Sherlock knew that his sudden appearance was going to stir up a lot of emotions and old memories for Watson and honestly, he hated that he had to put his friend through that - but he was back to stay, so he couldn't very well not tell Watson he was back, only to have them run into each other at a crime scene.
Which would have happened.
He planned on looking into the shooting. The very one that Lestrade had called Watson in on. The mystery of the empty room. It had a nice ring to it and he made a mental note not to tell Watson about it because he was sure the moment he gave the crime a title, John would hurry off to his lap top and reopen his website so he could write everything down about the case.
Right now, Sherlock just wanted his privacy from the world.
He was still a wanted man, framed for crimes that he didn't commit thanks to Moriarty.
The only people who knew he was back was Watson, Mrs. Hudson, and, well, some of Moriarty's friends that he had stick around - just in case Sherlock pulled a quick one on everyone.
Of course, he would tell John about that as soon as they got to Baker St.
"Why can't you say anything now?" John asked, peering over at him as they rode in the cab back to the flat. "I want answers, Sherlock."
"And you'll get them - as soon as we're at the flat." Sherlock replied.
"Why can't I have them now?"
"Because, now is not the right time nor place to be discussing these things and please, keep your voice down," Sherlock glanced at their driver who seemed to be paying them no mind. "The last thing I need is for my name to get slapped onto every newspaper around, claiming that I'm back."
"But you are back." John pointed out. "And sooner or later, people are going to find out."
"Yes, but when I'm good and ready for them to." Sherlock shot John a look. One that clearly shouted 'shut up!'.
John fell silent, huffing, his arms going across his chest. He looked out his window and Sherlock knew he was pissed with him. He had every right to be though. He'd make it up to him in a minute or two. Soon they would be at Baker St. and back in the flat and then he could sit John down and tell him about everything.
Needless to say, the rest of the cab ride over was filled with tense silence. When the car finally pulled up to the curb, Sherlock was quick to pay the driver and to get out. Watson followed after him, his eyes peering into the back of his head. Sherlock knew that now that they were there, Watson was going to be waiting impatiently for him to explain himself.
He quickened his pace so they could get into the flat faster.
Once they stepped in, Mrs. Hudson poked her head out of her room and stepped out to greet them both. Mostly Watson.
"Did you know he was back?" Watson asked without so much as a 'hello' first.
Mrs. Hudson gave him an apologetic look. "Yes. He told me not to tell you..."
"Wonderful." Watson said dryly, peering back at Sherlock who was making his way up the stairs. "I can't believe you told her before you even came to me."
"I do live in her house, John. It was the polite thing to do." Sherlock called back.
Watson huffed, anger flaring in his eyes. Mrs. Hudson reached out and gave his arm a squeeze with her frail fingers. "Don't give him too much of a hard time, dear."
Watson said nothing to that. How could he? Don't give Sherlock a hard time? HA! The man had faked his death! His death had scarred him for life! He still had nightmares of seeing Sherlock falling to his death! He couldn't sleep some nights. Mary would come downstairs and find him in front of the TV or his laptop, just trying to find something to get his mind off of the past.
"John!" Sherlock called down the stairs to him.
Watson rolled his eyes and marched up the stairs to the familiar flat that he and Sherlock use to share. He stepped inside and found Sherlock sitting in his chair, already waiting on him. He motioned for him to come and sit down and Watson did so.
After he was settled, he stared at Sherlock. "Explain yourself." He said firmly. "I want answers and I want them now. Do not even THINK about leaving anything out. Do you understand?"
Sherlock gave a faint smile. "Yes."
Watson sighed. "Good. Now...get on with it."
And so Sherlock began his tale.
He started out with the moment that Moriarty escaped from the reporter's apartment after having claimed that he was just an actor. Sherlock had known in the back of his mind that Moriarty was doing all of that to destroy him and in the end, the only outcome for Moriarty's was for him to die. Watson had figured as much and told him to get on with it, so, Sherlock did.
He told John about how he had gone to see Molly and asked for her help in tricking Moriarty. Together they came up with a plan, but he didn't go into details. John told him not to. He had already relived that day a million times over and he wasn't very interested in how he had 'survived' he just wanted to know where he had been all of this time and why he hadn't come back until now.
