This one took longer than I thought it would...hope you like! I love reviews so please leave some!

I'd like to thank ObsessedFangirl221B for all the amazing reviews and the favorite! Wow! Means so much from you, as I LOVE your fic! Also, go check out her fanfic, because it is absolutely brilliant!

Also thank you to CiCi98, I appreciate the help!

(Sherlock belongs to BBC.)


John hiked up the stairs towards flat 221B on Baker Street, pausing for an instant before opening the door. When he entered, the air that rushed out was thick and it stung John's nostrils as he breathed in the bitter aroma. Once he pushed his way through the cloud that seemed to take up the entire living room of the flat, John saw Sherlock sitting there, in his black leather armchair, his legs crossed over, which crinkled his black, dress pants, and his eyes closed as he puffed on a cigarette.

"Sherlock!" John's sudden outburst didn't even cause Sherlock to flinch, as he just continued to exhale large circles of smoke.

Sherlock groaned loudly. "Leave me be, John. I need to think." He sighed, his eyes still shut.

John simply ignored his comment and plummeted himself down into his tattered old, red armchair right across from Sherlock. "How the hell did you find them?" John was outraged. It was indeed a nasty habit; the fact that Sherlock smoked when he needed to be otherwise 'preoccupied'. But John thought he'd hidden them well enough. Somewhere even Sherlock Holmes couldn't find them. Apparently not.

"It was simple really." Sherlock responded with a shrug that irritated John far more than he thought it would.

"It really wasn't Sherlock." John growled and leaned back in his chair, sliding his hands over his face, attempting to ease his stressed nerves. Now look who's unsettled. John then reached forward in his chair and snatched up the box of cigarettes, tucking them in his own coat pocket, and out of reach from Sherlock.

Sherlock didn't flinch. John glared at him, aggravated by his undisturbed position of relaxation. When John didn't look away, Sherlock let out a deep breath of annoyance.

"What John?" He asked, puffing out more smoke.

John only narrowed his eyes and readjusted himself.

"What is it, John?" Sherlock questioned, louder now, angered by impatience.

"Nothing." John muttered, but never looked away from Sherlock.

"You shouldn't lie, John." He grunted, and inhaled deeper on his cigarette.

John chuckled at the irony, "Look who's talking." Sherlock then whirled upwards, holding his cigarette away from him, tucked between two fingers, as he glared at Doctor John Watson.

"I don't lie, John." Sherlock snapped and began to pace around the room again, holding his cigarette out to the side. "I simply don't give out the truth."

John rolled his eyes at Sherlock's addition to the bold statement, "Oh, like how you didn't 'give out the truth' to me for two years, Sherlock?" John questioned mockingly.

"There you see, John? Another lie." Sherlock sighed and dropped his eyes down to the ground, as John grew ever more intrigued by this explanation.

"You heard, but you didn't actually listen." Sherlock stated, and quickly shot a look towards John from under his locks of curly, chocolate colored hair. Somewhere in his eyes John could see disappointment. "I told you. It was only a magic trick." Sherlock puffed some more on his cigarette.

John threw his hands up in frustration, "Well, I am terribly sorry, Sherlock!" He apologized sarcastically, "Sorry I didn't relate that to anything!" He continued, "I was a little busy worrying that my best friend was going to jump off that roof to his death!" John yelled his way, scowling in outrage.

Sherlock fell silent.

He simply watched John's enraged expression soften, completely ignoring the cigarette in his pale hand.

"John…" He began, but John didn't let him.
"No, Sherlock! I want to know!" John exclaimed, glaring up at the motionless Sherlock in front of him. "Yes, Moriarty had to be stopped, but why couldn't you have just let me in? In on the plan? Why did you have to lie to me?"

Sherlock was like a silent bomb. A bomb that John had just set off.
"God damn it, John! He had a rifle pointed at your head!" Sherlock shut his eyes, and plummeted down into his black chair. "I couldn't be sure Mycroft's bribe would work. I couldn't be sure that they would hold back on killing you." Sherlock was straining to get the words out, and once his eyes opened and met John's, the moment was the most painful they had ever shared.

