It felt like John merely had had a dream, a real realistic dream, but now it was over... it had to be over.

For some moments, some wonderful living moments, he had felt shock, amusement and fury as he hadn't for years. But it was past him, some-thing he had imagined himself.

John was indeed doubting himself as he pushed open the door to Bakerstreet, ever so slightly, it was dark in there, Mrs. Hudson probably had gone to bed, it was after all.. three in the morning.

All the windows had been dark from outside, and his old flat had looked so empty, slowly John walked up the stairs, step by heavy step, it really was silent incredible silent, as John faced the door leading into the flat, he was quite frankly just scared that he was about to walk into a strangers apartment in the middle of the night, or worse.. his old apartment but dusty and all the items covered in white sheets as was it an old inhabited castle. The door was slightly open, John only had to push it for creek all the way up, and send a sound through the hall way, then John hesitated outside.

"Oh for gods sake hurry up all ready!" a deep recognisable voice sounded from within the apartment. "And close that door tight behind you!" Sherlock lastly instructed.

The short words send a sharp iling up through Johns chest as he gasped, And then it made John grump as he stomped inside and smacked the door shut very loudly behind him, to sourly walk inside, only that was the minute he halted for real and just stood paralysed, he couldn't believe his own eyes, everything, every small little thing, was exactly as it used to be, the books all around the place, the skull on the mental piece, the papers secured with a knife, the scratched and miss-used table.. the two chairs and in one of them, the one which belonged to his old friend.. was his old friend, John swallowed as he shakingly took all of this in and finally faced Sherlock, who sat looking so lazy in his chair, only to send a stern look back at John. "You could have been quiet." Sherlock informed a little sternly. "No one is supposed to know any-one lives here."

"A secret huh?" John asked his voice being surprisingly cold and snarky, it was downright filled with contempt.

"Obviously." Sherlock rolled his eyes as he sat ever so calmy with his violin in his own chair. "As you so obviously stated a few hours ago, I am dead. Do sit down." He gestured at the chair in front of him.. Johns old chair.

John hesitated as he saw the chair, then shook his head. "No thanks." He stated.

Sherlock rose and eye-brow.

"It's not that easy Sherlock." John stated as he stood behind his old chair. "I have another life now, other responsibilities, I'm here because I want to know what the hell is going on, that's it." He stated and instead of sitting in his old chair, went over to the couch and sat there instead.

Sherlock merely shrugged as he hid a slight yawn beneath his hand.

"That must have been a rough couple of days." John stated by the uncharismatic sight of a tired Sherlock, it just never usually happened.

"Returning to London, setting up my own come-back ensuring you wouldn't kill me on sight." Sherlock nodded.

"Where have you been all this time?" John asked.

"Abroad." Sherlock stated. "Many different places, spain, Russia, china. I tried to track down as many of Moriartys contacts as possible."

"And why would you do that?" John asked.

"Isn't it obvious?" Sherlock asked. "I tried to get the proof that Moriarty was a real criminal and Richard Brooke was a fake. We are now connected, as long people believe he is a fake I'll be a fake, when they find out he is real I will become real." Sherlock fumed. "But Moriarty was good, even after his death I still couldn't beat him probably."

"How would you even afford to travel like that?" John asked as he blinked.

"Mycroft." Sherlock stated very simply. "I went to Mycroft, he financed me."

At that Johns hand suddenly tightened, it was turning white as he bit together. "Mycroft?" he asked. "You went to Mycroft and asked for help? But you couldn't let me in on the secret?" he asked bitterly. "Wasn't I trust worthy enough?"

"Don't be ridiculous." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You are a thousand times more trust worthy than Mycroft can ever hope to be." He snorted matter of factly. "Sadly you are also a thousand times kinder. Mycroft is cold as stone, he holds so many life important secrets and no one will ever be the wiser, plus." At that Sherlock sighed even more deeply. "He had the finances and power to ensure my comfort and travels, that I could not ask from you."

John exhaled deeply, before taking another breath. "Okay, I see the logic in that." He nodded. "But question two, why now?" he asked looking at Sherlock. "Why of all times would you chose now to come back to life?" he asked.

"Deduce." Sherlock asked of John in a slight grin which only went annoy John further.

"Obviously some-thing happened that changed things." John groaned annoyed. "You found some information, caught some-one."

"The gun-men." Sherlock stated. "There was only one left, we got him temporarily detained today. You are no longer in immediate life danger, that makes me partially free again."

"Partially?" John asked.

"Well, if I suddenly turned up again I would still be wanted for supposed several murder attempts." Sherlock grimaced. "And I have very little wish to spend the remainder of my days in a cell, it would drive me absolutely crazy. Can you imagine a life more dull?"

"There's a picture." John had to admit. "I feel sorry for the prison guards all ready." Then halted and then frowned. "Temporarily?" he suddenly realised. "You said temporarily detained, but he was convicted!"

"He'll be released in three days at most." Sherlock told sternly. "Men like that are important, he has contacts, they rather kill him or release him than having him spilling any secrets. As he is not dead yet I'll assume he got friends around." He stated darkly. "Lots and lots of friends." he stated leaning over. "This one isn't just any-one, he is smart, Moriarty trusted no one, had no right hand man, but that doesn't mean no one tried to pick his empire up after his dead, out of all them whom tried, this man is now the closest.. some-where, some-where he has the information.."

"Oh." Was all John could say at that time. "But why…" hesitated. "Why reveal yourself to me now then." He asked again.

