SHERLOCK POV
Sherlock stood by the window of an apartment Mycroft had acquired for him. He was itching to get to his old apartment.
"Brother. If you do not leave this apartment and go back to your old one I will have to resort to drastic measures." Mycroft's voice comes from behind Sherlock. Sherlock doesn't bother turning around.
"Your drastic measures strike fear in me brother." Sherlock answers emphasizing the last word.
"I will evict you from this property if that is the only thing that can push you back to Baker Street."
"I never asked you to give me a place to stay. I can find one on my own."
At that Mycroft laughs leaning down on his umbrella. Sherlock turns his head for a second to glare at his older brother.
"In the state you are on? Hardly." Mycroft smirks.
"I believe I found a slight flaw in your plan for me to go back to Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson is still alive is she not?"
"Yes." Mycroft says trying to figure out where this is going.
"I would induce a heart attack in her, she is not the youngest of women."
"It is doubtful it would be a heart attack. Merely a moment of shock."
"A moment followed by too many questions I have no time for or any interest in answering."
"Is that the flaw you found? I am disappointed."
"The flaw is that Mrs. Hudson talks a lot. Of course the first person she will tell is John." Sherlock says lightly rolling his eyes as if he were talking to a particularly young child.
Mycroft smiles. "It always comes back down to John doesn't it."
Sherlock narrows his eyes. "I just do not think it is safe for John to know that I am alive. Frankly, I do not believe it would be good for either one of us to be near each other."
"And why is that?"
"He has infected me with his...average thinking."
Mycroft raises his eyebrows.
"My deduction skills are slower and I tend to attribute reasons for certain things happening, well, to the wrong reasons." Sherlock says matter-of-factly not wanting to go into too much detail.
Sherlock can feel his brother shaking his head and finally hears him leave.
After his shower Sherlock walks over to bed. It was three in the morning. He had been working on an experiment and finally had a break through. He had hoped it would exhaust him and he would fall asleep immediately but he was wrong to have such hopes.
He wonders how Mrs. Hudson was doing. If he closes his eyes and concentrates hard enough he could smell the old apartment with John flittering about muttering to himself annoyed at Sherlock for this and that. It brings a smile to Sherlocks lips only to die down when he opens his eyes to the silent, foreign apartment he was in now. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to pay Mrs. Hudson a visit, however he would have to make her promise not to tell John. That shouldn't be too hard.
Putting on his coat, Sherlock ventures outside calling a cab for Baker Street.
He gets out of the black car and stands in front of the door. The number 221 was still there, nice and shiny. He takes a deep breath and unlocks the door with the key he still had. He wasn't sure why he was in need of so many deep breaths. He persuades himself it was just the weather. Slowly, he walks in and up the stairs. Not much has changed in the old apartment, it just feels...emptier. Some of the furniture seems to be missing and it feels dusty. He takes a deep breath, this time to get in the smell of the apartment. Surely he could live back here again, John or not. He did it before, no reason why now was any different. Besides, even if he told John he was alive, John had a house now with a woman. No reason to return.
He strides over to the window. Oh how he has missed the view. It wasn't particularly interesting or that different from the millions of similar views in other apartments in London. But this was...their view, er, his view. Taking off his black leather gloves he digs in his pockets until he comes upon a packet of cigarettes. He takes them out and stares at them for what seems like longer than necessary. He has done well for the last few weeks. He did well before Moriarty but they had dosed him with various drugs while he was 'dead' and then he spent weeks in a rehabilitation centre until he persuaded Mycroft to get him the hell out of there. He was doing well. But being back in London is...It brings back a lot of memories and his violin was nowhere in sight. He is also dangerously bored, so he takes out a cigarette and brings it to his lips. He looks to his right and smiles when he sees his old lighter sitting on top of the mantle. He couldn't believe how relaxing it is to just stand there in the peace of the apartment listening to the rush outside and having a smoke.
