Author's Note:

As I promised, chapter 2. I hope you enjoy it because I certainly loved writing it! :D Please review? Thanks!

John put down the file and stared at nothing in particular. He looked back down at the series of horrific pictures- the remains of Sherlock's wife. Nobody had told him it had been this bad. Her corpse was almost unrecognisable. He shuddered, understanding now why Sherlock could never be allowed to see this. He'd go insane.

The information hadn't been that helpful and Irene Adler's murderer was still anonymous. As well as this, from what Mycroft had told to him since he'd given him the file a week ago, the police were making no effort to either. As far as they were concerned, she was killed by enemies she'd made and it wasn't of national importance.

John stood and drew the curtains, looking reminiscently at Baker Street below. Then he made his way to his old room which was now occupied by Rebecca. He heard her light breathing as he turned the knob. She was sleeping soundly, her pale face illuminating the room like a porcelain doll. Then he looked at his old room. He'd done this every night and yet still it shocked him how much the room had changed. His cream walls were now a dark red, the dark curtains draped like shadows. He didn't like it, although he would never admit that.

He walked slowly to the room he was now staying in. Sherlock had taken the larger of the two rooms when they had first met. John felt odd sleeping in the same bed Sherlock had. He'd get used to it over time, although he wasn't expecting to stay long. If Sherlock didn't come back, and he was beginning to doubt his friend's return, Rebecca would be put into care. Mycroft had already arranged it all. John contemplated this as he tried to get to sleep...

Screeech. Screeech.

John was woken by the sounds of a violin. He rubbed his eyes as he heaved his sleep deprived body from the bed and staggered down the stairs into the living room. There he was greeted by furniture. Lots of furniture. Piled up on top of each other as if to represent a palace. And sitting on top of this 'palace', eyes closed, was Sherlock, still swiftly playing the violin.

"Sherlock... When did you...?"

"About two hours ago. I was dropped off by a friend." The way Sherlock said friend suggested to John that this 'friend' was probably now dead.

""But you... You just left." Then the whole truth of it dawned on Sherlock. "You left!" He yelled. "You disappeared. No note! No message! Nothing! You left me to look after your daughter whilst you ran away like a child! I had to sell my apartment to come back here to look after Rebecca! You're not the only one who's lost someone Sherlock! Rebecca lost her mother! And you made her lose her father too!" John roared, too angry to listen to the sense trying to weave its way into his raging mind. "What could possibly be so important that you left your daughter alone to mourn her mother's death and your best friend to look after her? Did it not cross your mind that I might have plans? That I might not want to look after Rebecca? Mycroft was going to have her taken into care, Sherlock! Do you have any idea how serious this is? You have a daughter now Sherlock. You've had a daughter for fifteen years. And you left her to play the adult whilst you ran of being the child!" Silence.

"Finished?" Sherlock muttered.

"No, actually I-"

"Good. Because you were getting rather boring. Now stop acting like my father and start acting like Dr John Watson my friend." John stared at him, astounded.

"Sherlock, we've had police out searching for you!"

"I know. Did you really have to do that? It was a horrible complication."

"Oh! I'm sorry! I didn't realise it would be an inconvenience! I guess I was just worried that you might have gone and got yourself killed!" he shouted before adding sarcastically "But I can see now how selfish I was. I should have left you alone and minded my own business."

"Yes, you should have."

"Well, I'm glad we sorted that out!"

"Dad?" Both men turned to find Rebecca standing in the door frame. She had heard every word.

"Hello, Rebecca." Sherlock said rather stiffly. John raised an eyebrow at him. He sighed and jumped down from the furniture tower. "I'm...sorry... I left you." He managed to mutter, pain rippling through his face. John rolled his eyes. Was it really that hard for him to apologise?

"No Sherlock." Rebecca said to her father. "You can't just come in here and say sorry and expect everything to be forgiven."

"Isn't that the idea of an apology?" Sherlock replied, confused.

"Not when you leave me without an explanation!"

"Who says it had anything to do with you?" Sherlock snapped. Rebecca looked at him in disgust.

"I...I really hate you!"

"You don't mean that." Sherlock replied, looking bored.

"Yes I do! You're not my father Sherlock! If you were, you wouldn't have run off and left me to worry!"

"I left John here to look after you! I knew you'd be fine!"

"Well I didn't. You're a selfish, nasty piece of work and I... I hate you!" She screamed and ran out, still in her pyjamas.

"You idiot, Sherlock."

"I said sorry didn't I?"

"You're supposed to be a father, Sherlock. Start behaving like one."

"I didn't want to be a father, John." The consulting detective pointed out.

"Even so, you are. And right now you're doing a rather rubbish job." Sherlock sighed.

"I guess you'd better go and see if you can bring her back."

"What? Why me? You're the one who stared all this!" John yelled, incredulously.

"It wasn't my fault. I had to get away."

"And where exactly did you go Sherlock? You could have told me!"

"It doesn't matter now, John. What matters is I'm back."

"Right now, I wish you weren't back."

"You don't mean that." A smug look tugged at the corners of Sherlock's mouth.

"I do! You've been here an hour and already Rebecca has run off! I know you two never really got on but you could at least make an effort! Now go after her!"

"No, let her go. She'll come back soon enough." John surrendedred.

"Fine! But would you mind telling me where you've been?"

"I've already told you John, it's not important. I've just been away. And... Well, I think I've realised something."

"Oh yes? Well thank god your disappearance was worth it!" John exclaimed sarcastically.

"It really was, John." Sherlock said as he got closer to the ex army doctor.

"Sherlock?" John murmured, confused.

"You see, I had time to think about what I want. About what I've wanted for fifteen years." He was now centimetres from John's face. "I want you, John."

Oh, by the way sorry if I didn't warn you that it was a Johnlock fanfic (I ship it so hard :3) But I really don't want it to turn all smutty and slash. I'd like to keep it true to the series. Please review! Again, thanking you muchly :)