"Because I need you." Sherlock stated. "I need you to do the foot work, I can't walk outside, I'll risk being recognised, I can't phone the police or do half the research I would need to, I need you to help me on this." And then folded his hands. "That gun-man is the key, he has the evidence, evidence that Moriartys empire and thus Moriarty himself is real, we need to search him, find his contacts, in order to let me go free."

"so that's it?" John asked. "You wouldn't have contacted me if it weren't because you needed me."

Sherlock halted as John looked demanding at him. "I erh.." he hesitated. "What I mean is that." He fumbled.

"Wait, forgive me I am shocked and tired." John rubbed his temples. "You all ready told me, you almost texted me on several occasions."

"So we are good then?" Sherlock asked.

"No." John stated flatly. "But I'll listen."

"Will you help me?" Sherlock then asked. "I could go to Mycroft, get one of his paid service people to do the foot work, but I can't trust them."

The underlying words were very forceful, Sherlock wanted to work through John, and no one else, not if he could help it.

At last and very defeated John shook his head. "Yeas of cause." He then said. "Call me, text me, say the word but." He held his tongue. "When this is over, when you are free again, I have to go."

"What ever you say." Sherlock shrugged. "I never held you captured here." He yawned a deep yawn hiding beneath his hand.

"You do look like shit." John commented on Sherlocks look. "Have you at all eaten probably the last three years."

"I'm not sure." Sherlock stated.

"You've taken up smoking again." John observed.

"Not as of this second, I am in the middle of a case, I don't need it." Sherlock stated forcefully.

"Sherlock, you stink of cigarettes, so does this entire flat, is there anything else you have been taken?" John asked seriously.

Sherlocks eyes flickered around the room. "Oh nothing threatening to my health." He hesitated.

"So.. some-thing." John stated. "Lay it out." He demanded with crossed arms.

Sherlock blinked his eyes, as if he didn't understand, though obviously he would have to, it was not the first time they had had that conversation.

"Your arm Sherlock." John demanded. "Let me see it."

"I do think I am able to take care of my own health." Sherlock almost snorted.

"Hah, that's a laugh, you were never able to take care of your own health." John stated in a sarcastic voice.

"I was fine long before I ever knew whom you were." Sherlock snorted right back in a just as sarcastic voice.

"Yeah, I'm sure both Mycroft, Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson will back you up on that one." John rolled his eyes his word winning their little contest of whom could be the most sarcastic. "Now let me see!" and without warning he flung himself at Sherlock in a body assault grabbed his arms.

Sherlock how-ever was not new at being attacked so he was ready and shielded himself, but didn't want to hurt the doctor, which gave John and opening to take his arm and twist, for Sherlock to twist John around in return, and before any of them knew what was happening they tilted and landed on the floor in a quite the struggle.

"GET OFF ME!" Sherlock shouted.

"Stop being a baby!" John shouted right back before finally he reached his goal and got Sherlocks sleave pulled back, only to stop stunned. "Oh god, Sherlock." He grimaced by the sight of the many many punctures, the far to visible veins having nasty purple colours, and the smell, John had to wrinkle his nose, it was a disgusting smell he had come to connect with wounds not probably tended to out in the middle of dessert of Afghanistan.

Sourly Sherlock retrieved his arm and covered it up. "okay, so maybe a little morphine and some cocaine here and now. But it was three years John! Three years where I couldn't pick up a case or I could be spotted and you would die, my mind drove me crazy!"

"Fine then." John gritted having knowledge enough to know that any attempt or injection towards the miss-use as of this moment would be miss-placed, he had to use other means and focus on some-thing else at the immediate moment. "At least tell me you disinfect that arm on a daily basis and always used clean needles."

Sherlock was silent.

"God Sherlock." John crumbled. "Then be sure to wait here till tomorrow, then I'll bring some disinfect liquid and clean that thing myself."

"There's not that many places I can go." Sherlock grumbled sourly sitting down on the couch where he yawned deeply. confused he shook his head and his head tipped over as the detectives eyes clearly grew very heavy very quickly. "So sorry, but some-how I just feel.. so drained right now." Sherlock mumbled laying down on the couch. "I don't know why." he stated pillowing his head in his arms.

"You over strained yourself, as you always do." John shook his head as he looked at the dark haired figure laying on the couch. "Sherlock, what am I supposed to think?" he asked as he turned around looking towards the window where the drapes where shut tight, probably to make sure no one peaked inside. "I'm standing here, and it's like I have stepped into a bloody time capsule, but I hope you understand, I can't allow myself to fall back into what we did, I have a life now, a prober life." John stated looking at the drapes then the violin left in Sherlocks chair. "I do love Mary, I should do all that I can to make her happy." His eyes then fell on his own chair, he hadn't sat down in. "Do you understand Sherlock?" John asked turning to Sherlock, only to suddenly find out. The dark haired man laying on the couch, had fallen deep a sleep, and now just laid snoring very lightly, almost soundless but rhythmically, Sherlock never moved an inch while he slept, and neither did he now. But a sleep he was for sure.

John sighed deeply and grabbed a blanket to carefully spread it over Sherlock. "Sherlock I.." John hesitated. "Anything, any-time, what-ever you need." He told the sleeping frame, and as the detective had fallen a sleep, that was the time a tear was allowed to escape the veteran soldiers eye, John didn't even bother to wipe it away as it was followed by a few more. "I'm just so happy to have you here, I missed you, but god I wish, I so wish you were better at taking care of yourself." He stated. "It would make things a whole lot simpler." And then he quietly left the apartment, quietly closed the door after himself, and as quietly as he possible could, listed down the stairs to be meet by the rising sun outside, groaning by the knowledge he would get any sleep. He would just go fetch what he needed to take care of Sherlocks health problems and come straight back.

God this would be difficult to explain to Mary…