A/N: *hand smacks forehead! Yeah, so I'm an idiot – 3 edits and I totally missed how off I was over Mary's height. It should have been 160 not 120. I guess I typed a 2 instead of a 6 and missed it!:P She's suppose to be around the 5'3 mark. I wanted her to be shorter than John but not that short! Apparently I failed the metric system. Disqualification as a Canadian.

Anyway…

Chapter 10 – several hours earlier

Sherlock lay on the couch for a few minutes after his epiphany. He was coming to terms with the idea that he needed John's help. John. Simple, ordinary John, lover of knit wear, for god's sake. John who had shot the cabbie, John who had offered his life for Sherlock's at The Pool, John who had eventually forgiven him for the experiment in Baskerville's labs, John who had pleaded with him not to jump. Who would not believe he was a fake, even when Sherlock told him this in order to save his life from the sniper. John, who still visited Sherlock's grave once a week. Mycroft had informed him of the visits.

Sherlock got off the couch and went in to speak to Mycroft. He was still sitting at his desk, leaning back with ice on his eye.

"John has vastly improved your face. That eye is going to turn into such a lovely purple," Sherlock said dryly.

Mycroft sighed. "What is it you require from me Sherlock? I have been trying to locate the whereabouts of Col. Moran, but I am having no luck. Since his attack last night on John there has been nothing."

"You are quite certain it was Moran's people who attacked John?"

Mycroft smiled slightly at Sherlock, putting down the ice in order to look at his brother. "Quite. We have identified the dearly departed and they are all known associates of the colonel's."

Sherlock stood in thought. "From what I could hear of the conversation between the one man and Mary it sounded as if they had captured John in order to ask him questions. I surmise they were trying to locate Mary not myself. You did leak information to let Moran know Mary was in London? I am correct in this, am I not?" and he frowned at Mycroft.

Mycroft looked at Sherlock for a moment. "Yes, I am afraid you are correct. I wanted to flush him out and I knew he would be unable to resist her. I have already mentioned some of these facts, Sherlock."

"But not that you had deliberately invited him to come and play," Sherlock's eyes glittered dangerously again.

"That's a bit rich coming from you, or have you forgotten all about James Moriarty?" Mycroft very rarely showed his anger, but he had had enough for one day. He would not stand by and have his brother, his little brother, lecture him about such matters.

Sherlock just glared at Mycroft and then abruptly switched topics.

"I am going to speak to John."

Mycroft looked at Sherlock and frowned. "You are going to reveal yourself to John? Let him know you didn't die? Do you really think John will understand or forgive you? You really have no idea how much your 'death' affected him. On the surface he appears to be 'fine', but he assuredly is not."

Sherlock stood with his arms folded. "I believe I can make him understand about the whys." He hesitated as if having difficulty in admitting the next part. "I am uncertain as to whether he will forgive me. I can only hope that he will do so eventually."

"It may not be the fact that you faked your own death he will have difficulty with," said Mycroft. "Or the horrible way you did it in front of him, a man with PTSD, watching his dearest friend jump off a roof. It may be he won't forgive you for leaving him, for not telling him why in the first place. You do have a rather unfortunate habit of leaving him in the dark. He is so loyal to you and you do not reciprocate the sentiment. I do not believe breaking the news to John will be as easy as you believe."

Sherlock did not want Mycroft to know that this was his biggest worry. But My has probably already guessed it and that is why he directed those remarks to me.

He chose to ignore Mycroft's summation. "John was not supposed to see me jump. He was supposed to be back at Baker Street, checking on Mrs. Hudson. Not watching me die!" Sherlock's voice rose a little on the end. He paused.

"It does not matter if John forgives me or not. I need his help," He swallowed his considerable pride and spoke the next words. "I can not go after Moran without him."

Mycroft slowly smiled, a genuinely pleased look on his face. "I am glad you are finally beginning to see some of the value of John Watson. Perhaps you are beginning to grow up little brother."

Sherlock rolled his eyes at his brother and ignored that statement. "Where is he Mycroft?"

