A/N: Hey, guys! Thank you so much for the lovely reviews! (I mean, what are you talking about, 16-year-olds don't jump around squealing because they got attention, right?) uwu you guys are wonderful! So, here's the next chapter, again, let me know if there's anything that needs to be changed, and I'll do my best!
Chapter 3
The next day, John and Sherlock took a cab down to the Yard to see Lestrade and poke fun at Anderson. As they entered the department, Sherlock grabbed John's hand, shooting a look at Donovan when she spilt coffee down her front, eyebrows raised and mouth agape. Anderson actually dropped his mug, which proceeded to shatter and coat both his and Donovan's legs in a thin layer of sugared coffee. John smirked, seeing that Sherlock was obviously biting back yet another comment about Anderson and Donovan's love affair. They walked straight in to Lestrade's office, resulting in Sherlock receiving a lovely bruise on the neck, after Lestrade closed the door and punched him, full force. Sherlock quirked his head. "I deserved that." "Bloody fucking right, you deserved it, Sherlock! What, d'you think I've just had a lovely fucking year looking like a bloody idiot and making sure John here didn't starve himself half to death? How the bloody fuck do you get off just waltzing in here and acting like it's only been a few days? Do you even know how many cases I've had go cold because you weren't around to annoy us to absolute shit with that massive brain of yours? Sherlock Holmes, you absolute arse!"
Sherlock, in the meantime, was looking rather amused. "Lestrade. This isn't about me needing new cases, in fact, I'm here about one I've just gotten off of. Here you go, case files on every known affiliate of Mr. James Moriarty. I believe that you'll find this evidence rather conclusive." He pulled three overstuffed manila envelopes from beneath his coat. "Actually, John and I are here for a rather different reason. We've come to invite you to a little get-together that we're hosting at Baker street to celebrate my not being dead as well as the formal announcement of mine and John's relationship. If Anderson and Donovan can behave civilized, they'd be welcome as well. As far as the cases go, the Roberts children were kidnapped by their father, you'll find him in a drug den on the South side, the jeweller was killed by a client who couldn't afford to pay him, this client was coincidentally the body found in the Thames, she went to the bridge and shot herself in the front of the head so it would look like she had been murdered. You'll find that the pearls were stolen by the maid, who later pawned them off to criminals for half what she could have gotten. They are now in Canada, you should call the local police in Vancouver and hope that they're more competent than Anderson and the rest of the buffoons you've hired. And before you ask, I know all of this because I 'reviewed' some of the files that Mycroft had on your affairs here. Now are you going to accept our invitation or are you going to stand there and give yourself a blood clot from clenching your jaw like that?"
13 days later, 14 days after Sherlock got back, he and John were sitting in the living room at 221 B surrounded by Lestrade, Molly, Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft, Anderson and Donovan (to Sherlock's chagrin), as well as a few of John's co-workers from the surgery, whose names Sherlock currently forgot, and Angelo. Even Harry had sobered up and made an appearance for the occasion. The conversation was light, for the most part, although Sherlock and Molly had been asked several times, much to Sherlock's annoyance, to recount how they had faked his death so well, and Mycroft was asked frequently how he had hidden his brother so well, though each time he was asked, he politely refused to answer the question. John had insisted that because Harry would be present, there should be minimal alcohol present in the flat, as he was hoping that she would stay sober, at least for the night, and so, all present sat in the living room, sipping tea or water, and the overall atmosphere proved to be rather pleasant. Once everybody's questions about his disappearance had been sated, Sherlock produced his violin and began to play a beautiful song in a minor key. John realized around halfway into the song that this was the song that he had overheard Sherlock composing. Just as he realized this, the key changed from mournful and lamenting to reminiscent of pain, and then joy. When Sherlock finished, he received wonderful comments from everybody, even Mycroft, which shocked all those in attendance who had met him prior to this.
At 11 o'clock, Sherlock claimed that he 'needed to rest,' and promised Lestrade to help with a particularly difficult case the next afternoon, mostly as a polite excuse to tell everyone to shove off. After the crowd had cleared off and Mrs. Hudson had gone downstairs after smiling fondly at her boys, Sherlock turned to John. "So you liked it, then? You recognised it, I know." "Sherlock, what are you even talking about?" "The song, of course! Your song! The one you helped me write!" "Sherlock, I have absolutely no recollection of ever helping you write music, now what are you talking about?" "Really? You don't remember this?" Sherlock asked, capturing John's lips with his own for a fraction of a second, before continuing, "And I'm certain you remember punching me in the face… Or is your memory going, John?" He barely breathed the last part against John's skin, causing the shorter man to shiver and melt for a moment. "Hang on, did you say it was my song?" "Yes," Sherlock replied, smirking as he continued, "And it's a damn good thing you punched me, or else it would have stayed just as sad and dull as all of the rest of the songs I've written. Thank you for that."