A/N: Thanks for the favs, reviews and for following! That's what keeps me going, especially reviews. So any kind of comment is very welcome. Thanks again!
71 days later
The frying pan that landed with a 'thump' on Sherlock's right shoulder was totally reasonable. How else what one react, seeing a person who was dead for several years?
"Mrs. Hud... Mrs. Hudson! Listen to me! Would you please stop beating me with your cooking device for a second? … Please."
Holding the pan in front of her body, still ready to attack again, Mrs. Hudson looked up into those eyes she thought she'd never see again.
"Oh dear... it's really you, isn't it?", she almost whispered, slowly letting her pan-guard down. Then, the fragile elderly woman broke down into tears.
Sherlock fetched her right before she could hit the ground and put an arm around here for support.
"Let's get you seated." he said with a voice so soft, it was hard to imagine these words did really come out of Sherlock Holmes' mouth.
As soon as his former landlady had calmed down a bit, he explained every detail of his journey over the past 3 years. How he did everything to protect her, Lestrade and John. The unnerving months of waiting until he finally got the text he was waiting for.
It's safe. - MH
The detective had rushed back to London as soon as he had read those very words and of course his first stop had to be 221B Baker Street.
He asked for a tea and even Mrs. Hudson couldn't stop herself from grinning when she replied: "You might have been dead, Sherlock, but I'm still not your housekeeper!" Of course he got his cuppa anyway.
Time flew by and occasionally they shared a laugh over some adventure Sherlock was talking about. That was, until deep lines of sorrow were shown on Mrs. Hudson's forehead.
"Sherlock, how was John today? I'm sure it must have been hard for you to see him... there."
The detective frowned, a mixture of horror and anticipation forming in his stomach.
"So he's at work then? I thought he might be here, though I must admit there were signs of him not living here anymore..."
"Oh dear... you have no idea, have you?" the older lady said. Her fingers were clenched around her cup and tears were visible in here eyes. "He's over at the Gordon Hospital."
"Since when does John deal with patients with psychiatric problems? Good for him though, he probably..."
He was stopped in the middle of his sentence, a shaking hand resting on his own.
"Sherlock. He's a patient there. John... he has some serious problems."
Without any further word's he jumped off the chair, grabbed his coat and ran out of the door. Mrs. Hudson would understand, he was sure of that. It took him only a few seconds to hail a cab.
"Gordon Hospital. And make it fast, there's no time for sightseeing here."
When he entered the hospital, it took people some time to recognize him. Curious glances at first, low murmurs "Isn't that him? But he was supposed to be dead" until the voices raised and a nurse cried out loud "Oh my god, that's really Sherlock Holmes! That sick bastard is here! Doctors!".
He simply stood there, a few feet from the reception, observing the scene. The hospital wasn't too big and the staff was probably underpaid. The nurses, mostly young women and a few men, had dark shadows under their eyes, their clothing was faded and the interior of the lobby could have used a touch up even years ago.
An elderly doctor made his way down the hallway, storming right towards Sherlock. He clearly had a higher position here and Sherlock addressed him when he was a couple of steps away.
"I'm looking for Dr. John Watson. Where would I find him?"
The answer was harsh and full of hatred: "You'll leave. Right now. You won't get anywhere near this patient, so turn on your heel and walk right out of that door. If you won't, I'll make sure the next time there's a grave with your name on it, you won't return from the dead."
Sherlock opened his mouth to say something when his phone rang. He had a look at the caller ID and sighed. Mycroft. Of course he had his spies on him again as soon as he sat a foot onto British ground.
When he answered the call, Sherlock was greeted by a simple command. "Pass the phone to the doctor you're arguing with." In any other circumstances, he would have argued with his brother or simply hang up. But this was different, this was about seeing John again and Sherlock knew his brother could be his only hope here. Without hesitation he handed the phone to the man in front of him. "It's for you, apparently."
The doctor raised an eyebrow. "This better ain't any of your foul tricks, because if it is..." he said, keeping his eyes fixed on Sherlock before he raised the phone to his ear. "Dr. Irving speaking, who's... oh. Oh. Yes. I understand. Of course. I'm sorry."
The mobile was snapped shut before the elder man spoke through gritted teeth. "If you'd be so kind to follow me, Mr. Holmes. I'll lead you to Dr. Watson."
It was bad. It was way worse than anything Sherlock had imagined.
John sat on his bed in his all too-white and too-sterile room. Sherlock was told John did have some hallucinations in the past, so he gently and very carefully raised his voice. "John. It's me. Sherlock. Would you mind turning around and looking at me? Please, will you do this for me?"
The last question made the blond and way too thin man on the bed spin around.
"Why are you back? You haven't been here in weeks. I thought I was going to be okay. I...I thought after all I could finally go home. And now you're back and you're saying those bloody words asking me again to do something for you. Like I should keep your eyes fixed on you when you jumped off that FUCKING ROOFTOP and plunged to death."
Sherlock didn't move. He was lost for words and when he finally found the courage to open his mouth, John didn't let him the chance to say something.
"No. NO. Simply SHUT UP. I know you're not real. You're in my head. My very own 'Sherlucination'. You know how often you've been here? 53 times. 53 FUCKING times. And I've seen the tapes. Me arguing with NOTHING. Now you will tell me I'm not hallucinating, you'll tell me everything will be fine, that you're finally back for real any I will get angry and I will punch you, but of course you're not there, so I will only hit a wall or nothing at all. And I will break down and cry and doctors will come and give me some sedative. So fuck you. FUCK YOU."
After all those years he didn't imagine his former blogger would have still so much power in his fists. The blow to Sherlock's chin came without any warning and made him go down immediately. The detective sat on the floor, staring up in shock into the blue eyes of John, who returned the look in horror.
"Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit. I'm really going crazy now. Now I'm even feeling you and you're not disappearing after I punch you. This is great. Really great."
"JOHN." Sherlock used the desk to help himself come to his feet again. His jaw was slightly dislocated and he felt a small trail of blood running from the corner of his mouth. "Listen to me. I. Am. Real. I'm real and I'm alive and you were right. I could be that clever. And now I simply hope I'm somehow clever enough to fix you."
His mind was working on full speed now, trying to figure out what to do to show John he was real. Then Sherlock did something certainly nobody would have expected him to do – he pulled John into an awkward but still very comforting hug. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I left, I'm sorry I didn't tell you why, I'm sorry I brought you... here."
He didn't get any reply but a lot of uncontrolled sobs at first. After a couple of minutes there was a broken voice, softly begging. "God, please. Please let this be real. I... can't… go on any more."
Both men spun around when a third voice filled the room. "Dr. Watson. This is real."
Dr. Irving was standing in the doorway, looking at his patient and the very unwelcome intruder. "We were informed by Mycroft Holmes that his brother is indeed alive and he has every right to visit you here. I know this is a big shock for me, so maybe you'd like to speak to your therapist. I could make room for you in her schedule any time you want." He spoke with a voice so soft and caring, it surprised Sherlock to no end. Some people really did know how to do their job after all. "Mr. Holmes. If you'd like to stay, we can arrange a bed for you. You brother informed us to turn off any camera in Dr. Watson's room and added, there would be no other surveillance for the two of you for tonight. I assume you've got a lot of talking to do."
"No. This chair there is fine for me, I don't need a bed." Sherlock looked up at the . "And... thank you."
With a sigh, the head of department closed the door and left the two men. He was right after all. There was a lot of talking to do.
