John wakes alone, desperately afraid of finding that the events of the previous night were a dream. He tries to suppress the hope swelling in his heart as he pads to the sitting room, and lets his breath out in relief at what he sees.
Sherlock sits on his chair with his impossibly long legs drawn up in front of him, his eyes closed and his hands moving invisible objects through the air. John leans against the doorframe and watches as Sherlock continues journeying through his mind palace, but quickly finds himself distracted by the way Sherlock's mouth opens slightly in thought. As if Sherlock's mere presence in the apartment weren't distracting enough. John steps forward without thinking and moves closer to Sherlock, who remains focused inwardly until he hears the familiar but long unheard sound of John settling into the armchair opposite him.
"John," murmurs Sherlock, as he snaps out of his mind palace and back into 221B, opening his eyes and meeting John's gaze.
"Sherlock," John returns. He cannot for the life of him think of what to say. What does one say when his best friend and flatmate returns from the dead? And after last night, John is even more flummoxed as to what the proper course of action is. He decides to stick with casual. "You know, Sherlock, your mind palace thing would look a bit strange to people who didn't know what you're doing."
John could swear he saw relief flash across Sherlock's face at the neutral conversation starter, but he wasn't quite sure. "Nonsense, John. The method of loci as a memory tool is perfectly valid and well known even to those too inept to employ it."
"Right, of course. Everyone knows about loci; my mistake." Sherlock's lips turn up into a smile at John's sarcasm, and the reaction encourages John to continue speaking. "So what was the trip to the mind palace for this time? Found a case already, have you?"
"Not quite a case. But I had to think. Gather evidence."
"Right," John says slowly. "About what?"
Sherlock looks at John intently before answering, the piercing stare from his impossibly-colored eyes making John squirm in his seat. "Our relationship," he replies after some consideration.
"What about our relationship?" John asks, slightly dreading the answer.
Sherlock levels his gaze at him. Well, about level as the gaze of someone with a black eye can be. "I am considering options and their likely outcomes so as to decide how we should proceed in regards to what passed between us last night."
"And you can just decide that alone? Don't need my input at all?" John clenches his jaw in obvious irritation.
"I've upset you."
"Brilliant deduction, that."
"I am merely trying to treat this issue rationally, John. Be reasonable." Sherlock sighs at the growing look of exasperation on John's face.
"This isn't about being rational, Sherlock," John begins, struggling to keep his voice level. "It's about feelings. Those don't work like a case. You can't figure out how a relationship will end before it begins. Not even you. Not with us."
"What, precisely, would you have me do instead?"
"Talk to me, for one. Maybe include me in a discussion. You going off on your own and making decisions that affect us both doesn't turn out well for either of us. Or have you forgotten that already?"
Sherlock's mouth twists in displeasure. He prods at his eye absently, looking away. When he looks back at John, it is with resignation. He cocks his head to the side, listening. John takes this as a sign to continue.
"Good," John begins. "First off, if we're going to do this – be in a relationship – you need to know it's not just about you. But I know you. It'll be on me to tell you how this works, what's a bit not good and what's downright wrong and what works and what doesn't. And some days it will be hard not to strangle you."
Sherlock looks somewhere between crestfallen and indignant.
"But," John continues, holding up a finger, "I won't – strangle you, that is – because I happen to know that it's a hell of a lot worse to be without you than it is to deal with you."
Sherlock smiles a sad smile at this. "I am sorry, John, for leaving you alone. If I had known how you felt –."
"You would have done it anyway. It's all right." He twines their fingers together. "Or it will be. You're here. We're here. Together. That matters more than what happened. We'll be fine."
Sherlock leans down to place a soft kiss atop John's head. "Yes, we will be fine. Together."