Light streaming through the blinds woke Sherlock the next morning, the brightness bringing his headache into full focus. Upon returning to the hotel last night, Sherlock indulged in a few more drinks than necessary. If drinking by oneself until passing out was not the height of loneliness then he didn't know what was.
Sherlock checked his watch for the time, 10 AM. He pushed himself off the couch with a sigh, he was to meet John at the flat in an hour to discuss the case. The only reason for this meeting was that Sherlock feigned ignorance about what he already knew about the killer: male, late twenties – early thirties, college graduate and a history of violence easily read in the way he went through the things at the first victim's home and the carelessness in which he killed them. He was also probably growing impatient with the police which meant more deaths.
Sherlock was already close to deciphering the unique short hand that was used, but found himself distracted. He lingered in the shower a few minutes longer than usual thinking about how he was going to deal with what he was calling the "John situation." He tried, in his own way, to mend the relationship but John was not easily persuaded.
Not bothering to shave, Sherlock got dressed and chose to walk to Baker Street. It was a nice enough morning and he was hoping the fresh air would help his alcohol-induced nausea.
Sherlock begun to panic as he approached the building. Mrs. Hudson would greet him readily enough but John would remain taciturn and virtually unreadable.
The front door was suddenly pulled open before he had a chance to knock.
"Hello Sherlock!" she exclaimed before pulling him into a strong hug, "How are you?"
"I'm fine Mrs. Hudson," he said smiling "and you?"
"Oh I'm alright, John should be upstairs."
Sherlock nodded and made his way up, preparing himself for the worst. The door was ajar, so he knocked lightly before letting himself into the dimly lit apartment. John was at the desk, typing away at his laptop. Sherlock had missed coming home to that when he was away.
John turned his head sharply when he heard someone come in, his face softening when he saw Sherlock.
"Oh, you're here. Come in," John got up and moved into the kitchen to make tea.. He pretended not to notice the 5 o'clock shadow that somehow made Sherlock even more attractive, it looked like he had a rough night.
Sitting on the couch, Sherlock looked about the room, not much had changed. A few things were missing, the skull for example.
Clearing his throat, Sherlock squeezed out the question, "Um, do you mind if I ask, what happened to the skull?"
The tinkering of cups in the kitchen came to a halt.
"It's in your bedroom."
Those few words made Sherlock's breathing go a bit unsteady. "Your bedroom," as if it was still there for him to call his own.
"Oh," was his only response. A minute later John set the tea down in front of him, avoiding eye contact and instead choosing to focus on the file in his hand.
"So have you been able to decipher any of it yet?"
"A few words, the killer is using a mix of common shorthand symbols and his own unique version so it will take me a bit more time."
"Is it expensive?" John asked suddenly.
Caught off guard by the question Sherlock choked on his tea, "Is what..."
"Living at the hotel. You've been there for months," John trailed off. Was he actually about to do this? John had been considering for weeks now whether or not to ask Sherlock to move back in. But what if it was one-sided and Sherlock never had any intention of coming back?
"It's not so bad. The manager of the hotel owes me a favor so it works out," Sherlock should have said something else, now it sounded as if he didn't want to come back when he knew it was quite the opposite.
John nodded furiously as he looked down into his cup, he should have known Sherlock had everything sorted, they were past having to depend on each other.
"But," Sherlock continued, "it does get a little pricey, I'm not exactly making big bucks working for Lestrade."
"Right, well you know, if things become hard to manage, you're always welcome to your old room."
Sherlock stared at John, watched the way his face reddened after having finally extended that offer. He didn't think he would ask, the way things had been going between them lately. But this seemed to be a step in the right direction for them both.
John took a deep breath and looked Sherlock in the eye, "If you want."
"That would be great."
And that was all it took. It was easier for the two to discuss the case after that. The hostility was gone at least, and now when they met each other's eye they could share a small smile.