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The two man sat in the taxi; John absent minded and tense, Sherlock excited and bouncy.

"John," Sherlock said, "shouldn't we... talk?"

"Huh?" John looked at Sherlock, a small crease grew between his eyebrows.

"We haven't talked since that argument." Sherlock said, his eyes locking John's gaze, "And that wasn't actually talking."

"Oh," John shuffled in his seat, "what do you want to talk about?"

"I don't know... Usually you do all the talking."

"Usual- Sherlock, I haven't talked to you for three years!"

"Two and a half years."

"Right, that. Yeah, but I still haven't talked to you for two and a half years." John huffed. "But I'll try. Okay, so while you were gone-"

"Wasn't there a girl?" Sherlock asked.

"A girl?" John's eyebrow raised, he turned to Sherlock, "There was. Not any more."

"Oh, that's a shame." Sherlock said flatly. "What was her name? Marley, Masey, M... M-something. Mmm..."

"Mary."

"That's the one!" Sherlock shouted. "It's a shame you're not with her. I liked her, less... frilly then the other ones you had."

"You do realise," John said sternly, "that they're women? Not objects."

"People are objects, John. To be used and discarded when their usefulness comes to an end."

"So I'm just a object to you, am I?" Sherlock chuckled. John was being absurd. If he was just an object to him than Sherlock would have gotten rid of him ages ago. He wouldn't have even bothered to come back.

"Don't be illogical, John. What happened with Marley anyway?"

"Mary and ... we had different interests. That's not the point though, Sherlock. You took me off topic. Thr-" Sherlock shot him a judging glance. "Fine. Two and a half years. It wasn't easy, you know. Not like you had it hard. Just waiting."

Sherlock remembered twelve months ago when he wrestled with a top Russian assassin. Hand to hand combat to the death. He had barely made it out alive but it was the first of Moriarty's men to go. Nine months ago, using only a machete, he took out a famous organisation in Israel that were planning an attack on London. Seven months ago was the sword fight with another henchman. Five months ago he was trailing through sludge and slime to apprehend some vital information that could help his case. Three months ago he took out the last of the assassins. After nearly falling off the Eiffel Tower. Looking towards John, he nodded. "Hmmm. It was easy, wasn't it?"

John sighed and looked Sherlock up and down. "You've always got something up your sleeve. What are we doing now?"

Sherlock noted the sudden change in conversation topic. "You'll have to wait. I just want to talk to the police before the stampede tomorrow."

"Is that all?"

"Yes." Sherlock said, his quiet observing eyes watched John's every move.

"If that's all, why am I here then?" John huffed. He was aware that his actions were childish, but he didn't want to be here. Especially if they were talking to that pompous dick of a boss that Lestrade - Greg - had to put up with. John's hands clenched into fists just thinking about it.

"Calm down John. We're here." Sherlock said, almost laughing. "And we seem to have got some attention."

"No shit, Sherlock." John sighed, "You did just come back from the dead."

In front of the main doors stood Greg, Anderson and Donovan.

"Welcome back Sherlock." Greg nodded, "John, how have you been?"

"I've been... Fine." John forced the word out of his mouth like it was poison.

"'Ello freak." Donovan said, "Didn't expect to see you again." Her voice was laced with sarcasm, dripping with venom. She was dead set against Sherlock, the doubt that Moriarty had placed in her mind had bloomed, blossomed and multiplied rapidly. It was probably spurned on by her underlying hatred of Sherlock.

"Ah, the lovely Sergeant. Still scrubbing Anderson's floors, I see." Sherlock sniped. "And you're still married, Anderson. Well done."

"Sherlock, leave them alone for now. Did you get it?" Lestrade looked at him, eager for results.

"Obviously, Lestrade. Do you expect anything else?"

"You to murder some sod?" Donovan snapped from the back. "I dunno why we aren't allowed to arrest you but you wait, Freak. You wait." Turning around she stormed through the Yard front doors. Anderson sneered. Everything in his body language said he wanted to follow but he was forcing himself to stay.

"You know what to do with it, Lestrade." Lestrade simply nodded. John was looking at them from behind Sherlock. His fists still clenched. He still felt somewhat betrayed by Greg. Every time he went to the graveyard with John, every time he told John to move on or that he was gone, every time he watched John break down and cry, every nightmare; he knew and John couldn't help but forget that and put it to one side. He wasn't exactly angry with him but he couldn't look at Greg directly. He understood why he did it. He understood it was to protect John and even then Greg was only told so Sherlock could organise a case to help him.

"You're going to have to come in I'm 'fraid, Sherlock. The boss, y'know." Sherlock nodded briefly and turned back to John asking a silent question.

"Yes but if he goes off on one I will punch him again."

"You're going to have to stop punching everybody, John. Damaged knuckles don't work well for a doctor."

The small group walked in through the main doors, John trailing behind the others.

"So, the boss is where then?" He asked, quietly.

Sherlock spun around. "Fourth floor, twelfth door. It's a double sized office, not that you'd expect anything else really." He looked at Lestrade, "Am I right?"

"Why do you ask? You clearly know you are." Greg sighed. "Okay, this is your choice-"

"Stairs." Sherlock said, speeding past the lift, "I choose stairs."

Greg shot John a single look, an unspoken question was asked and answered. John and Greg followed Sherlock up the stairs.

