Chapter 4
Sherlock lightly rapped his fist on the door of his old home and swallowed nervously, faking a smile so that John couldn't see how anxious he was. When the door opened with a familiar creak Sherlock felt his heart leap from his chest. He didn't know where to look, what to do, how to act. His mind went blank.
Mrs Hudson stood there with a big grin on her face. Sherlock noted that her face was a mask. That grin was forced. Someone had pre warned her of his return. Probably Mycroft. The interfering git. Though perhaps in this case he's done me a favour. After all. If Mrs Hudson can keep up her act then John won't find out the truth.
"Hello." He said quietly, his voice breaking in several places. He stepped inside and embraced Mrs Hudson in a tight hug, sniffling like a small child as she hugged him just as hard back. The hug was definitely genuine. It caused a warm emotion to wash over him. Sentiment, Sherlock realised.
The hug lasted for several minutes and when they parted from each other they both had tears shining in their eyes. Sherlock smiled weakly at her and stepped further inside to allow room for John to enter. When he did the man looked rather confused.
"It's just been a while since we've seen each other." Sherlock explained. "Hasn't it, Mrs Hudson?"
"Oh yes, dear. " She sniffled. "You've been away from 221B for far too long." Her words were obviously meant to scold him but they held no bite. Mrs Hudson just sounded so very sad and broken.
Sherlock's gut twisted painfully. He really had put the ones he cared about through so much. But, Sherlock thought logically, They were better off sad and grieving than dead.
"May we have a cup of tea?" Sherlock asked her softly.
Mrs Hudson nodded and began to make her way up to 221B. "Ok. But just this once though, dear. I'm your landlady. Not your housekeeper."
Sherlock chuckled to himself when he heard Mrs Hudson's oh so familiar words. Things felt like they were slipping back into some form of normality. But things weren't normal, were they? John had no recollection of their time together. He was going to have to lie to John every second of every day. He had to protect him from the truth. He couldn't allow his friend to get hurt again.
When Sherlock stepped foot in the flat he blinked in shock. Because the flat was almost exactly the same as he'd left it. His experiments had been tidied away, but his scientific equipment was still littered about the place. Hadn't Mrs Hudson told John that she was going to give his equipment away to a school? Perhaps she'd kept them for sentimental purposes. His skull was still resting in its rightful place. There was still that awful stain in the carpet from an experiment gone wrong. There was even a newspaper that John had been reading the day before Sherlock's world had broken. The Cluedo was pinned to the wall with a sharp knife still. The smiley face and the bullets in the wall had surprisingly been left too. Perhaps Mrs Hudson hadn't been able to bring herself to fix it.
To him 221B was a constant reminder of the past, of his time with John. He could picture everything from the arguments that had gone on between them, to the peaceful silences that followed after they'd solved another case, to the long discussions they used to have over boxes of take away.
Just by looking at John Sherlock could see that his eyes were taking in the flat for the very first time. He had no recollection of their arguments, their discussions, their wonderful life of solving crime, of being a perfect yet odd team. That hurt a lot more than Sherlock liked to admit.
He'd thought that once he'd gotten John back that the his emotional scars would start to heal. Instead he just felt old wounds reopen. What was the use of having all those memories when the other person couldn't remember them too? It just wasn't fair.
"You'll have to excuse me." Sherlock whispered, quickly turning on his heel and running up the stairs to John's old room. When he reached it he leapt onto the bed and buried his face in one of the pillows, inhaling deeply and sobbing softly as he managed to smell a faint whiff of the old John.
He knew it was ridiculous. The man downstairs was still John. But…he wasn't Sherlock's John. He just wanted his friend back! Was that so much to ask of the universe?!
His chest felt tight with confliction. On one hand he wanted nothing more than for John to remember. Because yes he would be very angry and hurt but he would be Sherlock's John again. They would share each other's memories again. But what if John didn't want to know him anymore? No. No! That was a horrible thought.
At least now John wanted to be in his company. The John downstairs didn't hate him. Things were good. More than good actually. Why was he behaving like an emotional teenage girl?
He picked himself up from the bed and wiped at his eyes. "Stop being such an idiot Sherlock Holmes." He grumbled to himself. He made himself look as presentable as possible, though it was obvious he'd been crying because his eyes were slightly red and puffy.
If John and Mrs Hudson noticed they didn't say anything. John was sat in his usual seat and Sherlock smiled as he took his own seat. Mrs Hudson handed him a cup of tea and he smiled in appreciation, sipping at the hot beverage, humming as the heavenly drink slipped down his throat and settled in his stomach.
