Hello! So this is the next chapter as promised. This is also the last of the 'bromance' before the romance and angst begins! I may not be as regular with my updates as I have a lot of final year University work! I hope you enjoy this!
John is enjoying a dreamless and rather peaceful sleep for the first time in a long while when a loud bang followed by a endless stream of shouting "John wake up! John!" ultimately wakes him.
"What? Sherlock!" he leaps up and grabs Sherlock by his neck and pulls him down so he lands awkwardly on the bed; half on top of John. He squeezes him tightly and grins inanely to himself. Sherlock is alive. It wasn't a dream…thank God, he thinks. He continues to hug him close smiling happily until a muffled voice vibrates warmly against his bare neck making him shiver slightly.
"John… this… hugging thing isn't going to be a regular occurrence is it? Because as happy as I am that you are happy to see me, it's…" he trails off causing John to start and quickly release Sherlock from his python squeeze.
"Sorry…" he says still grinning and not feeling very sorry at all. But then he frowns in confusion.
"Wait…why are you in my room at…" he checks the clock "6 in the morning?" he asks failing miserably at actually sounding annoyed and simply beaming at the curly haired madman in front of him.
Sherlock stands up on John's bed; the mattress dipping with his weight. He has a huge grin on his face while he looks down gleefully at John.
"Because John! We're going to see Lestrade! It's time for my grand return!" he says adding little bounces in time with his words. Reminding John very much of an over-grown 6 year old. He sits down and shows John a black leather folder bulging with bits of paper. Sherlock sits waiting, dare he think it, patiently for John to ask him what it is.
John looks at Sherlock sat there looking like what he can only describe as a puppy waiting for a treat. Although why that comparison springs to his mind he had no idea but he thought it best to indulge him.
"What's this?" he asks pointing at the folder clutched between Sherlock's fingers. Sherlock smirks and closes his long fingers around the folder.
"This is my freedom John. Every piece of evidence against Moriarty that I have collected from his connections. All backed up of course. So today…is the big day. The world will finally know that Moriarty was real and that I am not a fake consulting detective" he says with a sneer "But THE consulting detective." He finishes stroking a hand absently over the leather and looking a little lost in his memories.
John frowns "For what it's worth…I never doubted you, Sherlock."
Sherlock looks up at him, face blank and unreadable, his mouth twists faintly. "Thank you John".
John clears his throat awkwardly "Right…well if you could let me get dressed…" he tells Sherlock.
"Oh yes of course… "Sherlock nods, jumping off the bed.
John grips the edge of his t-shirt and lifts it up revealing his stomach until he realises Sherlock hasn't actually left the room but as simply gone to stand to in the corner. He jumps; loosing his grip on the t-shirt quickly and tries very hard not to feel embarrassed by Sherlock's unwavering stare.
"Sherlock…?" he asks.
"Yes, John?" Sherlock replies, who for some reason feels compelled to stay.
"OUT!" he says pointing to the door not feeling comfortable at the idea of undressing in front of Sherlock. He will pick out every detail of his life from his skin, he rubs at the scar on his shoulder thoughtlessly, Sherlock already knows everything there was to know about John. If he has managed by some miracle to keep some secrets from those all-seeing eyes he would rather have them stay that way...
"I'll be downstairs, John. But don't take your usual, rather, lengthy amount of time in the shower. Otherwise our breakfast will get cold…" Sherlock tells him and is out of the room as swiftly and as silently as he had came in.
"Alright...wait breakfast...?" John shouts after him but Sherlock has already gone. John gets up, quickly removing his clothes and takes one of the quickest showers in his life. When he finally gets downstairs he finds Sherlock sat at the dinner table, which is tidy, he gapes at the scene before him. He doesn't ever think he has seen the surface of the table. There are two plates of what he assumes to be toast and what was once scrambled eggs…Sherlock sits there looking at him, his puppy face making a majestic appearance.
"Well? Sit down, John" he says gesturing to the chair opposite him. Sherlock feels rather pleased with how this morning's experiment has gone and is eager to see what John thinks. The scrambled eggs had been more of a challenge than he had anticipated and had not turned out the same colour as the recipe indicated it should have. However he is confident in his ability to cook something so simple as scrambled egg and toast.
John hastily sits down and begins to scoff the food as quickly as he can, ignoring the crunch of shell and burnt pieces of toast. Sherlock is an enigma…he can tell you how a person died in three seconds just by looking at victim's hands but scrambled eggs on toast…apparently was like John attempting to explain quantum physics. Practically impossible. He watches Sherlock pop a bit of egg in his mouth; his face scrunches up at the unpleasant taste and he works his jaw slowly clearly trying to resist the urge to spit it out. John eats as much as he safely can without giving himself food poisoning.
"Thank you, Sherlock. That…was …that was very nice" he says trying to sound as convincing as possible.
Sherlock pushes his plate away in disgust.
