JOHN POV
John's shaky hand manages to unlock the door to his house but not long after he enters he grabs the first vase in his sight and smashes it against the floor. It feels good. It scares him to think that this is exactly what he wants to do with Sherlock's head, which is why he left Baker Street so quickly, as well as the fact that he was on the verge of breaking down right there before the tall man. He takes off his shoes, not wanting to make the house dirty from mud, and walks across the floor. Some of the glass manages to cut the soles of his feet and it feels good. It feels painful but it's a nice relief from what is going on in his heart. The problem is he doesn't even know what is going on in his heart. He was never good with feelings but now he is completely lost. He kicks the nearest coffee table and it topples over on its side. Tears are now streaming down his face and he's barely able to catch his breath. After throwing around some of the pillows and ripping them open, he falls to the ground his hands gripping the one of the pillows and lets the sobs out. He screams and cries and yet he doesn't even know why. One would think that he would be happy to see his best friend come back from the dead, so to speak. But this isn't just any person. This is a person who had played him. Who had let John drown in his despair for his dead friend and then appeared out of nowhere as if nothing had happened. He remembers being warned about Sherlock, how he's not really human. John always tried to defend him but no longer.
"Hello? Mary? John?" a voice comes from the front door but John ignores it.
The man that John heard is in fact Greg and he walks into the living room where John is currently on the floor surrounded by destruction.
"John! What happened? Did someone break in?" Greg asks but John can barely look at the man too distraught by the recent revelation. However, to alleviate the detective's stress of looking for a criminal John shakes his head.
"You look…oh…" Greg says and John has to look at the man at that point.
"You found out about Sherlock." Greg says it as a statement rather than a question. This somehow irks John, the fact that the detective inspector knew but John didn't.
"How long have you know?" John asks dangerously slowly.
"Only a couple of days. I would have told you but I told him he should do it himself."
"He wasn't even going to tell me was he…" John asks and somehow the fight is out of him, with a pounding headache replacing it.
It's confirmed with Greg's silence and the fact that he won't meet John's eyes.
"Well I am done with him." John says resolutely.
"Maybe there was a reason why he didn't want to tell you he's back…"
"What could possibly be holding him back?! Moriarty's network is gone! And he obviously told you, Molly already knew, so I don't—" John starts but is cut off by Greg.
"Molly knew? Since when?" Greg asks.
"Apparently, she helped Sherlock fake his death." John says bitterly suddenly jealous of her.
John notices Greg's wide eyes and realizes that Molly has been keeping this a secret from Greg, her boyfriend.
"I'm sorry." John says to his friend but he doesn't have too much more in him to comfort him.
"It's fine. Come on then mate, let's get you bandaged up and possibly some sleep."
"I'm fine." John says.
"No, you're not." Greg says as he helps John get up. John flinches at the pain in his feet. Now that the adrenaline is gone the pain in his feet is less comforting.
—
When John wakes up it's three in the morning. Looking over to his side he sees Mary sound asleep. She must have come after John fell asleep. After using the toilet he tries to get back to sleep but fails miserably as various scenes from Sherlock's death and the time after flick through his mind.
"I need fresh air." He says to the darkness and gets up to put clothes on.
The outside air is a nice chilling blast that wakes him up and momentarily distracts him from the past 24 hours. It's not long before he realizes where his feet are taking him. He appears to be walking down Baker Street and he can't help but groan at his traitorous feet. His feet that are probably bleeding all over the place in his shoes. The darkness and chilliness of the air gives him some sort of momentary resolve to go to 221b. He doesn't really care that it's three in the morning, especially since Sherlock's sleeping schedule is non-existent. He lets himself into the main door and walks up the stairs. That outside resolve crumbles momentarily when he stands in front of apartment door but he eventually walks in.
It's quite dark inside, not surprising with the time of night, though the curtains are open providing mellow lighting, mostly to see shadows of objects and the dust floating around. He walks in, first towards the yellow face drawn on the wall and he traces the outline. Then he makes his way to the Sherlock's violin, carelessly lying on the mantle's edge, and he traces its outline as well. Sherlock would never allow him to touch it, but to hell with Sherlock.