John thought about the situation. When Sherlock was gone, dead, John had struggled to move on. Meeting Mary had helped with that. But what about Sherlock? What had he done to forget about John? His other friends, in London? And what had he done, in general? John knew that he had granted himself the mission of tearing down Moriarty's vast network, but what did that include? Sherlock never mentioned those two long years. Why?

After a few moments of nothing but the sound of the emptiness surrounding them, John spoke up. "I'm sorry, Sherlock." Sherlock tilted his head halfway sideways at John's apology. "You're sorry? For what?" Sherlock asked, his brows furrowed.

"That I never bothered to ask." John stated, unable to turn away from his friend.

Sherlock seemed surprised that John Watson had the ability to confuse him. "What do you mean?" He asked, his eyes gazing in narrow slits underneath the ridge of his curls. Sherlock began dunking his cigarette in the ashtray he'd placed beside him, his focus entirely on John Watson now.

"What did you do?" John questioned, his tone resembled that of a concerned friend.

"Do?" Sherlock turned away, glancing around the room, but he knew what John meant. He just didn't want to answer.

"Yes, Sherlock. When you were dead."

Sherlock swallowed and took a look down at his fancy, black dress shoes. "Cases mostly. When I wasn't following Moriarty's network trails."

John nodded, "I remember Anderson saying that there were cases being solves that only you could crack. I thought he just felt guilty."

Sherlock didn't say anything in response. He simply folded his hands into a pyramid like position and tucked them under his chin.

John took a deep breath. "Why and when did you decide to come back?"

Sherlock shut his eyes, and exhaled. "Mycroft found me, as I was being…" He hesitated, swallowed, and then added, "Interrogated for information."

John narrowed his eyes and scooted his chair closer to Sherlock. "What do you mean?"

Sherlock didn't open his eyes; he only shook his head. "I had information…some friends needed and I had to be persuaded to give it up."

John scoffed, as he knew Sherlock wasn't telling the truth now. "And how exactly did they persuade you?" John raised his eyebrows.

Sherlock got to his feet, before holding his hand out to John and staring at him with pleading eyes. "A cigarette, John." He ordered and cleared his throat.

John shook his head, concerned as to why his friend was dodging the subject.

"Sherlock?" He questioned, tilting his head somewhat to the side.

"Cigarette, please." Sherlock stated, rolling his eyes and turning away from John now.

"Only if you tell me." John blackmailed, holding his ground.

Sherlock sighed and took a step backwards. "I'll tell you this. I certainly wasn't persuaded with diamond rings and fun toys, if that's what you're thinking." He snapped and lunged forward at John, snatching out the box of cigarettes, causing a few to fly out every which way.

John stared, a look of agonizing concern plastered onto his face. "They tortured you?" John gasped inwardly, suddenly extremely angered by the situation. His best friend. They hurt his best friend. Only he can do that.

He pushed his finger against his forehead, sighing loudly. "Oh god."

"Sherlock!" John exclaimed and glared at his friend. "You need to tell me these things!" John groaned and shook his head, gazing at Sherlock with a look of pity, as he readjusted himself in his cozy armchair.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and shrugged, "Why are you so upset? It happened to me." He stared at John, sincerely confused as to why his friend was so riled up about the idea.

John exhaled deeply and gazed at Sherlock, retaining the pictures contaminating his mind. "You cannot keep these things stored up inside of you."

Sherlock was silent as he lit another cigarette, eager to breathe in the smoke.

"If you do, you'll end up having a panic attack of sorts." John explained, chuckling in almost disbelief, furious at whoever dared lay a finger on his best friend.

"That's why I have you." Sherlock spoke, causing John's eyes to flash up to face him.

"But you don't share with me." John sighed, staring wishfully at his companion.

"No, but you're my doctor." Sherlock smirked and took a puff of his cigarette.

John couldn't help but bare a small grin.

"Yes, I guess I am."