"I believe you will find him in Ms. Morstan's bedroom sleeping. Oh nothing like that," he said as he noticed Sherlock's eyebrows quirk. "Although it will only be a matter of time. They appear to be very interested in one another. No, simply put she was distressed, he comforted her. Both are exhausted from emotional upheaval and John has the added burden of his physical injuries. They simply fell asleep. I suggest you have something to eat, get some rest and then go and give Dr. Watson the heart attack I'm sure he has always wanted." Mycroft smirked at his little brother.

"I require nothing to eat at this time. I will continue to think on how we will capture and kill Sebastian Moran. Please inform me when John awakens."

Sherlock went to lie back down on the couch.

oOo

several hours later

"So you are certain that Sherlock actually wrote that note and he, what followed you to the alley and shot Bad Guy #5?" Mary said a little dubiously.

"Yes, it makes sense don't you see? Who else could it have been? If it was one of Mycroft's men, they would have let you know, but they didn't. Anyone else would have come to help. No, it has to be Sherlock." John was up pacing the room.

"I need to go and speak to Mycroft. He must know Sherlock's alive and where he is. Even if he doesn't know exactly where, he'll help me find him I'm sure."

"But John, do you really think he would tell you? Don't you think if Sherlock has gone to all this trouble to, I don't know, to pretend to be dead, that Mycroft is simply going to tell you where he is? And why? Why did Sherlock do this? What was the reason?"

John stood there and looked at her. Anguish appeared on John's face. In his excitement of thinking about the possibility of Sherlock being alive, he had ignored the reason Sherlock had to do it in the first place. Why had he done it? If Sherlock had felt the need to fake his death why had he not told John?

John was feeling more apprehensive the longer he thought about this.

Mary felt horrible bringing this up, especially after looking at John's face.

John looked at her and then he straightened his shoulders and said, "I still need to talk to Mycroft."

Mary nodded pensively. "I'm going to stay here. I really don't want to see Mycroft right now."

"You'll be ok? If I go?"

"Yes. I'm going to clean up and find some lunch. I guess I need to figure out what I'm going to do next," she shrugged.

He gave her a quick smile and headed out the door. He nodded to Michael who was still stationed outside Mary's room.

He walked in the direction of Mycroft's office hoping to find him there. He was staring straight ahead, in a hurry, when he rounded the corner and right into Sherlock.

Sherlock had been on his way to see John. Mycroft had just informed him that John was awake and he couldn't wait any longer. He was feeling strangely nervous about speaking to him.

John backed up and stared. He felt his face grow pale. It was true. Sherlock was alive. Excitement and joy were now mixing with anger and confusion in his stomach, making a leaded weight.

"Sherlock?" John whispered. "It's true?"

"Hello John," Sherlock said.

Sherlock was beginning to understand what Mycroft had been talking about. This was not going to be easy. He could read all of the emotions flicking across John's face at a record pace: joy, despair, hurt, confusion, disappointment was there as well. John was disappointed in him. That one surprised him. But surely John would understand once he told him why he had done what he had done? He was now more certain that forgiveness was going to be a long time coming. He'd settle for some form of understanding.

While these thoughts were going through his head he was mentally cataloguing changes in John.

Concussion from blow to the head experienced slight memory loss of immediate events which is slowly returning

Left shoulder injury aggravated caused by arms being raised behind back to the point of discomfort and pain

Three stitches to right cheek mild bruising and swelling I'd kill the man who did this except he's already dead

Lost weight half a stone not eating regular meals when he is eating he only consumes small portions maybe experiencing nausea possible headaches

Not sleeping nightmares no correction night terrors I caused this?

Depression not seeking professional advice brief thoughts of suicide because he thought I died?

Strong attraction to Mary, but holding back because both are experiencing emotional turmoil afraid she may be attracted to him because of support during crisis typical Watsonian honour behind this not justified Mary wouldn't be attracted to a rescuer or at least not just because of a rescue

Still wearing his pajamas which is highly unusual for this time of the day must be due to injury and emotional trauma and lack of time in which to change

John meanwhile was drinking in the sight of Sherlock. He couldn't figure out as many things as Sherlock could about the average person, but as a doctor he could see that there were changes.

Lost weight

Tired

Smoking again

No signs of drug use

What the hell is he wearing? jeans and a hoodie?