"You'll be having the upstairs room. My room is the downstairs one. I don't sleep much so don't be alarmed if you hear me pottering down here at night. I sometimes play the violin too, but I assure you that I'm one of the better violinists, so I hope my music soothes you more than anything. Any questions?"
John sipped at his tea and frowned. "Yes. I do have one."
"Oh?" Sherlock covered up his anxiety by taking a rather big gulp of tea, the liquid moving down his throat so fast it burnt him a little. The pain was a pleasant distraction.
"Who are you?"
Sherlock frowned, puzzled. "Who am I? I told you who I am, John. I'm Sherlock Holmes."
"Yes," John rolled his eyes. "I know that. But who are you, Sherlock? Because I just have this feeling that I know you. I might have suffered brain damage but that doesn't make me bone dead stupid. I've met you before. I know I have. I feel like you're the important piece to a jigsaw puzzle. I just don't know what I'm trying to solve yet."
Sherlock's frown deepened and he swallowed. "I can assure you that we have not met before. The only reason I was at the hospital was because I was interested in your brain injury. Your case is somehow different to other cases of brain injuries out there." The lie was a terrible one but John seemed to buy it. "And I am certainly not important, I can assure you of that."
John tilted his head slightly. He looked a little like a kitten observing something new. It was a very amusing sight indeed. But before Sherlock could laugh John's words stopped him dead in his tracks. "That's not true. I can't possibly believe that. You must be important to someone."
Sherlock's heart ached and he blinked away a fresh set of tears threatening to burst free. He'd had more than enough crying today. "I'm really not, you know."
John reached forward, his eyes big and sympathetic. "You're important to me."
Sherlock blinked. "You barely know me."
"No. But I like to think I'm a good judge of people. And when I look at you all I see is a big heart."
Sherlock huffed a laugh. "And that makes me important?"
"Yeh." John smiled. "It does."
Sherlock sighed happily and settled down further in his chair, taking a small sip of his tea. "Thank you." He whispered, the corners of his lips tugged upwards.
"You're welcome."
Sherlock watched as John settled down and closed his eyes. He was obviously exhausted.
"If you're tired you should rest."
"Mmm." John hummed sleepily. "Ok. A quick nap can't hurt."
He stood to his feet, yawned, and stretched out his arms. "Goodnight, Sherlock."
"Goodnight, John." He watched as John slowly ascended the stairs and sighed in relief when he heard the gentle thud of the upstairs bedroom door.
He stood to his feet when Mrs Hudson made an appearance. He licked his lips and exhaled. "Mrs Hudson…I gather I have a lot of explaining to do. I..."
Mrs Hudson shook her head sadly and placed both of her hands on his face. "You have nothing to explain. Your brother told me everything. I'm just glad you've finally made your way back home." She kissed him gently on the cheek and sighed. "You should hit the hay too. You look completely worn out."
"Yeh…" Sherlock swallowed. "I haven't had a good sleep for…for a long time."
Mrs Hudson nodded in understanding. "It's ok. You can rest now. You're safe and you're home."
"Yes. You're right. I should probably try to get some actual sleep. And Mrs Hudson? About John?"
"I won't tell him anything, dear. I promise. I understand what you're trying to do. I just hope this doesn't backfire on you."
Sherlock sighed wearily. "I hope that too. I'd hate for him to resent me."
"I highly doubt that John could ever resent you." Mrs Hudson said softly. "It just isn't in his nature to hold grudges for long."
Sherlock wished that he could believe those words, but he didn't. If John remembered then there was no doubt in his mind that John would hate him.
He nodded slowly. "Well, goodnight." He said, firmly finishing the conversation and turning on his heel, retreating to his room.
Mrs Hudson merely shook her head. It was heart-breaking seeing Sherlock like this. What was she going to do with her boys?
Sherlock immediately collapsed on the bed and pulled the warm covers around him, not even bothering to take off his coat and shoes. He curled up in a small ball beneath his sheets just as his phone chimed. He fumbled for his phone and glared at the small black text on the screen.
Are you sure you're doing the right thing?-MH.
An icy cold tear slipped out from the corner of his eye and he shoved his mobile back into his pocket. The truth was Sherlock really didn't know whether what he was doing was right or wrong anymore. He cried himself to sleep that night. He was in a warm bed, he was home, but there was still a massive gaping hole in his life that needed to be filled.
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