That night ended in tears, screams and accusations. Mrs. Hudson had found it in her gracious heart to forgive Sherlock, but not John, the pain was too new. And when Sherlock walked out of 221B that night, it killed John not to call him back, to tell him that it was okay and all could be fixed.
As he left the building, John tried to ignore the eyes he felt on his back all the way to the waiting taxi across the street. He knew he should have handled that situation better. But he still wasn't looking forward to mending burned bridges with Sherlock. A part of him wanted to see him suffer just a bit.
What seemed to slip John's mind was that it wasn't exactly easy for Sherlock to stay away all of those months.
The first week after Reichenbach was a struggle between Sherlock and Mycroft as they negotiated the terms of his cover-up. He couldn't count the number of times he'd pick up the phone with the intention of calling John only to consider the repercussions of such an action and stop himself.
And now they had the chance to go back to how it all began, a case.
There was a message waiting for John when he returned to the flat from Lestrade,
"Um, hello, it's me," John smiled at how awkward the inspector sounded, "Look, I know how the situation is right now between you and Sherlock, but I really need this done. And if you two solve this one, well my superiors won't come down on me for using you in my investigations. I'll understand though, if you don't, you know want to." There was a pause, "Anyways call me back with your decision."
John considered Lestrade's words as he went about making lunch.
Would it be that simple? He would like to believe that working together with Sherlock again would be easy, but John was wiser than that. Things would be awkward and the tension between them would eventually explode with the anger John had been holding onto. It was all he had now really, his anger and his memories with the man he once called his friend. A pair of damaged goods sharing a flat in London.
John walked over to the desk to retrieve the case file.
After skimming over the details, John called Lestrade, "Hello? Yes it's me. Okay. Okay I'll do it."
And with those few words, John was back, although he was hardly sure of what he was getting himself into. But then again it wasn't as if he was sure the first time either. John sat at the desk and stared at the faded smiley face and the now patched-up bullet holes on the wall. Opening up his laptop, John began typing, "The Case of ..."