Author's Note: Finally, I have managed to spend some time working on this. I hope you all enjoy it.
John awoke to a wash of sun light across the room, he was stunned. Sherlock was still asleep next to him; they had gone a whole night without a nightmare or a panic attack. This was progress, real progress. He didn't move for fear of waking Sherlock from the first real sleep he had probably had since John had left him so many months ago. John stayed holding Sherlock's hand trying to figure out what to do next. He had already planned on a bath before a walk in the garden but maybe he should push a little harder today. He wanted to go back to Baker Street, he could go alone but he wanted to go with Sherlock but he didn't know if Sherlock was ready yet. London was always a buzz of people and John had yet to see any signs that Sherlock was ready to be around people again. It was probably too soon; maybe they needed to focus on more reasonable goals. Lestrade, he could call and ask him to come up. It would expose Sherlock to someone that he was reasonablely comfortable and get him use to being with people again. He knew he could do it Mycroft could do anything if you knew how to ask.
Sherlock didn't fuss while John helped him bath, maybe it was the drugs and his new level of cooperation was the result of them finally being out of his system. And much to John's surprise he cleared both the eggs and toast from his plate without complaint or prompting from John. Well, that was a leap and a bound in one morning. Maybe today wasn't the day to push Sherlock, he seemed to making enough strides on his own today but John had to wonder if it was real or if it was forced. He would leave the topic alone for now, off to the garden they went.
"I'm bored." Said Sherlock in a very familiar tone.
"What would you like to do?" replied John looking up from the paper.
"Go back to work."
"Sherlock, you are exhausted from walking from one end of the garden to the other. You're not ready."
Sherlock didn't like what John had just said, but he couldn't come up with an argument.
"Would you like to go visit Baker Street?" he paused. "Pick up some books, what about your violin?"
John was scared of how Sherlock would react.
"Brilliant." He said in that cheerful bright tone he got when he had just found the answer to a case.
That was not the reaction John was hoping for, that was the reaction he was dreaming of but he kept the thought in the back of his mind that Sherlock might be covering something up. Sherlock was a master manipulator.
"Okay, let me go see about a car." Said John getting up, he could risk leaving Sherlock alone for a few minutes in the garden, the staff of the house has long since learned to avoid Sherlock.
John held Sherlock's elbow as they slowly walked up the stairs to 221B Baker Street. Mycroft had arranged for Mrs. Hudson to have her hair done while they were visiting. They felt it would be easier for everyone if they we alone for the visit. He had gained a good deal of weight in the last few weeks but his suits still hung from his body. The ride in the car had been just like normal; John was relieved that would be one less obstacle to overcome in Sherlock's battle for normalcy. Sherlock's ankles were still week so the stairs were always a bit of a challenge. They stepped into the living room, it was like John had never left, and everything was as if they had just gone out for a stroll. Mrs. Hudson must have been keeping the place dusted. John helped Sherlock to his chair, he needed to rest. John sat down across from Sherlock; he never thought he would be back at Baker Street.
"Tea?" asked John.
Sherlock nodded slightly.
Mrs. Hudson had kindly cleaned up the kitchen; John knew that Sherlock would never have left the kitchen so clean. John set about making a cup of tea, just like old times. He had been smart enough to have the cook at house put some in a small container for him just in case. Everything was where it had been before his departure. John was putting the tea bags in the bin when he heard the sound of plucking strings, he smiled. By the time John return to the sitting room Sherlock was quietly playing. John had spent many hours lying in his bunk dreaming of that sound, and to hear it after recent events made the sound ever lovelier. John settled back into his chair to watch Sherlock.
Sherlock was still playing his violin so John took the chance to go up to his old room. It was just as he had left it, except for his desk. On the desk sat a pile of letters, addressed to John in Sherlock's curly hand, sealed but unmailed. He picked them up one by one, there were six, and tucked them in to his coat pocket. He would read them later. On his way back down stairs he stuck his head into Sherlock's room, it was unkept as ever and lying on Sherlock's pillow was John's missing blue pull over. John was not surprised; Sherlock had probably been using it for an experiment. John quickly departed when Sherlock's music stopped.
"You okay, Sherlock?" called John from the stairs.
"Yes, John." Replied Sherlock just loud enough for John to hear but his tone was not convincing.
The violin sat safely in an empty chair, Sherlock was on the sofa curled up in the fetal position. This had not been uncommon but to see it now made John's heart quicken. John moved around to be near Sherlock; John reached down and put one hand on his shoulder.
"Sherlock, I'm right here." Said John calmly.
"What are you thinking?" asked John.
Sherlock did not respond, John thought about the letters he had found.
"Sherlock, I am not going to leave. I should never have left you, I was angry with you and I left that rule my decision, I missed you from the moment I arrived in Afghanistan. I can't tell you how many times I wanted to email you, but I didn't know what to say to you." He paused. "Sherlock, you are my best friend, you mean the world to me."
Sherlock slowly relaxed and his body uncurled, the tension leaving his body.
"Do you want to come back here, the two of us?" asked John.
Sherlock nodded gently.
"Why don't we go back to Mycroft's and talk about, I don't want you to feel uncomfortable and we will have to set some ground rules?" He paused. "And I can't agree until I can leave you for a few hours at time so that I can go to the store."
Exhausted from their trip to Baker Street, Sherlock slept soundly on the bed, while John sat reading. A pile of Sherlock's books and his violin sat on the table. The trip had been fruitful. Then there was a gentle knock on the door.
"Yes," replied John trying on to disturb Sherlock.
The door opened slowly and one of the staff stepped in.
"Mr. Holmes would like to see you." Said the young woman.
"Thank you." Replied John.
John looked at Sherlock who out cold, John figured it was as good as time as any to risk leaving Sherlock on his own. John left his regimental mug sitting on the table for Sherlock to find, knowing that to Sherlock it would mean something very important, it wasn't gone; he had just stepped out of the room.
"John, sorry for pulling you away from Sherlock but I think you need to see this." Said the elder Holmes as John entered the large dark office. "We believe we have found that film footage that Sherlock was shown that lead him to believe you were dead."
John walked closer to the computer on the screen was the image of an armored vehicle, and a couple of officers.
"This was found on a badly damaged hard drive in a very suspicious warehouse fire in north London." Said Mycroft.
The video began to play; John recognized several of the individuals on the film before his own face appeared.
"I remember the day that was filmed but that's not the road we took, and that is definitely not what happened on that trip."
"I know, there is evidence to suggest that the video was professionally edited to appear that way."
"All they had to do was change the number on the vehicle." replied John. "There are hundreds of those vehicles all over the country that could be any number of dozens of incidents."
But this film clearly showed why Sherlock had become convinced that John was dead, Sherlock had probably been forced to watch it hundreds of time and then he had probably replayed a million times in his mind driving him further and further from the person he way.