Author's note: And John is back, but it won't be easy. Naturally, he will have problems with opening up and trusting a cocaine addict of all people, but he showed up, so there is hope. I'm quite excited about this chapter, I have to admit, because... well, when I started this story I actually thought it would have ten chapters at the most, so Sherlock, John and Lestrade should have been together... ahem... eight chapters ago? Seven? Let's just say, this grew into something I could never have imagined.

Mind: Well, that might be my fault...

Me: Really?! Glad we cleared that up.

Mind: You sound just like your version of Lestrade.

Me: And whose fault is that?

Also, warning for rather dark humour again.

Also: More Followers! Yippie!

I don't own anything, and please review.

Sherlock doesn't look up when the door to the lab opens; he can tell by the length of the strides that it must be Mike Stamford, and, someone else who is –

Limping.

John!

He looks up so fast he's rather glad Greg isn't with them, because the DI would surely have a rather witty comment about his reaction time.

His eyes lock with John's.

Deductions start firing through his mind.

Mud on hiss hoes and his cane, definitely feeling rather cold, but dressed warmly enough not to get hypothermia, and was apparently constantly moving during last night and this morning...

He must have spent all this time walking through town, looking for –

Me.

However, John's glance, while no longer openly hostile, doesn't give him any indication why he came looking for him in the first place. This is a different John though the one Sherlock is used to, a John he can't read as easily, one who has closed himself off from the world, one who is broken (like he was before they met, like he was after Sherlock's "death"), and this time, he might be beyond repair.

But, still, he is here.

They look at each other for a few moments longer, and Mike's "Sherlock, this is an old mate of mine – John Watson..." dies on his lips when the teacher realizes that they obviously have met before; there's no other explanation for the rather intense way they stare at one another, really.

So he coughs politely, looks at his watch, mumbles something about "Time for an early lunch" and excuses himself before slipping out quietly.

God Bless Mike Stamford. He must remember to pester John to ask his whole family – Mike, Sue and David – out to dinner once he's safely back home.

After a few seconds, John clears his throat.

"I would tell you what I've been up to since I sent you on your way last night, but I'm pretty sure you already know..."

"You were running through London, looking for... me" Sherlock answers, hope rearing its head when John nods.

"I made it into my flat – put the groceries in the kitchen – and then... Next thing I knew, I was limping as fast as I could, trying to find you. I spent the whole night and this morning trying to find you, even though I knew it was hopeless... And then I met Mike, and he said something like "You are the second person to say that to me today" when I told him I was looking for someone, and I asked who the other person was and he said "Sherlock Holmes" and I realized I didn't even know your name, and thought, that's it, I'm finally going insane, and then he said "Rather strange guy, ill-fitting clothes, definitely high, if you ask me, but apparently helps the police in an investigation and definitely knows what he's doing, I just left him in the lab at Bart's" and then I begged him to take me there and he, being Mike, naturally helped me and – " John stops, flustered, and for once, Sherlock doesn't call him out on the grammar of this long and convoluted sentence.

He just looks at him and then asks just one word.

"Why?"

John sighs frustrated and runs his left hand through his hair. "I – I don't know". He looks anywhere but at Sherlock, and the spark of hope dies in his chest.

Only to be reignited a moment later.

"I guess I – It's just that..." and John looks into Sherlock's eyes again "I prefer your version of me to my version of me".

There's really not much Sherlock can say, so he just nods.

Then John clears his throat, again, and limps over to Sherlock and the microscope. "What ius it you are doing here, anyway?"

Sherlock gladly concentrates on the case. No matter how complicated, it can't be more difficult than the current situation.

"Like Mike said, I am helping the police with an investigation, and – "

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure".

"I hope you don't mind me, asking – but which policeman would allow a..." he waits for Sherlock to complete the sentence, so he provides the answer to the unspoken question, "Cocaine".

"Right, so cocaine addict to help out?"

That actually hurts, coming from John, but he manages not to wince. "I am rather good at what I do."

"I noticed". A weary smile from John. "How did you know all that about me, anyway, apart from the "we were best friends in an alternate universe"-explanation? I'm still not sure I believe you, by the way."

"I can't blame you for that." Sherlock takes a breath, prepared to explain, when the door opens again.

This time, Greg walks in, thankfully not much more drunk than when Sherlock left him with the autopsy report.

"So, I've finished reading, and – " he notices John. "Is that the famous Doctor Watson?"

"Yes" Sherlock says, while John just stares at the DI as if he just grew two heads. And, Sherlock supposes, for a man who spent most of his working life in the army, where discipline and respect for one's superior are important to survive, a policeman drunk on the job must be a rather unpleasant and surprising sight.

"DI Greg Lestrade. You can call me Greg". They shake hands – though John seems to do it rather as an automated response than because he wants to be polite – and Greg turns to Sherlock, grinning broadly. "An addict, an alcoholic, and a cripple! Now all we need is a blind man, and maybe a deaf one, and we can give the Village People a run for their money!"