"I didn't think you'd come back." A voice says in the dark and John jumps immediately turning towards the very distinct but quiet voice of Sherlock. The tall man was sitting, if one could call it that since his shoulders and back were partially hunched, in his armchair with a ragged robe on and possibly pyjamas underneath, though it was hard to tell in the dark. He could see Sherlock's hands clasped together under his chin.
There's a long moment of silence before John responds.
"I wasn't going to." He responds.
"Then why did you?" Sherlock asks. John has absolutely not idea and is regretting it more and more by the minute. He could make up something but he doubts Sherlock lost any of his deducting skills so it was no use. Instead he gives a barely visible shrug.
Sherlock slowly untangles his tall body from within itself as he gets up from his chair to a standing position but doesn't make a move towards John, which the doctor believes is probably a good idea. He may have taken a lot of it out on his furniture but this feelings are not gone, and probably never will be.
"You told Greg before you told me." John says. It's a strange fact to mention but it still bothers John and he can't bare the silence anymore. Sherlock frowns at him not comprehending and John isn't too surprised. Instead, he gives Sherlock some time to figure out what he is talking about.
"You mean that I'm not dead." Sherlock says and John flinches. It's such a strange situation.
John nods.
"I…"
"You weren't going to tell me were you?" John says matter-of-factly. He already knows the answer, he can't feel it.
"Of course I was." Sherlock says.
"Stop it Sherlock. Stop it. This is not a game. Not everything is a game Sherlock! Don't lie to me! Not about this. Not about this. You weren't going to tell me. Just admit it." John says, the previous anger rising within him again.
"I have found that people don't like the truth." Sherlock says.
"No, maybe they don't but I'm asking for it."
"I wasn't going to tell you." Sherlock says and something within John just disappears. He puts on a cold face because he isn't sure if he can stand anymore pain, not from this man.
"Why?" It's a stupid question to ask, he knows that, but he can't help it.
"It would have been better." Sherlock says.
"Better? Better? How could you say that? How could that have possibly been better?!" John starts yelling again and he can feel tears pushing against his eyes so he pushes them back.
"John…" Sherlock says so quietly and so gently that John can barely recognize him. His eyes have now gotten used to the darkness so he can see the man's face. And he doesn't expect to see pain there. He doesn't. He knows Sherlock, and he knows the man is as good at masking his feelings as he is at putting fake ones on, but somehow he is sure that isn't fake.
"Tell me." John says resolutely and he can tell Sherlock sees that.
"I've been dead for two years in your eyes and you have moved on. Why come back and make things complicated? You've moved on so you don't need me. It would have been better if you didn't know about me being alive." Sherlock says with sadness and John frowns.
"How could you say that? I know you have trouble understanding humans but moved on? Hardly. I visited your grave nearly everyday Sherlock. I saw you in the shadows of alleys. You were a constant in my nightmares, falling all over again. I would not call that moving on!" John's voice rises and he wants to punch Sherlock but this more to make him see sense.
Sherlock's mouth opens and clothes a few times.
"But I've watched you. You have moved on. You live in a house, you have a pregnant wife, and a stable job. Basically, all the things you've always wanted." Sherlock says with a frown as if John was another case he didn't fully understand.
"I don't live at Baker Street because it was too painful, too many memories of you. And yes, I have a pregnant wife but that has nothing to do with you. And as for the job, in case you haven't noticed in this world we need a job to keep living." John says raising his hands in frustration and nearly on the verge of laughing at the absurdity of this situation.
There's more silence.
"Do you love her?" Sherlock asks out of the blue and John raises his eyebrows in surprise.
"Um…y-yeah…of course…" John says frowning in suspicion because questions made by Sherlock aren't just question they lead to something bigger so he waits for Sherlock to continue but he doesn't.
"Well, you should probably go. Wouldn't want her wondering where you are in the morning plus you have to go to work in a few hours. And I need sleep." Sherlock says yawning.
"Sherlock, that was a fake yawn. Besides, you haven't answered my question." John says.
"What question?"
"Why did you tell Greg before me? Other than the fact that you were never going to tell me. Then why tell him if it was likely he would then tell me?" John asks.
"I needed a case to work on." Sherlock says as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. And John laughs. And keeps on laughing. He can't stop. It's nearing hysteria he's sure.
"I don't see what's funny." Sherlock says a bit miffed by the situation.
"Neither do I Sherlock, neither do I." John says and leaves.