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John leaned against the door and slid down to floor. He pulled his knees up and rested his face on them. Soon the knees of his thin pajama pants were soaked with tears. John rarely gave himself so completely over to weeping but he didn't care anymore and he couldn't be strong enough now to hold back. This whole day had been too much; the 3 year anniversary, going to Sherlock's grave and having Sherlock come back into his life all in one day. Sure he was happy and excited to his have his friend back, but it was all a little overwhelming. John put his arm over his mouth as he cried, muffling any escaping noises with his sweatshirt; though he was falling apart that didn't mean he wanted Sherlock to hear it.

As sobs continued to shake John's body, there was a knock on the door. John scooted away from the door and turned so that he was facing it. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve and watched the shadows under the door as Sherlock moved closer " John?" Sherlock spoke " Obviously, I said something wrong?"

It was the same tone that Sherlock used when John would point out to him that he had had a social blunder such as cheering at a murder or being excited at the scene of a kidnapping. It was the tone that suggested Sherlock knew by the actions of John that he had not performed satisfactorily in a social situation. It was surprising to John that Sherlock made this deduction all on his own this time, but then again John's emotional outbursts would make it hard to not tell that he'd said something wrong. John wiped a stray tear that ran down his face and didn't respond.

Sherlock paused for a long time " I upset you, I can see…..Um, when you are ready to talk, I'll be here….."

It was very strange for John to hear pauses and doubt in Sherlock's words. It seemed as if he didn't know what to say for once in life. Good. John didn't know what to say either.

Sherlock paused for another good long while before saying " Alright…..well, I'm making some tea if you want some" he said before John watched his shadow pass the door and disappear. John was so angry that he could break something. Sherlock was so blind about some things. It was like he really didn't understand that John should be upset by him faking his death, even if it was to save his life, as Sherlock claimed.

But John didn't have the energy to think of all that right now. Despite the fact that the morning sun was beginning to peak through the curtains, John pulled himself up and threw himself on the bed. A few stray sobs managed to escape from his mouth as he buried his face into his pillow before drifting off to sleep again.

….

Sherlock sat on the couch and sipped his tea, listening for sounds, any sound, coming from John's bed room but he didn't hear anything. Sherlock finished the last of the tea and then leaned back on the couch, stretching his long legs off the end of the couch. He placed his hands on his stomach as he pondered the problem at hand. He had felt rather positive before coming to the flat; he'd even had the weird nervous feeling in his stomach at his seeing John. Why that was he wasn't really sure , other than it had been a positively lonely and taxing couple of years. Very few put up with him, not that he cared, but it was nice to have someone to listen to his brilliant ramblings. Now that he thought of it he was sure that he actually was hoping to come home to something familiar. The way that John was acting was not familiar and it was rather confusing.

Sherlock stared at the ceiling. He had not handled this well, he had hurt John. That much was obvious, but John didn't even give him a chance to explain so how was he supposed to explain himself and make John feel more at ease? Sherlock was sure that tomorrow John would come to his senses and let him explain.

Sherlock rolled over on to his side on the couch and stared at the wall. He felt weary and completely done in. When he thought on all the work that he' d been doing these years, a lot even for him, it made sense. But all that was done now. He had accomplished what he'd set out to do; all of Moriarty's men were dead and all the people he cared for were safe. Pretty soon John would forgive him and things could go back to normal.

Sherlock drifted off to sleep musing about this. His sleep was uneasy and punctured by unusual nightmares in which he only was only able to pull himself out of by the sound of John's voice in his sleep.

John woke a few hours later from a dreamless sleep. He was thankful that he didn't have any nightmares but he also didn't feel rested either. He sat up and pulled his legs over the side of the bed. He stretched and tried to work out the kinks in his muscles that had resulted from sleeping on his stomach. He sat for a few moments, just staring at the window where bright, almost blaring sunlight was pouring into the window, obstructed only by a thin curtain. He wondered what Sherlock was doing or if he was even still here. John listened but he didn't hear any movement in the house. He could smell the scents of breakfast drifting into his bedroom though; bacon, eggs and coffee. Sherlock must still be here then, though it was extremely odd for Sherlock to cook as he barely ate at all.

John ran his hands through his hair and then placed them on his knees. He thought about what had happened last night as the place on his cheek burned with pain where Sherlock had hit him. He knew that he had overreacted; in the morning light he could see that he should have handled it better. Sure, Sherlock could have handled it better too, but still, he shouldn't have tried to fight him. And yes, it would have helped if he had actually tried to listen to what Sherlock had tried to tell him. He'd let his anger and emotions get the most of him. He was sure that he hadn't offended Sherlock because he wasn't even sure that was possible, but still he shouldn't have hit him.