He can hear the door downstairs closing. Mrs. Hudson is home. Hoping that her observation skills haven't gotten any better, he just stands quietly for her to go to her apartment. He hears a footstep on the stairs leading to this apartment. Apparently her observation skills have gotten slightly better, though they were still horrendous.
He continues to stare out the window, cigarette in his lips, and waits for the oncoming shock and sleuth of words. Glass shatters behind him but he doesn't turn. He blames it on not caring but if he dug deep enough he would see that it was the fear of her reaction.
"Sher-sherlock?" Comes the whispered question from behind him. There truly is only so long that he can stay with his back to her. Taking a deep drag he puts out the cigarette beside him and turns around.
"Hello Mrs. Hudson." He says putting his arms behind him. He takes in the woman standing before him. Her bones seem more pronounced than they were two years ago, her skin seems more pale, one might even say ashen, she also looks like she is more hunched over. He then takes in her eyes. One would think she had seen a ghost...which, thinking about it, she probably thinks she is.
"It's alright. It's really me." Sherlock says putting a placating hand up fearing that she might break down. He wasn't too good with people's emotions and never knew when a certain emotion would come up. That's why he had John.
"But...you're dead..." She says matter-of-factly.
"Yes. Well that is what you were to believe. But I am not actually dead." A sort of pride welling up in him at how well his plan to fake his death went.
She continues to stare at him. She is more silent than he expected her to be and suddenly he feels he would much rather her talk and ask questions because he doesn't really know how to begin.
"I understand it's shocking but I had to get rid of Moriarty and the only way to do it was for him to believe that I was dead. I then went to dismantle his people and now I'm back." He says expecting it to be enough.
"This is...why didn't you tell anyone? Someone must have known." She was good, Sherlock thinks to himself.
"Yes, two people knew. I did need help after all."
"So John and who else?" Mrs. Hudson asks narrowing her eyes.
The fact that she presumed John was one of the people threw Sherlock off a little. Why would she presume that? He wouldn't have been helpful in the faking of his death and he was in the most danger from Moriarty.
"No, John didn't know. My brother knew and Molly."
"Molly? And you didn't tell John? I was about to say he was a good actor for the show he gave of your death but...the suffering was real. Just like everybody else's. Oh Sherlock. You've made a mess you know that? And I don't mean a physical one like usual. Do you have any idea how you hurt John? And the others, but John most importantly."
"I am sure he will be fine."
"You must tell him!"
"I will not be telling him Mrs. Hudson. I have thought it through and believe it for the best." He says strictly.
Her eyes widen.
"And I must ask you not to tell him either." He commands despite it being more of a request.
"I cannot do such a thing."
"Mrs. Hudson. I have very good reasons for not telling him. Besides, he has moved on and it will be better for both of us."
"Oh Sherlock. You say he has moved on but if you looked closely you would see that he could never move on." She says quietly something akin to pity in her eyes. He wonders whether the pity was directed at him or John.
He brushes his hand in the air to dismiss the topic they were on.
"I had another matter I wanted to discuss with you." He begins.
"Sherlock. You came back from the dead, so to speak, and you want to discuss matters? Can you at least give me a moment to make tea?"
Sherlock is about to protest but suddenly realizes that tea would be an excellent idea. He misses tea. It was sappy and he hopes this phase of nostalgia would blow over soon.
Mrs. Hudson comes back with the smell of tea flowing in before her. Sherlock takes a deep breath through his nose and a smile plays along his lips. John and him would be deep in the middle of a case and Mrs. Hudson would come complaining that she wasn't their carer after which she would clean up and bring them tea and biscuits. He had to admit he did have a soft spot for the woman.
"This matter Sherlock?" she asks and gently places a hand on his face as if she couldn't yet believe he was actually there.
"I would like to move back in." Sherlock states.
Her eyebrows raise and she smiles. "...Only if you tell John you are alive."