Well here it is, as promised; chapter three, the final chapter of this story. I would like to take a moment here to say my sincerest thank yous for the reviews and of course a big thank you to everyone who has read this story! I hope you will enjoy this chapter as much as you have (hopefully) enjoyed the others.
Reviews are most appreciated!
Back From The Dead
Chapter III
A knock on the door. John tried to tell himself not to get his hopes up, but a small part of him didn't want to listen, despite the countless disappointments in the past. He mentally argued with himself as he made his way to the door. Upon opening it, he was greeted by an oversized bouquet of red roses.
"What the…?" John uttered out, examining the bouquet and then moving his eyes up to the man holding them.
"It is a social custom?" inquired he plainly.
"What?" John asked, feeling rather confused.
"The roses. I'm trying to avoid getting punched in the face this time," Sherlock explained almost casually, looking at the roses in his hand.
John stared at him.
"Shut up," he said eventually, turning on his heels and walking inside.
"Well, aren't you coming?" he turned to ask just before he reached the stairs.
"Isn't it another social custom to wait until you're invited in?" Sherlock asked in return, with hint of mockery in his voice.
"I didn't know I needed to welcome you into your own home," John shrugged casually and started climbing the stairs.
A grin visited Sherlock's face as he stepped in and followed John upstairs.
"I'm making tea, you want any?" John asked as he headed to the kitchen.
"Please," Sherlock replied as he set the roses down to living room table, then letting his eyes wonder through the flat, examining every inch; everything was mostly where it had always been, even his own violin. He gave half a smirk to John's supposed sentiment and walked over to his violin, took it in his hands and placed it properly before playing a few strokes. The violin was slightly out of tune, as expected. The detective tuned it and started playing again just as John entered the living room with a kettle and two mugs on a tray.
"I didn't dare touch that thing," he remarked as Sherlock stopped playing and turned to face him.
"I can tell," Sherlock replied, carefully setting the instrument down to where he had taken it from.
"Of course you can," John muttered barely audibly as he set down the tray and Sherlock joined him for tea.
For a moment they drank tea in silence until John lowered his hands to his lap.
"So?"
Sherlock raised an eyebrow.
"How did you do it?" John repeated.
"How, and more importantly why, are you… not dead?"
A smirk rose to the detective's lips as he set down his tea cup and leant back in his chair, pressing his palms together and placing his hands under his chin.