John got up and walked to the closet to find something to wear. He realized by the almost empty closet and mounds of clothes on the floor that he was way past due to doing laundry. How hadn't he noticed that before? He thought about simply keeping his pajamas on but when he looked at himself in the mirror he thought better of it. He really needed a shower too (how long had it been?) but some new clothes would have to be good enough right now.

John threw on the first acceptable items of clothing he found and then walked to the door. He hesitated for a second, his hand on the doorknob, wondering if he was ready for this. He wasn't sure that he was, but since he would never know until he did it, he opened the door.

John looked around the living room and didn't see any sign of Sherlock except for his coat lying on the couch. He proceeded to the kitchen, limping slightly; it didn't hurt as bad as it had yesterday and he refused to get his cane unless it got worse.

John didn't find Sherlock in the kitchen either; light streamed through the window and illuminated the big mess John had left in the kitchen. Interestingly enough he hadn't thought it messy yesterday but today he suddenly felt the need to through away some of the trash and clean the dishes. John noticed a plate of breakfast sitting on the table untouched and a pot of coffee sitting beside it.

"That's for you by the way" that familiar voice said behind him. John jumped slightly at the noise and turned around to face Sherlock.

"Really, Sherlock?" John said when he saw him. Sherlock had obviously just taken a shower as he was drying his hair with a towel and had John's bathrobe on. Because of the height discrepancy between the two men the robe was rather short on Sherlock.

Sherlock could see John was eyeing his robe "Oh this? Yes, I needed a shower and since none of my things are here, I just figured that I'd use yours. Knew you wouldn't mind" he said care freely.

John shook his head "Um, actually I do mind Sherlock" he couldn't believe that Sherlock was just walking around using his things and acting like he owned the place " I suppose you just helped yourself to my toothbrush while you were at it as well"

Sherlock didn't pick up on the sarcasm. " Of course" he said as he tossed his towel over the edge of one of the chairs at the table and then sat down. He poured himself a cup of coffee while John starred at him open mouthed. He didn't even know what to say. Sherlock was unbelievable. He'd been gone three years and he could just walk back in here and act like he lived here.

John sat down in the chair opposite Sherlock and watched him as he glanced through the paper and drank his coffee. "Eat, John. You're entirely too thin" he said without even looking up from the paper.

John looked at the plate of food in front of him. It was obvious that Sherlock had detected a bit that John was mad at him; he would never cook something for him without some sort of motive behind it. " I'm not really hungry" John said.

"Don't be stubborn" Sherlock said, folding the paper up " I'd point out how much weight you've lost but I don't think that's necessary"

Knowing Sherlock, he could probably tell John how much he'd lost within 2-3 pounds accuracy. He wasn't going to challenge this theory. "Speak for yourself" John said as he reluctantly began to eat his eggs. " How much have you eaten since I last saw you?"

"I'm fine" Sherlock said shortly. "I've eaten as much as I've needed"

"Coming from the guy who never eats" John said sarcastically.

"Shut up and eat your breakfast" Sherlock said as he starred off into the distance, probably getting lost in thought like he often did. John finished his breakfast as Sherlock continued to think. The silence was unbearable to John. He wanted to say something, but he didn't know what. Things weren't okay and he couldn't talk like they were and yet he didn't want to talk about where Sherlock had been and what he'd been doing. Well, at least he didn't want to ask about it. If Sherlock chose to tell him that was fine, but he wasn't going to ask.

John pushed his chair from the table and stood. Sherlock didn't look at him, appeared to not even notice the movement. He was probably in his mind palace and therefor wouldn't notice much of anything. John wanted to apologize for how he'd acted yesterday but the words got stuck on his tongue and he just turned and left the kitchen.

Noticing the time John jumped in the shower to get ready for work. He showered, combed his hair and put on more acceptable work clothes. When he came out of the bathroom Sherlock was exactly where he'd left him in the kitchen. John didn't know what to say or even if he should say anything, so he just walked for the door. Sherlock surprised him by saying, "Going out?" from the kitchen.

John was surprised. Sherlock rarely noticed when he left when he was in his mind palace. "Yeah, I'm going to work" John said.

"We don't have work" Sherlock said in a surprised tone.

John was annoyed; leave it to Sherlock to believe that everything had to involve him. "We don't but I do" he said " You know Sherlock, you were gone for three years. I had to find something to do to make money" John was glad he was in the living room and Sherlock was in kitchen and therefor couldn't see his expression. Couldn't see the pain that he was feeling at thinking of how his life had been these past few years.

For once, Sherlock didn't have anything to say. John opened the door and left the flat without saying another word.