"You are a terrible liar John, it tasted foul" he remarks clearly annoyed at the outcome of his most recent experiment. John smiles, apart from the overly sweet coffee he had received during the Baskerville case, he doesn't think Sherlock has ever made him anything before.
"Well…how about I make it tomorrow and you can observe me, alright? But Sherlock this…isn't your way of apologising is it?…I understand that you did what you had to. I'm not mad." he reassures him.
Sherlock looks at John for a moment. Even he has to admit he had little clue as to what made him want to make John breakfast. Part of what John said was true. Sherlock had wanted to show John how sorry he was for leaving. But it was more than that It was almost as if he had wanted to do something for John. Strange indeed. He smiles at John's kind offer despite the atrocity he had just made the man consume.
"Perhaps." He replies trying to ignore the vague sense of warmth and completion he feels sitting across from John. They gather their things and make their way down stairs. Sherlock stands awkwardly in front of the door, raises his fist and knocks soundly.
The door opens and Mrs Hudson gasps.
"Sherlock! Oh my dear! Where have you been! We thought you were dead!" she cries out to him through her tears and hugs him close. He notes the differences between her hug and John's. She feels light and almost fragile in his arms. He holds her gently; she's warm but not as warm as John was and she doesn't squeeze him as tightly.
"It wasn't safe for me to stay. I hope you can understand?" he asks gently. She nods, pulling away wiping at her eyes; her face forming a scolding frown.
"I hope you realise how much you put us through! Put John through. I could hear him every night you know, shouting out your name…" she tells him; finger pointing at him. John looking startled at the way the conversation had gone.
"Yes alright…" he starts.
"Crying himself to sleep" she continues ignoring John's protest.
"Yes, thank you…" he coughs averting his eyes from Sherlock.
"Mrs Hudson we really need to get going now." He tells her pointedly.
She seems to get the hint that John is not so subtly sending."Alright dears, but Sherlock remember just because you're not dead anymore doesn't mean that I'm your housekeeper. And Lord help you if I find any body parts in the fridge…or hear any gunshots in the middle of the night" she tells him sternly.
Sherlock smiles at her "You have my word, Mrs Hudson" he says cheekily; his face full of mischief that she can't help smiling back although she knows it will probably cost her some eyeballs in the microwave.
John can't shake off the feeling of shame. He has always hated his nightmares but he had always dealt with them in his own way. He could never talk about them, even in therapy. He had never intended for Sherlock to find out about his most recent ones if he could have prevented it.
They sit in silence in the cab. John stares out of the window, clearly not wanting to discuss it. Sherlock sits contemplating what Mrs Hudson had just said, eyes flickering to John, trying to imagine what this year was like for John.
" …shouting my name?" he asks in a low voice, it barely anything more than a rumble in his chest. John answers back almost immediately "Nightmares." He says clipped and blunt like he's back in the army again.
Sherlock cannot understand how his death could have had such a fierce effect on John. It makes him feel strange but nauseous at the same time. To have been the cause of this. To have caused him pain. It...upset him.
"Crying?" he asks. John sighs in defeat…"Sherlock can you please not…Look, I was grieving over your death…" John says stoutly ignores the way his voice cracks at the word 'death' "…its normal…but you're not dead…so I'm fine…so can we just not?" he finishes, meeting Sherlock's sad eyes for a moment before looking back out of the window. Sherlock for once finds he does not know what to say.
So he slides his hand over the seat and gently takes John's hand in his. John's hand is surprisingly smooth and warm. He grips John's fingers squeezing them gently. He almost thinks John will pull away when he feel's John grip his fingers back. John grasps Sherlock's long, cold fingers relishing in the comfort he finds holding them. It is rare for Sherlock to be the one to offer this. He often avoided physical experiences as often he could; dismissing them as messy and unnecessary. For some reason the fact that Sherlock was willing, wanting even to do this for John made his stomach swirl and feel warm. He squeezes them one last time before pulling away feeling considerably better. They don't need to say anything else for the rest of the journey.
They reach Lestrade's office and ignore the shocked stares and gasps as they walk through the building. Each gasp and startled look causes John to smile a little wider and grin a little harder. Sherlock's back, he thinks. They open the door without knocking and Sherlock throws the folder down on the desk in front of a gaping Lestrade.
Lestrade sees him and almost falls out of his chair. He gets up, eyes wide clearly in shock and shakes Sherlock's hand. He pats him soundly on the back in a semi-sort of hug, shaking his head and failing to hide his grin.
"You know, you look remarkably healthy for a dead man! It's good to see you, Sherlock." He says looking like he really means it. He frowns and shifts his feet uncomfortably "I never got the chance to tell you, that I'm sorry for doubting you..."
Sherlock looks taken back but recovers; a gentle look on his face "In the past" he says dismissing it.
"So...I assume this folder is something important then?" Lestrade asks plucking it from his desk and opening it to scan the contents. Sherlock takes his time to watch Lestrade's eyes widen in surprise, pupils dilating and his mouth gaping in a big O; savouring the moment.
