CHAPTER 18. A PIRATE'S REDEMPTION

Sherlock didn't understand the sudden feeling that the room was incredibly too small. He'd never noticed the exact square footage of the room, but he would check into that later. Instead his eyes refused to blink, refused to look away from the shorter blond man in front of him.

John looked thin, too thin even by Sherlock's standards, the extra age lines and a deeper crease in his friends forehead all made John Watson look older than he truly was. Even his eyes had changed; something was missing, the usual warmth and light, gone.

The dark haired detective noted the strained expression; his friend-no John wasn't his friend anymore. His ex friend was in pain, but the limp was defiantly psychosomatic, something else, his shoulder perhaps. The cold weather could be affecting him, that kind of injury he sustained wasn't one that would heal quickly. Maybe he hadn't eaten, the caffeine from the coffee he'd had while sitting with Mike in the park wouldn't of helped. Sherlock frowned, why did he care? Why should he waste precious energy on these kinds of pointless thoughts. John wasn't his friend anymore, he'd made it clear that things would never be the same. Sherlock should just take his leave and be done with John Watson. Yes he'd do just that.

John broke the silence first, he needed to go and quick, to get away before the coffee he'd had came back up. "I'm sorry." John clasped his eyes shut, cursing his fumbling for words. He would say this, he wouldn't be a coward. Sherlock flinched confused, but the injured soldier continued on, keeping to his resolve.

"I-I didn't know Mike was referring to you. I wouldn't have even bothered to come had I known. I understand I'm the last person you'd want to see. I got your point the first time. I just-just want you to know that I'm not stalking you in any way. I-I honestly was-uh. Anyway, I would have never guessed you still lived in London. Well I shouldn't have thought otherwise, this is your city, I-I just got back home a few months ago. " John was babbling, but at least his voice was steady, his military training gave him that, and his back was stiff, shoulders straight. Still he sounded like a blabbering fool. Better make and exit Watson before he cuts you down.

Sherlock felt confused; there was no deception in his friend, none, why was he acting as though this was the first time the consulting detective was learning of his presence in London? John's posture was tense as if he was waiting for Sherlock to lash out, interesting.

"John-"

"No. I'm going. I-you don't have to say anything. It's fine. It's all fine. It was good to see you." John turned to leave attempting to save some of his pride. How pathetic could he look, with a cane and a stammer, his friend-because John would always think of Sherlock as a friend, but his friend looked good. Healthy, a bit on the thin side but Sherlock had always been a finicky eater.

Sherlock could hear the embarrassment in his friend's voice, but it wasn't until John said "its good to see you" that the dark haired detective snapped out of his sudden paralysis. That statement he'd heard many of times over, repeated by blabbering fools trying to make polite conversation, that's all those words had ever been to him, empty words.

But the warmth-the familiar honesty in that statement all of it just like John, well the old John. For a minute Sherlock found a bit of his old friend in the shell standing before him.

So many emotions, but it was sincerity, he heard it in John's tone this is what gave Sherlock the courage to stop his friend to talk to say anything.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?"

"Oh, uh Afghanistan." John stilled, his eyes still not daring to venture over to the taller man, John shifted his weight over to his good leg.

When did they release you from the hospital?" It came out before Sherlock could find anything better to say. Of course he'd known about John's release, he'd hacked into the Hospital database, they should really try to put up some kind of firewall, really a child could get past it.

"How did you know I- How did you know I was in the hospital?" Sherlock frowned and John sighed heavily glaring at his own cane.

"Oh right the cane is a dead give away. Uh, I was released about a month or so ago." He coughed clearing his throat forcing a tight smile.

Sherlock felt like that boy with the pirate sword hacking into the tree, but instead he was holding a riding crop used to beat a cadaver. It all was the same uncomfortable awkwardness. He could easily deduce the urge in his old friend to flee, but at the same time Sherlock didn't want him to go.

"Are you staying with Harry?"

John chuckled before answering.

"No, you know we never uh, got along to well. And she's sobered up since my-since I came home. She even stayed a few days at the hospital with me but you know how she feels about Hospitals."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. So the harpy hadn't even stayed-and by the way John shrugged she hadn't even bothered to visit. Probably gave John the mobile out of guilt, the loathsome witch couldn't even stay with her brother, no doubt due to the fact she couldn't manage more then a day without her precious vodka-disgusting. If Sherlock had known John was alone, he would have stayed, and from the way his friend was talking he didn't know about Sherlock and Mycroft's visit. Harry Watson was ode a few harsh words.

Still this was Sherlock's chance, and he would take it, he wouldn't let go. Not this time, pride be damned.

"How's Mycroft? I haven't seen him in three years." John missed the the dark expression that passed over his friends normally devoid face.

"Three years?"

"Yes, well you know. When he came to see me. I should apologize I was very rude, it was defiantly uncalled for." John bit the inside of his cheek not meeting his friends gray eyes.

"Oh, John you know Mycroft. He'll live. We both know he doesn't have feelings to hurt. And I'm sure he deserved whatever you said."

"Maybe. I never let him actually tell me why he was there. I thought maybe he had come to warn me off, especially since he tried to have me reassigned, I never know what your brothers intentions really are sometimes, he's a complex creature."

Sherlock didn't know what to say to this, Mycroft had tried then, why didnt he tell him, Mycroft let Sherlock believe that he wouldn't try. But in truth Mycroft must have anticipated Sherlock's reaction, as was his annoying talent, ever since Sherlock could crawl.

The younger Holmes decided to file these emotions away to be studied at another time. A time where he was alone to contemplate the confusing stir of sentiment that attached themselves to this revelation.

"Well John you know Mycroft. He's actually become quite a dangerous man, he's practically the British Government. I know much has occurred since your absence from England. Mycroft's ego has grown almost as much as his belly. And as far as his health, I'm sure you wont be surprised to know he is failing at his diet as usual." John couldn't help but smile.

Sherlock felt his own heart pound faster, he produced a genuine grin, even the dulled blue eyes of the wounded soldier lit up.

"Hungry?" Sherlock didn't wait for a reply instead he held open the lab door and allowed the man to shuffle out. Best to save them both from further awkwardness.

"Well-"

"Good I know the best Italian restaurant near my flat, they make a prize winning Risotto."

Sherlock started down the hall and John found himself trying to pick up the pace just to keep up.