After that day Sherlock waits for me at the bench after almost every shift. Our routine is always the same: he brings coffee, we walk to my house in silence and I never invite him in.
I am dying to know how he knows all my hours, even when I have an unexpected double shift, but I don't break our ritual of silence. I will wait for him to choose his words, even though after almost a week I start to think he will never find them.
One afternoon, when the weather finally clears up and the ice cold wind disappears, Sherlock speaks while he hands me the coffee.
'Would you mind walking an alternative route home today?'
'Ehm, that depends…' I am suspicious.
'Nothing to worry about, I just thought since the weather is better we could go through the park.' He tries to say it casually, but I hear there is a plan behind the suggestion.
'Okay.'
We set off to the park. At first, things are as usual: silent. We both finished our coffee by the time we reach the park. When we pass by some benches Sherlock clears his throat.
'Can we sit?'
I sink down on one of the benches and Sherlock joins. It is cold. We are still silent. It is very uncomfortable. I wish I still had my coffee so I had something to do.
I hear Sherlock take a deep breath. It seems like he finally found the words.
'It is your fault, John!'
'What?!' I stare at him. These are the words he has been thinking about all this time?
'What do you mean, it's my fault? What is my fault?'
'This situation. The way things went. The reason I couldn't come to you first.'
'What the bloody hell are you talking about, Sherlock?'
'I am telling you that you are responsible for this, John. Do keep up.'
'I… I.. this is ridiculous!' I stammer angrily.
Sherlock is calm. 'No it is not. I have been thinking about it for a long time.'
'Well apparently not long enough because you're wrong, you git. In what way could you being a total dick possibly be my fault?' I yell at him. I am getting up to leave but Sherlock pushes me back down on the bench.
'At least let me explain before you storm off like an insulted teenager.'
'Alright, fine. I actually would like to see how you rationalize this deranged theory.'
Sherlock ignores my anger and leans back in the bench.
'I assume you know the story of how I faked my suicide and what I have been up to these last two years from the interview?'
I grunt something.
He glares at me. 'Don't pretend, John. I see right through you. Your level of agitation and your poorly concealed disappointment in my failing to come to you first proves how deeply you are affected. So naturally you saw the whole interview and I assume your anger and resentment were increased when I failed to mention your name.'
Annoying deducing sod!
He smirks. 'Anyway, back to my point. When all my plans came together and I was finally able to clear my name, Mycroft helped me make a plan how and when to announce my return. And, naturally, I always planned to come to you first, before anything or anyone else.'
I scold. 'Yeah sure. Of course you did.'
'Yes I did.' Sherlock leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees while he stares into the park. 'I did plan that. I knew where you lived and I followed you around for two full days before I –'
'You followed me around?!' I interrupt him. Shocked. How could I not notice that?
He signs. Annoyed. 'Yes John, don't be dense. I had to see what your life was like, of course.'
I want to say more but he continues: 'I had thought about what to say to you when we would meet again. I wrote you so many letters and texts over the last two years, but still I didn't really figure it out the right words. Anyway, I assumed I would know it when I saw you.'
He is silent.
'But…?' I ask, encouraging him to tell more.
Sherlock takes a deep breath. 'What was I to say? I knew 'sorry' wasn't going to be sufficient.'
'Well, what did you say to Lestrade? Or to Mrs. Hudson?' I can't hide my resentment as well as I would like.
'Nothing.' Sherlock waves dismissively. 'I just said 'hi, I'm back.' It was a bit of shock for Mrs. Hudson though, maybe I should have done that differently….'
'So?' I ask. 'You could have said that to me?'
Sherlock turns his head and looks at me. 'To you? I could have said that to you?' He looks away from me. 'No John. I saw you there, in the street, while I stood on that rooftop, I heard you when you yelled my name and I knew what you would find in the street after I jumped… I might be a sociopath but I am definitely not an idiot. I learned something from all your babbling about emotions and I knew I had to come up with something better.'
'But….?' I push again.
'But I didn't.' Sherlock simply says.
I frown. 'What do you mean?'
'Don't be a simpleton, doctor. I didn't know what to say so I didn't say anything. And then the days passed and Mycroft set our plan in motion and the world knew I was alive before I talked to you.'
It seemed so simple, and yet there was still something I didn't understand.
'So how is this my fault?'
Sherlock frowns at me. 'Didn't you listen? Because of you I knew I had to come up with something better than 'sorry' or 'hi, I am back'. You… You…' He waves accusingly at me. 'You were my moral compass. You made me aware of all that nonsense and now I can't go back. Every difficult conversation I ever had to have, every time I was ever aware of another person's feelings, every time I felt I had to apologize…you were there to tell me how to do it. Or at least you let me know when I did it wrong. But when I have to apologize to you…' he leans forward on the bench again, '… I cannot depend on you guiding me through it. You made me aware of it and now I am stuck. Before I met you there would have been no problem just announcing my return to everyone after coming back from the death.'
'So it's my fault.' I whisper.
'Yes.' He concurs, obviously relieved I finally understand. 'It is.'
He leans forward again, clearly still captured in his dilemma. I cannot stop myself from smiling but he doesn't see it.
'So,' he says, 'since you agree it is your fault you have to tell me the right words to apologize.'
'Sherlock,' I put my hand on his, he looks up, surprised, 'you just did.'
'What?' Complete confusion on the face of the genius, that must be a first. 'But…' he stammers, 'how….?'
I beam at him. 'Don't worry.' I pet his hand. 'You're a genius, you will figure it out.'
I slide my fingers under the palm of his hand and he closes them with his fingers.
We sit like that for a while. Darkness starts to fall in the park when I let go of his hand to stretch myself. I yawn and say: 'How about some tea at my place?'
THE END.
(Or not...? Let me know if you want more and what you would like to read about!)
