Sorry for the wait! I really wanted to get the reunion right and have been drowing under piles of work as well! I hope this has everything you have been waiting for and more will be on the way! Thanks for reading! Enjoy!
Sherlock never had expected this to be so challenging. His resurrection from death. It was a utterly unique situation. One that should be so simple and yet so infinite in its outcomes. Not many people can claim to have come back from the dead. Or if they did, they certainly weren't Sherlock Holmes. He finds that no matter many times he observes the facts or for how long he analyses John; he cannot predict how John will react when he see's him alive. When Sherlock had met John he had believed him to be predictable. A man who was undoubtedly loyal, a skilled doctor and a brave man but who was essentially ordinary. Yet at times...he surprised Sherlock. Funny and unexpected acts that could amuse Sherlock or stun him into speechlessness. When John had grabbed Moriarty; offering to sacrifice himself so he could save Sherlock, no one had ever done that for him before. He remembers the determination in John's face; willing to protect a man he barely knew even if it meant he would lose his life.
And now he sits in the comfort of Mycroft's ridiculously lavish house trying to calculate how he should proceed. He is…nervous to put it succinctly. Every scenario that his mind supplies always ends in a similar conclusion. John will first be in shock or possible denial, then he will be angry resulting in punches to Sherlock's face, will most likely move out of the flat, with possibly more punches to the face if Sherlock tries to stop him. End result: John will never want to see Sherlock again. When he had consulted his older brother, Mycroft had been of little help.
His precise words were "Please desist in your sulking, Sherlock, it is most irritating. John has always been, for whatever reason, inexplicably patient when it comes to you. Something I admire him for. So I suggest you just go to him and see what happens". His comments were both useless and insulting; Sherlock Holmes does not sulk. He dregs himself from bowls of his mind, looking up at the antique clock that hangs from the wall. He had been lost in his own thoughts for so long that it is approaching the hour that John usually comes to visit him. John...He makes up his mind. He is no coward and he cannot procrastinate anymore. John deserves the truth and Sherlock wants... He wants to come home. His informants had been dismissed although he suspects that Mycroft still keeps his men watching over John and the others. Something which he was grateful for although he would rather have his teeth pulled out than admit it to Mycroft. He is safe to return. There is nothing stopping him. He steps out of the house into the cold air, wrapping his scarf tightly around his neck and flips the collars of his black coat up. He hails a cab; his body tingling with adrenaline and his mind buzzing with thoughts of John.
John is walking back after another wonderful date with Mary, she is everything a man could want, beautiful, funny and intelligent. They had a lot in common and conversation flowed naturally. She understood his grief; she knew firsthand how hard it was to have someone ripped from your life. Someone who had been utterly fundamental to it and to then have to continue on. Tonight she had listened to the small pieces of information and stories he was willing to part with about Sherlock. She had smiled and told him that they must have shared a great friendship. She almost makes him feel whole again. He walks quicker to his destination; feeling the desire more than ever to talk to Sherlock.
The air is cold and his breath is clearly visible in front of him. The cemetery is empty as he stands in front of Sherlock's grave and braces himself for what he needs to say. He needs pour everything out. He needs to do this and let go or he will never be happy. He looks straight ahead trying to form the words and clears his throat.
"I know you never used listen when I talked to you about this stuff…" he frowns at the memories "or reply. But I'm going to tell you anyway and you're going to lie there and listen. Okay?". He asks the air feeling more than a little ridiculous.
"I've met someone. Her name's Mary and I'm thinking of…I…I need to move on Sherlock". He says; chiding himself for the way his voice cracks and his throat begins to close. "I can't keep moping around the flat expecting you to burst through the door. I will never forget you…I don't think I could even if I wanted to; you're my best friend. And I will always believe in you." He tells the grave; his voice full of steel and determination hoping that Sherlock could somehow hear him.
The corner of his mouth twitches as a tear falls past it. " I owe you… so much. But I've come to say goodbye…" He breathes in deep shuddering puffs of frosty air and reaches out to stroke the slab.
"Goodbye, Sherlock." He murmurs.
Sherlock watches the scene in front of him. His heart pounding in chest as he listens to John's goodbye. The only thought that runs through his mind is NO!
NO! Don't give up on me now, John. I've waiting too long. Worked too hard. You were just waiting for me. You didn't know it. But you were just waiting for me to come back he thinks desperately.
In long purposeful strides he moves towards John. Tears sting his eyes as he walks behind John and reaches out. He takes a deep breath and clasps his hand firmly over John's shoulder. He catalogues every movement John makes. John jumps when his hand comes into contact with his shoulder. He turns around and sways slightly on the spot as he looks at him. His face furrows in confusion and he squints at Sherlock as if he expects him to disappear in the next second. Sherlock releases John's shoulder and stares back at John letting him make the first move.
"Sherlock?…You…you're dead" he says his voice barely above a whisper. He shakes his head and looks down and back up again at Sherlock. "I...how...You're dead" he says again.
Sherlock offers him a small apologetic smile. "It had to appear that way John."
"No…I saw you fall. Sherlock…you're dead." He says again in an almost accusing tone; stepping forward his fists clench and his mouth sets into a small line that he gets whenever he is unhappy about something.
Sherlock frowns, the various scenarios he had imagined in his mind were beginning to look distinctly like this one. "Well obviously I am not." he replies.
"Obviously...? Sherlock! You…argghhhh!" John yells and punches him in the face. Oh right...he numbly thinks as pain bursts across the side of his jaw. He stumbles back to the ground; the moist grass soaks into his trousers and his hand comes up automatically to rub at his jaw. John stands over him, arms crossed, undoubtedly to keep himself from punching Sherlock anymore. He is breathing heavily, his eyes are watery and he makes a series of vague gestures with one arm clearly unable to form the next words in his head.