"I spent the last three years traveling to various places." Sherlock explained. "I thought it was best if everyone continued to believe that I was dead. It would keep you and the other's safe. Moriarty was going to have you and Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade killed if I didn't jump. He had assasins on you and I figured it was best if I died and left your lives forever than to survive and watch all of you get gunned down in my name."
Watson looked down at the floor, taking all of this in.
"Was there a an assassin trained on me that day?" He asked quietly, looking back over at Sherlock. "When you...when you fell?"
"Yes." Came Sherlock's own quiet reply.
"Sherlock...you shouldn't have done that-"
"And let you die?" Sherlock's brow creased deeply. "I couldn't let that happen, John. Not to you. Not to Lestrade or Mrs. Hudson."
Watson nodded, then motioned for him to continue.
"I traveled to Florence while I was away. Did some small jobs here and there - then I travelled to Tibet and wandered around there for a couple of years. I met the 'head lama'." Sherlock smirked. "That was a interesting day...but shortly after that I left and was incognito as a Norwegian explorer. I gave myself a new name 'Sigerson'." Watson scoffed at the name and Sherlock smiled a bit. "I know, ridiculous name. I didn't keep it long because after that I went to Persia, then Mecca, and had a brief stopover with the Khalifa in Khartoum."
"You really got around." Watson said, impressed.
Sherlock nodded. "I never stayed in one place for too long. Eventually I ended up in France, doing chemical research on coal tar derivatives in Montepllier."
"And then what? After that you decided to just move back home?" Watson asked.
"I was slowly transitioning back here, yes."
"Why? Why come back after all of this time? It can't be because of the murder that happened. It just happened the other day. So, you were planning on coming back for another reason. What was it?"
Sherlock huffed, looking away. "Mycroft cut me off."
Watson's brow rose. "Excuse me? What?"
"Mycroft. He stopped sending me money. He said if I wanted to live my life I had best find a good job somewhere or come back here and make things right."
Watson's eyes flashed with anger again. "Mycroft knew you were alive?" He asked.
Sherlock inwardly cringed. "Yes."
"I can't believe this!" Watson got up, running his fingers through his hair, looking beyond pissed. "You fake your death and you get to travel all around the world without a single care - yet I'm stuck here, depressed and heart broken for MONTHS, YEARS, talking to Mycroft about it and Mrs. Hudson and what do I find out? OH, they've known my best friend was alive all this time! I cannot believe them!" Watson had half a mind to find Mycroft and fong him.
"It's not like you've been entirly alone, now is it?" Sherlock snapped, breaking through Watson's furious rant. Watson looked back at him in confusion. "Oh please, don't give me that look. You know exactly what I'm talking about. You've got Mary - that...wife...of yours. You've not been lonely for some time. In fact, I'm sure she's given you hardly any time to miss me."
"That's not fair." Watson growled.
"What? I am just pointing out the fact that, yes, even though this horrible thing happened and no one told you I was still around - you moved on and found someone else to spend your time with. She's not exactly the type of person I would have chosen, but I suppose she'll do."
There it was.
That arrogant attitude of his.
"Becareful how you speak about my wife." Watson replied.
"Oh, don't get your knickers in a twist, John." Sherlock got up from his chair. "And if it'll make you feel any better - take a swing at me." He stripped off his jacket then, taking the scarf off along with it. "Come on, one good punch, right here." He gave a pat to his cheek. "I deserve it and the sooner you get out all of this anger, the sooner we can get back to normal. So, come on then."
Watson was taken back to that day when they had met Miss Adler.
He had enjoyed hitting Sherlock.
Without another second's hesitation, he swung.
His fist connected with Sherlock sharp cheek bone and he watched as the other man stumbled back, his hand going to his face.
"Feel better?" Sherlock asked.
A second later, however, Watson swung again, getting him a second time. This time Sherlock stumbled back into a nearby book shelf and stared at him like he had lost his marbles.
"NOW I feel better." Watson said with a sigh of relief. "But you're still a ruddy prat for what you did."
"Noted." Sherlock said, rubbing his face, but he knew that this would be the end of it. Watson had accepted that he was back and soon the two of them could get into investigating this case.