"As I'm sure you have summarised…that contains every piece of evidence I have collected against Moriarty. Proving his guilt and along with it my innocence." He informs Lestrade who is now grinning like a mad man.
"Well…I suppose that's the charges against you dropped except the kidnap charges…which I am assuming you won't be pressing John?" he asks already knowing the answer.
John grins and takes his time 'hmmming' and 'tutting'; pretending to carefully consider it.
Sherlock looks unamused…except for the small twitch of his lips upward "John".
"Hang on…I'm trying to decide here" he says holding up an arm and smiling cheekily. Lestrade attempting in vain to hide his chuckle.
"John" Sherlock says again; trying to sound threatening but smirking all the while.
"Nahhhhhh. I won't bother. Would be too much hassle keeping him in prison. The other prisoners wouldn't last two seconds if he got bored!" he tells Lestrade; revelling in the tick Sherlock's eyebrow indicating his lack of amusement at John's comment.
"John if you've quite finished…" he drawls sardonically. John puts his hands up in surrender, exchanging an amused glance with Lestrade. However it is at that point that Anderson and Donovan walk in; spoiling the mood with their sour faces.
"You! I should have known you wouldn't do the world a favour and top yourself." Anderson all but snarls. Donovan stands at his side; arms crossed and a smug look plastered on her face. " How did you do it Sherlock? Hmm? Who did we bury? Some poor sap you did away with I bet. At least now we get the pleasure of arresting a sick psychopath like you..." she all but spits.
John steps forward, face blank with rage and his fist clenched. He has never felt such pure rage before. Anderson's rat face is just calling to be plastered into the nearest set of bricks he can find. He can honestly say he has never felt like being violent towards a woman before but Donovan is really pushing his boundaries. If they even had the remotest clue of who Sherlock really is; what he had done to protect the people he had cared for. What he had done for John. He didn't deserve to be spoken to like that.
Sherlock resists the urge to roll his eyes at the pair of idiots that stand in front of him. They really haven't a clue he thinks. He looks at John; observes the tightness of his body, increased breathing and his fists clenched tightly shaking at his sides. It is most likely that in the next 5 seconds John will have Anderson's face inside the wall. And as much as he would enjoy watching that; it wouldn't help him or John. He puts his hand on John's shoulder squeezing gently and shoots a steely glare at the pair of them.
"Anderson…I understand that your wife finally seeing sense and leaving you must be very…upsetting. So upsetting in fact that you have neglected to inform Donovan here, judging by the look on her face… Now, I don't like looking at either of you, it reduces my IQ, so I will make this quick. I am clear of all my charges and I will return to assisting Lestrade with cases he requires my help with." He tells them; his voice cold and sharp.
"We…we'll see what the Chief Superintendent has to say about this…" Anderson stutters, face red and blotchy with anger. Donovan, however, has become strangely silent; glaring at Anderson making him twitch nervously in his skin.
"Oh really…so you haven't been informed? He's been suspended… indefinitely…something about a drugs bust…Congratulations, Greg." He smiles pointedly causing Lestrade to start in surprise at the use of his first name. John smiles…Mycroft , he thinks happily. He remembers how satisfying it had been to wipe that smug superior look off the Chief's face…with his fist. John offers a hand to Lestrade who shakes it somewhat numbly still in shock. He clasps his hands behind his back grinning almost manically at the people in the room. Life's good again…his mind revels.
"Well done, mate" he says genuinely happy for Greg. He strides nonchalantly over to where Anderson and Donovan are stood by the wall looking like naughty children and looks Anderson and Donovan, flicking his gaze between them. He can feel his face harden, the same look he gets when he fires his gun or when someone insults Sherlock...
"I think you both owe Sherlock an apology?" he suggests; the sentence actually sounding nothing like a suggestion and more like an order. An order which if disobeyed would most likely result in Anderson finding several parts of anatomy removed and Donovan would have little use for him afterwards.
Anderson falters under John's fierce stare. "I apologise…" he sneers at Sherlock; sounding as if every letter was giving him an aneurism. Donovan shifts awkwardly "I'm sorry" she mutters staring defiantly at the floor.
Sherlock smirks "Please...Anderson don't strain yourself…we don't want an accident. Again. And thank you, Donovan. Come on, John, I've think we're done here".
They both stride from the building with a last bemused look from Lestrade as he ushers a blustering Anderson and eerily quiet Donovan from his office as if they are both diseased and catching. John and Sherlock walk side by side, matching smirks and in time strides. Like two halves of a whole.
Hoped you liked it! I promise there will be some more romance soon! I really felt I needed this scene for Sherlock to return properly and also stick it to Anderson because I hate him. Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you thought! Ta x
AUTHORS NOTES: Hopefully got rid of all those nasty grammatical mistakes! Thanks for reading! :)