The Days After is a Sherlock fanfiction. I have no rights to the show, this is and independent work.
Chapter 1
"Take a breath."
"No! He can't be alive!"
"Neither can you," John replied. "But here you are.
Sherlock paced between the two chairs. The sun had just begun to rise. Rays of light peaked through the curtains with dust specks dancing in the air.
"That's different," said the consulting detective. "I didn't put a gun in my mouth halfway through a conversation."
John Watson stared down at the carpet, amazed a trench had not been carved where his friend tread. All morning, he and Sherlock had thought over the roof scene again and again. winced every time the solid crack echoed in his ears and blood splatters burned behind his eyes. This was nothing new, of course. John still had to focus on his friend, making sure Sherlock really was back and not just a trick of the mind. The detective's return had been a relief mixed with the stench of a foul trick. Time spent mourning seemed to be time wasted.
The doctor was pulled back to Earth, as Sherlock released a sigh and collapsed on the couch. Hands pressed under his chin, John knew he may not get a response from the man for many hours. This seemed like a good time to call Mary. His wife was alone and pregnant. She was safe at home, of course, but John still worried. Their relationship had just begun to be repaired, after some incidents and lies John would rather not talk about.
"Hello?" Answered the voice on the other line.
"Hey, You."
The conversation consisted of the usual seeing how each other was doing, exchanging "I love you"s, and kissing goodbye.
"So Mary's good?"
John jumped. The silent figure on the couch remained motionless.
"I thought you were in your Mind Palace," John explained.
"He's in there," said Sherlock in a solemn fashion. "Not worth it."
"Moriarty?"
No reply. One wasn't needed. The echoing silence was enough.
John needed to put some pep in Sherlock's step and break the silence.
"I'm going to grab some lunch," John heard himself say. "Want anything?"
Long pause.
"No. I've got to figure some stuff out."
Nothing else. Turning slowly, John opened the door. As he stepped through the doorway, glances were shot toward Sherlock. No response. The tall, pale man had done this before, but John knew this time was different. Moriarty was no bank robber or murderer. As far as was concerned, Jim Moriarty was the devil and a certain serpent had to be crushed.