The door slammed shut loudly behind Sherlock as he entered the hotel room he had been staying in since he returned to London a few days ago. Mycroft had offered him a place to stay, Lestrade as well, but Sherlock had gotten used to the solitude while he was away.
In the days filled with repetition and monotony after Reichenbach, reading and people-watching became Sherlock's primary means of entertainment. He was not to draw any attention to himself as he moved from city to city in order to avoid being recognized.
Sherlock loosened his scarf roughly and threw himself onto the nearest couch, his position resigned as he rubbed his eyes with one hand, weary with what had just happened and the other clutching at the armrest as he struggled to hold back the sadness and regret.
That had not gone well at all.
Sure Sherlock had expected the anger and harsh words when he suddenly showed up at 221B, but perhaps he'd been foolish to think John would be eager to forgive him. No doubt due to the two years he had spent imagining what their reunion would be like. Sherlock didn't prepare for this particular outcome.
He was still cringing over that dark look of disbelief in John's eyes as he refused to accept Sherlock's return as a good thing.
At one point, when John was forced to pull a hysterical and violent Mrs. Hudson away, Sherlock rested a hand on John's shoulder. He would not soon forget John's reaction, first of shock then fury as he jumped at the contact and roughly pushed Sherlock away. Begging Sherlock no to do this, to just go.
And that's just what he did when he realized that this night was not one for reconciliation.
Sherlock sighed and settled into the couch, deeming the bed to be too far away.
Should he just give up? No, that would defeat the entire purpose of coming back in the first place. Two years in hiding, wasted.
Digging through his coat pocket Sherlock pulled out a packet of cigarettes. He eyed it for a moment before proceeding to light one, enjoying the way the tension slide from him with that first drag. He only felt slightly guilty smoking these days, although it was a habit he never wanted John to see.
Sherlock checked his phone: four missed calls, all from his brother. They will go unanswered tonight; Sherlock had other things occupying his mind at the moment.
He would try again in the following weeks to speak to John. But his will to restore their relationship broke down with each ignored phone call and e-mail.
A few years ago Sherlock's mind would have overrode his heart. At that time he'd have gotten the hint and stopped trying to contact John. Abide by his apparent wishes to cut all ties. But with uncharacteristic stubbornness, he persisted.
The hotel room was quiet as Sherlock finished the cigarette. Ignoring the ashtray, he extinguished it on the wooden table in front of him.