Once Sherlock was cleaned up - showered, hair cut and shaved, with a new change of clothes - he turned to look at me. He looked like he had before the fall, a little tired perhaps, a little older, more worn.

To Mycroft and 'Anthea', he looked as if he was back to the way he had been, back to cocky, know-it-all, overbearing Sherlock. But I knew he wasn't. I knew he wasn't back to the way he had been - he was exhausted, not just from whatever he'd just came back from, no, he was tired of the life he'd been living the past two years. He held himself taller than was necessary, making up for something - probably the beating he was still recovering from. He was more talkative, talking to cover up the fact that he needed to rest and recover. He was being more distant, standing further away from anyone, not just me, and he was avoiding eye contact, avoiding making any connection just yet. He had suffered the last two years, badly. I could relate.

Mycroft looked his brother up and down, "Sherlock, I think it might be for the best if you wait until tomorrow to announce your return. Have a decent sleep for once"

He looked across the room at me, "Fine, but I'm stay with Charlie - we've got catching up to do"

"Alright, I'll take you both back to my home-"

"No" I interrupted.

"What?" Mycroft scowled.

"I want to go home, I want to go back to 221B, with Sherlock"

Mycroft was agitated, "Do you really think-"

"We're going home" Sherlock stated firmly, "We're going back to 221B, alone. We are not staying at your mansion Mycroft"

The older Holmes clenched his jaw, "Fine" he hissed, "I'll organise discrete transport back to your flat"

And he did. We arrived at 221B without being noticed. We got inside and quickly made our way upstairs. Mrs Hudson was away on a short holiday, she'd be back tomorrow afternoon, we didn't have to face reality just yet.

Sherlock glanced around the room, noting the absent mirror. It was clean though, Mrs Hudson had continued cleaning the flat after I'd had to leave. Sherlock paused in the living room, taking it in again. Silently I took his hand, "Let's go to bed, let's just go to bed" I said, not wanting to think about the mess I'd been in the last time I was there.

He had smiled kindly, gazing at me. "Of course, it's not like much has changed"

"Yeah" I whispered shortly.

Before I'd had a chance to realise what was happening, Sherlock's arms were around me. Gingerly, I placed my hands on his arms. He nuzzled his head into the corner of my neck, gently kissing me. "Let's go to bed then" Holding me close to his side, we walked through to our bed room. He stopped just inside the door and kissed my forehead. "I'm glad I'm home with you" he said quietly.

"I'm glad you're back"

He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and again kissed my forehead before going to fetch us both pyjamas. He handed me a black and red set with tea cups on them and started changing.

I turned my back to him, aware of how I must look. I pulled off my top and bra quickly as possible, grabbing my pyjama top. I flinched as gentle hands came to rest on my waist. I clutched my top to my chest. Sherlock knew I'd never had any problem with him touching me, but at that moment I was still 'healing', I was still in recovery, I barely even wanted him to see me, let alone touch me, "Mycroft says you're getting back to better health again, putting on weight again."

"Yeah"

"It's okay," he said softly, "You're trying so hard, I'm proud of you." I'd lost so much weight in the last two years, my ribs had stuck out beneath my skin, my hips had poked out jaggedly. Now there were slight curves on my body again, I looked less angular, less ill. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry Charlie" Sherlock's fingers roamed across my flat stomach, passing each other and pulling me close, placing a kiss to the side of my head, "You're doing so well"

I stood there in his arms, taking in the moment, the feeling I'd been missing for two years, the feeling of his arms around me. I gently shrugged him off, pulling my top on and quickly changed out of my jeans into my pyjama trousers. I turned to see Sherlock sitting on the edge of our bed. My eyes widened, my lips parted, searching for something to say.

"I couldn't really cover it up" he said quietly. The whole of his chest was covered in bruises, and where there weren't bruises, there were long cuts that had only recently been stitched up.

"What...? What happened?"

"The last job I did got a little messy" he said. "I'm on a lot of pain killers" he added with a slight wince.

