Thank you to everyone who has added this story to their alerts/favourites – special thanks to: Miss Sherlock, Holly-Rose Fowl-Casson and Annabeth Black for being my first 3 reviewers.

A grin slowly spread across Sherlock's lips until it swelled up and filled his whole face. He looked no different than he had a couple of weeks ago – black hair tousled, long coat buttoned – as he stood grandly in the centre of the bandstand.

As soon as he caught sight on his old friend, Sherlock confidently strode towards him, opening his arms up wide.

"John!" he cried, waiting for him to join him in a reunion embrace.

However, John had frozen to the spot in shock – unable to move, talk, or even think. It felt as if he was in a thick cellophane bubble where sound and image was blurred – leaving him in a state of denial. Sherlock couldn't be alive. He'd seen him stare him in the eyes as he'd jumped off of the hospital roof just two weeks ago - plummeting to his death.

This was why it was understandable that, instead of joining Sherlock in an embrace, he stepped forwards and punched him in the face.

Sherlock held his hand up to where John had cuffed him on the cheekbone in surprise, but raised his other hand up in surrender.

"John, your reaction is perfectly normal..." He spoke quickly, trying to reassure his friend. "You're in shock, and one of the main ways to deal with shock is to –"

He was suddenly cut off as John struck him again. He recovered quicker this time, slowly walking towards his friend, crouching down slightly.

"Yes, to strike out. But John, I'm here. I came back to –"

Taking him off-guard, John mocked a punch and then spun round to catch Sherlock in a tight headlock.

"John!" Sherlock spluttered, struggling against the vice grip pressing down on his windpipe. "John, stop it! I'm not going to harm you!"

As Sherlock's eyes started drooping and his face started to swell, John was abruptly aware of a voice – incredibly close – in his ear.

"John", the voice was hushed and soft. "You can let go."

John turned to see the placid face of Irene Adler, and realised that her hands were slowly dragging his arms away from Sherlock's neck. In his hazy state, John let her. She slowly sat him down on the bench encircling the inside of the bandstand and let him go. John remained seated, staring at the floor.

After Sherlock retrieved his breath in a few hacking coughs, Adler set her firm gaze on him.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?" she hissed. "Are you insane? You faked your own death just to come back?"

"You're not so different yourself", Sherlock muttered defensively. "I do not need to remind you how much trouble I went through to save you"- His voice turned sour for a moment –"So do not question my judgement. The only way I could've ended my last case was to – effectively – die, to bring down Moriarty's underworld of crime. Though I highly doubt that his work has ended, his associates have most certainly quietened down. John, of all people, must understand that." He looked over at his friend, who was still staring at the stained concrete floor.

Slowly, John shook his head. He could finally feel reality setting in as feeling returned to his numb senses. His hands shook slightly.

Sherlock walked over to him and placed a hand over John's clasped ones to stop them from trembling.

"John", he said quietly. "You knew Moriarty. You knew what he was doing. You know I had to do it, right?" John remained silent. "I know I should've told you sooner, but I'd persuaded myself that you'd be safer if you thought I was... dead. It was stupid – I realise that now – but only a few people can know I'm alive. And John, I can trust you. That's why I came back."

There was an agonisingly long silence before John finally looked up.

"I'm glad you did", he said, speaking for the first time since his old friend had returned. He gave a tiny smile, which gave Sherlock the greatest feeling of relief.

Sherlock jumped up at once, pressing his hands together and holding them up to his face.

"Let's get started then!"

There was silence in the taxi on the way back to John's new flat, but this time it was a passive silence. Arriving at John's door, Sherlock inspected the peeling paint on the front door with raised eyebrows.

"Don't", John warned him. "Since you kicked the bucket, I had to move out of Baker Street."

Sherlock quietly entered, with Adler close behind. He surveyed the place silently with a keen gaze while John put the kettle on, and felt along the wooden desks and shelves.

"How many sugars, Adler?" John called from the kitchen. Before she could answer, Sherlock quickly interrupted.

"I'll do that!"

As fast as a hound, he skidded into the kitchen and snatched the teaspoon from John's grip.

"She doesn't take sugar anyway", he explained as John stared at him for a moment.

Without protest, John turned and left the room – leaving Sherlock responsible for the outcome of the beverages.

"So how exactly did you manage it, then?" Adler asked once they were all sitting down – John in an armchair, with Sherlock and Adler opposite on the settee.

Sherlock waved a dismissive hand as he carefully placed the tea and saucer down on the tea-table separating the two halves of the room.

"There will be time to discuss that, but the time is not now", he rushed. "But first's first – what has become of my beloved Baker Street?"

He stared intensely at John, as if he was trying to decode the answer himself. John intervened.

"I stayed there for a while", he admitted. "But after a couple of days, I just couldn't imagine myself there anymore. So I moved out and contacted Scotland Yard, but they..."

"Have they got a buyer?" Sherlock interrupted, now sitting forwards, leaning on his lap.

"I don't know." John didn't even blink at his friend's interruption – he was so used to it, even after the two weeks delay that it didn't seem to faze him at all. "Although I doubt that people would be eager to move into the place of an accused fraud-turned suicide..."

"Excellent!" Sherlock quickly jumped up and spun around. "And what of Mrs Hudson?"

"She hasn't left; bless her – She's too busy keeping the place spick-and-span ready for new guests."

"We'll fit right back in then!" Sherlock sounded delighted. "We'll have to keep it quiet though, no one else will be able to know I'm alive – take Mrs Hudson. I won't be able to be a consulting detective anymore."

His face fell slightly, but then he quickly snapped out of it and turned towards the door. He looked back over his shoulder at John with a grin.

"Ready to go home, Watson?"

Thank you for reading, now please review and let me know what you think! Thanks.