He sigh heavily and hides his eyes behind one had. "How could you, Sherlock?" he asks in a wavering voice, lifting his hand from his face to jam in it into his pocket. Watery eyes boring into Sherlock.
Sherlock finds that in this instance that his mind is being maliciously unhelpful in forming a reply. Clearly done with waiting John begins to stalk off and Sherlock scrambles to get up and follow him.
"Where are you going? John? Where are you going?" he calls out.
John stops and looks back at Sherlock, his face tight and hard. "I need a walk." He turns away to wipe at his eyes and looks at the floor. "I'll meet you back at the flat? I assume you still have the key." He asks in a soft voice that made its way to Sherlock's chest and constricted it painfully.
He nods dumbly "I do…" he begins to reply but John cuts him off "I'll see you there then" and he leaves Sherlock standing there by his grave.
John walks briskly through the streets. His mind preoccupied with what had just happened. Part of him wants to run back and punch Sherlock some more and the other just wants to grab the curly haired idiot and hug him as hard as he can and convince himself he is real. God…what if I am hallucinating? He thinks. He looks down at fist…his knuckles are beginning to swell slightly and were most definitely going to bruise. His jaw had felt real enough.
His mind begins to fly back to that day trying to pry any possible detail that might explain how Sherlock is alive. How? He thinks desperately. He had seen him fall. He almost chides himself for doubting Sherlock. For really believing he was dead. But he isn't... Sherlock is alive! Sherlock is alive his mind yells at him happily. His legs begin to pick up pace with his realisation and he runs through the street; ignoring the odd looks he gets as he sprints down the pavement.
He arrives at the flat and races up the stairs…laughing almost manically to himself when he realises that his leg is fine now. He bursts through the door, he is sweating heavily and panting from his run and just drinks in the sight of Sherlock sat in the arm chair. His chair. His coat and scarf are thrown haphazardly onto the sofa and he is wearing is usual dark jacket and shirt. He scans Sherlock for any changes. But he is the same as always has been. Same curly dark hair, same piercing blue eyes and ridiculously high cheekbones. His jaw had begun to colour slightly and he turns his head to meet John's unmoving stare.
John's body feels heavy. His chest feels warm and he feels himself huff a small laugh and a wide smile spread on his face. His stupid eyes begin to water again…I really have to stop crying, he thinks... Sherlock seems slightly confused by the array of emotions rapidly appearing on John's face but returns his smile. He is alive, John cries out happily in his head.
In hurried steps he grabs Sherlock's arm and yanks him out the chair so that they are both standing close to one another. Then without a word John wraps one arm around Sherlock's shoulder and the other around his waist and buries his face in Sherlock's shoulder. He squeezes him tight and relishes in the solidness of him. How real his heart feels thrumming against his chest and how warm he is to hold.
Sherlock stands there stiffly. His mind begins whirring. Why is John hugging him? Does this mean he isn't angry anymore? Does this mean he isn't going to leave…?
"Sherlock" John says his voice muffled by the jacket his face is currently mashed in. "Stop thinking… it's annoying." Sherlock smiles at the comment and feels the movement of John's smile against his shoulder.
"Generally people" he continues "normal people, who don't go around pretending to be dead, hug back when they are being hugged. You idiot"
Sherlock twitches under his grip realising that he is in fact stood as still as a post. Smiling he wraps his long arms around John and hugs him back; resting his chin on John's shoulder. It was strange he had always hated hugging as a child but this was...nice. He liked the way John felt in his arms; warm and compact. He hugs him tighter and feels John do the same, their bodies pressed almost completely flush against one another. They stay like that for a while, both unsure of when to let go.
John eventually moves because he doesn't want to make Sherlock uncomfortable although he is reluctant to actually let him go. As if he might disappear again if he doesn't assure himself that Sherlock is real. John sniffs hard and pulls back removing himself from Sherlock's body. Sherlock finds himself already missing the heat and feel of John's hug. A strange tingling feeling. He watches John study the carpet, his head down and wringing his hands nervously. He looks up briefly to meet Sherlock's eyes.
"I missed you Sherlock." He says, now rubbing at the back of his neck and looking anywhere but Sherlock. Sherlock has the distinct feeling of a blush creeping up on his face…ridiculous hormones and realises that he is meant to reply judging by the increasingly awkward body language that John is displaying.
He catches John's gaze and holds it "I missed you too John" he replies. They look at each other for awhile and then away again.
"Right…ahem...tea?" Johns suggests. "Please" he answers.
John busies himself in the kitchen while Sherlock just sits and watches him; feeling pleased with how everything has gone.
John hands him his tea and sits down opposite him. Sherlock takes a sip and notes that it is just the way he likes it. He hasn't forgotten he thinks, his lips tugging up slightly at one corner in happiness and keeps his eyes fixed on John. John sits sipping his tea and watches him back.
"I'm still mad Sherlock. I don't like that you didn't tell me. But I'm going to sit here and you are going to explain to me why you had to pretend you were dead, how you survived and what you have been doing for more than a year. And I am going to sit here and listen."
Alright! Please let me know what you thought! It's around 5 in the morning now so I am sure there are plenty of errors I will be editing later! In the next chapter Sherlock will explaining how he survived the fall! Or rather how I think how he survived! (Seriously I have it all planned out in diagrams and everything!)
Let me know in your reviews how YOU think he survived and tell me what you thought of this chapter!
Thanks for reading! Until next time :)