"Oh Sherlock" I breathed, wincing at his injuries. I sat next to him, carefully resting my hand on his arm. His back was just as bad, his shoulders seemed to have taken the brunt of it. There were red friction marks beginning to bruise around his wrists. "What have you... oh God, Sherlock" I struggled to stop myself staring at his wounds.

"Hey, I'm okay, Charlie, Darling, I'm okay" he rested his hand over my own, rubbing his thumb back and forth. "Give me a few weeks and I'll be right as rain. Charlie, I can see you panicking, it's going to be okay, I swear" Gently, he cupped my cheek in his hand, "Don't worry yourself Charlie"

"Sherlock, look at you! This isn't something you can brush off – you're really hurt"

"I know, but there's nothing to be done about that now, is there? We're just going to have to wait until it heals. Now, come on, get in" he said with a sweet smile. He stood, walking round to the other side of the bed and slowly lay down.

I crawled into bed, lying to face him. We lay there for some time, starting at each other, trying to take in as much of the other was we could. Sherlock looked so worn. He shifted closer to me, resting his forehead against mine, his hand on my arm. I wanted to reach out and feel him beside me again, to feel his warmth, his presence. "I don't want to hurt you" I said in a voice that was barely a whisper.

"You won't. I want you close to me, I want you near me again. I want to feel you beside me. I want you to hold me, I want you, I want to go back to the way things were - back to you and I."

"Sherlock... we weren't... really like that, you know that... It- We weren't all intimacy, it was rare touches, occasional kisses. You know that."

"Please" he said softly, "It's been two years, I just want to make up for it, all of it - every birthday, every Christmas, every long lie in, every night John's away, every long weekend we'd go away for. I want to make it up to you for what I've done, please? Is that okay?"

There were tears in my eyes. "It's okay, is okay Sherlock. I thought you'd- I panicked. I thought you'd been romanticising the past, because you'd missed it - I thought you were remembering things the way you wanted, not the way they were. But... I want you and I want things back the way things were..." Gently, I had snuggled close to him, my chest against his. I carefully wrapped an arm around him, avoiding stitches.

Sherlock leant in to me, kissing my lips softly. He kissed me over and over again, until his lips lingered a little longer, and his tongue swiped across my bottom lip, pressing gently. This wasn't normal for us, it never had been; a few drunken nights, yeah, and the Christmas party, apparent from them, this was new.

But I let him deepen the kiss, my heart racing. His hands were gentle against my skin. He pulled me close against him, holding me tightly with an arm around my back. "Sh-Sherlock" I pushed against him slightly, trying to get more space.

"Charlie?" His hand slide to my side, the other brushing back my hair, concern showed on his face.

I took a few deep breaths, bringing my heart rate down, "I- I just need to- to slow down, just- just slow down a little"

I nodded, saying genuinely, "I'm sorry" he gently kissed my lips, "I've just wanted to be near you again for so long, I got carried away, I didn't consider..."

"It's okay, let's just take it slowly" my hands ghosted over his chest, over the bruises and cuts he'd obtained. Lying on my side, leaning on my hip, I braced my elbows on either side of his chest. Dipping my head, I kissed his bruised chest softly - covering each mark on his pale skin with gently place kisses.

He ran his hands down my back, momentarily pausing on my ribs, my waist, my hips in turn. His hands were rougher than before, his palms and finger tips callused, but he was more confident, more sure of himself as he touched me, he was more willing to toe the line between friends and something more. Was it just because he'd been alone for so long? Or because he'd gone from my constant company to complete isolation? Was he even thinking?

These thoughts drifted through the back of my mind, but I couldn't let them come forward. I kissed his soft lips, my hair falling down over one shoulder. "I will - never - leave you - again"

"Shh" I whispered. Maybe I was more willing to toe that line now as well. "Just kiss me"

And he did. I was wrapped in his arms, kissed and kissed again and again until Sherlock leant back, staring at me.

"What?"

"You're smiling"

"Yeah, and?"

"I missed that. I missed your beautiful smile. I had nothing to remind me of it."

"Maybe you should stick around and you might see it more often" I was a bitter comment, and Sherlock knew that. He nuzzles his head against my shoulder.

"I promise, I'll be here for a very long time, Charlie"

"You better be"