All of these thoughts were catalogued in the first few seconds of the two men took to look at each other. Sherlock's 'Hello John' then registered in John's brain. His face went from pale to red in an instant.

"You turn up alive two months after supposedly dying and all you can say is 'Hello John'?" God he hated it when his voice rose and when he was angry it sometimes came out squeaky. Especially when he was angry with Sherlock. "You insufferable, pompous, egotistical, pig-headed…"

"John"

"arrogant, puffed-up…"

"John!"

"overbearing, insufferable…"

"You have already used insufferable and really some of those words are just synonyms …"

"selfish bastard!" He roared the last word and was overwhelmed by the urge to deck his second Holmes of the day and could feel his hands clenching. "Do you... can you possibly…how hard… you know," and then John went from yelling at the top of his lungs at Sherlock to whispering with rage and that was possibly more frightening to Sherlock, if he was frightened, which he wasn't. "Do you have any idea what I went through?"

"Yes John, I believe I have some idea that this has been extremely difficult for you."

John's rage left him as suddenly as it had come and all he could feel was the hurt. He just looked at Sherlock, panting from his draining anger.

"I thought I died that day, Sherlock. I thought I'd died because I'd failed you. Do you get it? I felt huge amounts of guilt, because how could you possible believe that I would think you were a fake. Me! After everything we've been through. How could you just…" and John could feel the sobs coming up and he tried to suppress the urge to cry. "And I asked you to not do it. I pleaded with you and I watched… I watched you…how could you just leave me? Like that?" and he abruptly turned his back and Sherlock could see his shoulders were shaking as he tried to control the sobs that were threating to overwhelm him.

Sherlock was uncertain what to do. He knew he had caused great distress for John. He was overwhelmed by the idea that anyone, that John could feel this much for him. No one had ever shown these kinds of emotions for Sherlock. He didn't understand them. But he did realize that he had to do something for John. John was slowly breaking again and he had to fix him. Like before. He wondered if a hug would be appropriate or if John would even allow him to initiate such a move. He was standing there, complete at a loss as to what to do. It was a strange sensation for him. Some part of that great brain of his clued in and before he even consciously knew what he was doing he stepped forward, spun John around, placed his long arms around him and awkwardly hugged him. John stiffened for an instant and then his arms went around Sherlock and they stood there while John wept.

They broke apart after a few minutes and Sherlock stood looking at his friend as John wiped his eyes. John was feeling slightly embarrassed at the depth of emotion he had displayed today, but he figured he'd get over it. It wasn't every day that your best friend came back to life.

"I missed you John," Sherlock said. "I wasn't prepared for that. It was…disconcerting."

John snorted and his voice still thick with tears, said "I missed you too, you git."

Sherlock turned to lead the way to Mycroft's office, when John grabbed his arm to stop him.

"Sherlock," he paused, and cleared his throat. "Sherlock, never again. Do you understand me? You are never to do that again or to go somewhere without telling. You will never leave me behind again. I couldn't…" He stopped, unable to continue.

Sherlock put his hand on John's and looked him in the eye. He was uncertain how he would react to what he had to say. "I can't promise. This is me. I don't think that way. But if you ask me questions about what I am doing I will be honest with you and I will do my utmost to include you in all of my future plans. I'll do my best."

John hesitated and the nodded. He knew that really for Sherlock that was a big step forward and he believed that Sherlock really would try.

oOo

Michael stood in the hall just a bit out of sight of the reunion, but not out of hearing. He was relieved of duty by someone from the security detail to stand outside Miss Morstan's room a few minutes after the detective and the doctor left.

He was finished for the day and left Mycroft Holmes' residence. He took a taxi to the other end of London and entered a run down and disreputable pub. At the back of the pub he met a man. He was tall, muscular, with an air of indifference to the world. A hard, cruel man.

"Well," said the man without preamble.

"You were right. Sherlock Holmes is alive. He turned up at his brother's last night and is staying there. The doctor and the Morstan woman are there as well."

The man's eyes gleamed. "How very considerate of Mycroft to place all of the people I would most dearly love to see in the same location. And Mycroft there as well. How very nice."

He paused and looked at his undercover agent, his best lieutenant. "You know what to do next," and dismissed him.