CHAPTER THREE- THE BEGINNING
In which John finds out just how, exactly, Sherlock survived.

John jerked away from Sherlock, unsure what he felt about what was about to happen. He looked at Sherlock and realized his eyes were still closed, almost as if he was irritated. John wouldve laughed, except there was a hyperventilating elderly woman behind him that needed to be dealt with.
He turned to Mrs. Hudson and put a hand on her shoulder, trying to comfort her. "Its all right, Mrs. Hudson, calm down," he mumered.
"Sh-sh-sherlock! Do you see him too, John?" She whispered, clutching his hand.
"Yes."
Mrs. Hudson pushed past him to where Sherlock was still sitting, but he had opened his eyes. She tentatively reached out a hand and brushed his cheekbone. "Youre so peaky," she muttered, and then stood up decisively. "Im going to make some tea," she announced, and walked into the kitchen.
Sherlock watched her go with a bemused look on his face. "That went much better than expected," he said, more to himself than John. John just stared at him.
Sherlock looked up, and, seeing Johns face, sighed. "Alright, youve got questions."
John nodded. He had about ten million of them, but he had to ask the one hed been asking in his head since he walked in the door.
"How?"
Sherlock studied him, as if trying to decide how to say it. "It was a drug." He said. "Fairly new. It was supposed to slow my blood flow until Molly could take care of my wounds. I was in a private hospital for weeks, but it was worth it."
"Molly was in on it?"
"Of course."
John swallowed as he remembered Molly at the funeral- hed never known she was such a good actress. "Who else?"
Sherlock studied him again. "Irene. Shes good at dissapearing."
John allowed himself a chuckle. "Im surprised you havent shot her. Three years without a case. Mustve been torture."
It was then that Mrs. Hudson came back with the tea. John gratefully took his, and Mrs. Hudson held the cup in Sherlocks face until he took it.
John decided that was enough questions for now. The rest could wait until later. Right now all he wanted to do was watch Sherlock, be reminded of how his lips looked when he took a sip of tea, how his curls fell into his aquamarine eyes when he tilted his head.
John smiled. "Molly should be in Hollywood."
And then he watched in awe as those perfect lips drew up like a bow.