John blinks slowly. "Is that the policeman..."

"Who asked me to assist with the investigation, yes" Sherlock says.

John shakes his head. "I shouldn't be surprised, really".

"Are you going to stay?" Sherlock asks, anxiously.

Another weary smile from John. "I shouldn't, everything that thinks rationally in me tells me I shouldn't". Sherlock's heart thinks, and Greg seems to notice, because he shoots him a sympathetic glance.

"But..." John takes a deep breath. "I managed to walk the whole of last night and this morning, limping, yes, but I managed to do it... And I haven't been this excited or interested in someone or something since I was invalided home. So, yes, I am staying, for the time being."

"Great!" Greg exclaims, clapping a hand on John's shoulder and ignoring John's surprised twitch (he apparently isn't used to be touched). "So the merry band of misfits is reunited and going to catch the baddies! I'll drink to that". He then promptly takes out his flask – still the second one, Sherlock thinks – and takes a long gulp.

John stares, again, looks from him to Sherlock, and for a moment, he is reminded of last night, when John told him to piss off and tried limping out of his life, and –

But then John laughs quietly and shakes his head at himself. "What have I got myself into?"

"Apparently, according to what you said just a minute ago, into something unbelievably more exciting than the last years of your life have been, John" Greg says, still cheerful.

"What are you so happy about, anyway?" Sherlock asks.

"You mean, apart from the fact that I got my boys back? Oh, I just listened in on some morgue attendants while I was reading the report, and guess who – "

At this point, the hear someone – or rather, two someones, as Sherlock is quick to correct John, when he tells them what he just noticed – coming down the corridor, and Sherlock cowers himself next to the door so he'll be hidden by it, should it open, claiming, "John, you are here to visit Mike, Greg, you are working on the case".

"But Mike knows you are here – surely – " John says, baffled.

"John, we both know that Mike Stamford, trusting and nice man that he is, sadly does not represent the majority of people who work in a crime lab. I think most of them would be rather put out by the fact that a cocaine addict is asked to do the forensics on a case."

Noticing John's glance, the DI comments "Don't worry, John, you will get used to it. Just go along with it, when he says something like this. Trust me, it's worth it."

Luckily, the two people decide to walk past the lab, so Sherlock stands up as Greg looks through the glass panel in the door. "Told you – or wanted to, anyway. There they are!"

Sherlock looks too, and he sees Molly in conversation with –

"DI Dimmock? He's Molly's lunch date?"

"See, another reason to be cheerful – no way he could get a girl like her. Oh, and it's DS here."

"DS? When I met him, he already had been made a DI..."

"He was all right, but then he managed to make a colossal mess out of an investigation of a killer who could "walk through walls" as the press called it. So, DS it is, and likely to stay."

"I see..." Sherlock says, remembering the case John dubbed "The Blind Banker". Well, Dimmock hadn't been very helpful at first, and no, he certainly wouldn't have solved the case on his own, but still, Sherlock's a little sorry for him. The young Di wasn't without his merits, and as soon as he started taking Sherlock's words for gospel, he had been rather useful. He'd even started calling Sherlock for suggestions on cases, and in the course of time, after he returned from the dead, Dimmock did it even more frequently because, apparently, he had "never lost his belief" or something like that. So, all in all – no, he doesn't deserve to be demoted. But when he looks at John and Greg, Sherlock considers him rather lucky.

"Sorry?"

Sherlock and Greg turn around to face a now definitely very confused John Watson.

"Would you mind explaining to me what is going on? Who's Molly? Who is... this DI or DS or whatever? Just because I said I would stay, for the time being, mind you, doesn't mean I'll just let you two go on without any explanation."

Sherlock smirks at that, because he can clearly see that John's left hand already stopped shaking. Excellent.

He shares a look with Greg and requests him to watch the DNA samples and tell him when they're done while he tells John the truth.

Greg grins. "The unbelievable truth, you mean? Well, good luck. Don't worry about me, I'll just sit in the back and stare at the machine, and I have may flasks, so everything's all right."

He waits until the Di has sat down, just to make sure, then he takes a deep breath and begins.

"You see, John, we actually met five years ago..."

Silence reigns, except for Sherlock's voice, the hum of the machines, and now and then, John's exclamations, while the consulting detective explains their real story.

Author's note: You probably won't believe it, but this whole story was born out of this one sentence, that would float into my mind whenever I started contemplating different scenarios: "I prefer your version to my version of me". Told you I was a little bit weird.

And, yes, I had to put in Dimmock somehow, I like him, I can't help it. Plus, I rather liked the idea about the Blind Banker case... But the idea with Molly came to me because someone asked about her lunch date, and, well, my mind jumped right on it. Thank you for the suggestion.

Also, I'm sorry, but I might not be able to keep to my "one chapter per day" schedule in the next few days... I would like to, but something akin to life has to happen now and then too, right? I'll try my best, though.

Sorry for rambling. Yet again.

I hope you liked it, and please review.