, so you're willing to tinge your hair?"

#

"You know Sherlock, Harry did this once and told me about the enjoyable yet bitter tale of using bleach to dye her hair. Would you be a least engrossed into hearing this brilliant performance?"

"Oh shut up." Sherlock acidly hissed.

Believe it or not but Sherlock wasn't poking Johns funny bones about bleaching his poor curls of brown. John was actually in the middle of the process of convincing Sherlock to stop this at once, but he was lacking the effect to make Sherlock regretful about going any ridicously further with this. It seemed entirely too pointless.

"Just to warn you, it's about to burn." John reassured in a clam manner. Sherlock shifted into position, sitting still and broad on top of the edge of the toilet. With the lid down of course.

"I'm not a child, I know what bleach does to people beside for the use of clothing." Sherlock kept his well straight face. "Quit being repulsive and just do it!"

John rolled his eyes in amusement. "I hope you're totally certain about this." He sighed, slapping on the protection gloves and started applying.

As usually if you see any mistakes don't hesitate to review, thanks! ^_^