John looked up, Sherlock was running up the stairs and dodging anyone in his way. His coat was flapping behind him as he ran. John sighed and looked at Greg out of the corner of his eye. Greg was stressed, that much was clear. He needed a holiday.

Suddenly there was a commotion up the stairs.

"Shit." Greg mouthed. "That's coming from the fourth floor!"

"Sally's obviously gone to the boss running her mouth off." Everybody turned to see Anderson. They had almost forgotten about his presence. "You already informed him and showed him the case file didn't you, Sir?"

"Yes, Anderson. He's given us until four to analyse that tape."

"Give it here then, him and I can run up to the lab." Both John and Lestrade looked at him in amazement. Sherlock had his usual unsurprised expressed."Look, as much as I'd like to see him behind bars it's been boring without him. That and I nehuehidheilp"

"What was that last part you mumbled?" Lestrade questioned.

"I need his help." Sherlock chuckled, showing a proud smile.

"Come on then, Anderson. I can tolerate to be in a room without your face putting me off for awhile."

"Psychopath."

"Sociopath, Anderson. We discussed this. Many times." John was dumbstruck. This wasn't the Anderson he knew.

"John," Sherlock said, turning around suddenly. "Lestr-Greg and you should go somewhere else, I have a feeling you'll punch this man in the face the second we walk in the room." Sherlock smiled a crooked half smile, the one John was so fond of, "And Donovan is going to be mouthing off too. It's never polite to hit a lady."

John looked up at Sherlock. He nodded, one sharp nod. Sherlock knew best, especially about John's actions. "Okay."

"Si- Greg," Anderson turned to Lestrade, "if there's any... trouble, I'll call you."

"Do so, without delay." Lestrade nodded. "Come then, John."

Sherlock marched up the stairs, leaving Anderson behind. John and Greg walked down the stairs, neither able to look the other in the eyes. Once they'd reached the bottom of the stairs Lestrade cleared his throat.

"John, I'm sorry."

John froze, he'd both wanted this and dreaded this. Lestrade had done nothing wrong, not really. Not like Sherlock had. Greg was simply protecting John from the truth, because if John had known the truth, he'd have put himself in danger for Sherlock. And that was a possibility that Sherlock had calculated and factored in to his plan. He couldn't have John risking everything to save him. This much John knew.

"Don't be." John smiled, a stiff please-believe-me kind of smile. One that even Lestrade could see past. "Really."

"John, it's not okay. I am sorry. Sherlock's plans... Well, he's Sherlock so I trusted him but I didn't like hurting you. Watching... I'm sorry."

John shook his head. "I told you, don't be. The only person that should be sorry is Sherlock and we all know he isn't."

"Mhmm."

"Let's go get a coffee. I need one." They walked in silence, Lestrade leading the way. John didn't want to think about how Sherlock was doing up there with Anderson. For now he wanted something to take it all off his mind. Walking out the doors to Scotland Yard they walked until they came to a coffee shop. John sat by the window whilst Greg went and ordered the drinks. As John looked out of the window he could see the busy London life pass him by. It was all suddenly so surreal. When would it all be able to go back to normal? What even was normal? He didn't know any more.

"Here you go, John." Accepting the cup, John never tore his gaze from the window. Lestrade looked at him with worry. He knew it wasn't alright. John had been through so much over these two and a half years. That wasn't suddenly going to go away. "I never told him, John."

"Huh?" John replied, still refusing to look away. His eyes currently fixated upon a late model blue Citron with a blonde female inside. Hair down, make-up standard. She was removing a ring from her finger, it looked gold. Adulterer most likely. Especially with the top she was wearing. Too informal for an interview.

"You know what I mean, John. The things you said in your sleep and then the other stuff you told me and Mrs Hudson."

"Oh. That." The woman got of the the car. Her skirt could have been used as a tea towel, thought John. She walked over to a building with a black door and rang the bell.

"John." Lestrade said sternly.

"Hmmm?" A tall man in causal wear opened the door and welcomed the woman with a hug. Hand firmly positioned upon the right buttock. Definitely not an interview.

"John, pay attention to me." Greg said sternly, he grabbed John's wrist. John turned to face Lestrade.

"Get off."

"Fine." Lestrade said, letting go of John's wrist. He stared into John's eyes. "You need to tell him though, you can't hide forever."

John turned back to the window. A heavy silence settled on the two men. Lestrade sipped his drink and cracked his knuckles. John looked out of the window. Cars drove past and people walked on, consumed in their daily lives. They weren't really there, not to John. John's head was full of doubts, worries, fears and Sherlock. It was so full of Sherlock that he thought he would fall apart at the seems.

"I don't know how to." John said at last. "Before... It was so easy, I didn't have time to think. I didn't have time to wonder how I felt about him." He paused. "And then... Then he died. And then I was left alone."

"I... I know." Lestrade said, his eyes clouded with pain. "I saw."

"And now... He's okay." John looked at Lestrade. "I'm not."

"I know." Lestrade grimaced. "I-"

BRRRZZT BRRRZZT

Lestrade's phone buzzed in his pocket. He picked it up, the caller ID showed it was Anderson's number. He answered it.

"Hello?"

"Greg?"

"Yeah?"

"It's Anderson. Sherlock's... talking to the boss. I've been kicked out but Sherlock told me to call you. Someone's in trouble."