Sherlock expected silence as he was seated in the car.
He expected emptiness and the comfort that being alone provided.
He did not expect to hear an exasperated sigh from the other side of the car.
Nor did he expect the warm embrace he received as the car pulled away from the curb.
The slap across his right cheek, however.
"Mycroft!"
The elder Holmes smirked in his seat.
"Now that I have your attention, will you cease sulking for a moment? Lord knows you're barely tolerable when you're in a good mood."
The detective turned in his seat, stuck between glaring his brother down and returning to his mind palace simply out of spite.
"What for?"
Mycroft rolled his eyes, pulling his phone out of his pocket and handing it to Sherlock.
The screen showed John sitting in the backseat of a car, Mycroft's assistant chatting with him cordially.
"Why is he with Tessa, and she off her mobile for that matter? Shouldn't he be on a bus?"
The politician sighed once more, wanting nothing more than to kick some sense into his child of a brother.
"He is in the car with Anne because I asked her to explain a few things to her. Her mobile is with Greg because he broke his. And he was never on a bus to begin with!"
Sherlock shook his head.
"I saw him though. I saw him on that bench, the bus pull up, and him disappear."
"Yes, that's what you saw. You did not, however, see him board the bus. Nor did you see him wander back into the throng of people heading downtown on the sidewalk. You simply assumed what you wanted to assume because you couldn't risk hoping that everything would be alright."
Sherlock winced at the harshness of his brother's words, and watched as Mycroft's features soften with sympathy.
"All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock."
"You are broken, Sherlock And I am so sorry that I had a hand in doing it. I know that I've said things to the contrary on the past but-"
Mycroft sighed, rubbing his temples gently.
"Let my have this part in repairing it."
The detective shook his head.
"How? John left. He can't possibly-"
There was a crackling sound emanating from the phone, before the audio kicked in.
A voice.
John's voice.
"Can, ahh, Can you take me to him now?"
Was he talking about him?
"We are almost their sir."
Sherlock stared down at the phone, watched as his blogger fidgeted, the reddened rims of his eyes showing unshed tears.
"Right. Thank you."
He refused to let his gaze stray from the phone until John shifted forward slightly in his seat indicating that his vehicle had stopped.
"Where have you sent him, Mycroft?"
His brother simply smirked, prying his phone from the detective's fingers.
"About a block south of here. You'll bump into him casually, he'll apologize before recognizing you-"
Sherlock nodded, feeling the car arrive at it's destination.
"Just like Budapest."
Mycroft smiled.
"Let's hope that you don't replicate those events. I'd hate for Mrs. Hudson to have to deal with the stains."
Sherlock shook his head, opening the car door.
"You and I remember Budapest very differently."
The politician's laugh followed him onto the street.
Sherlock started to sprint through the near-empty street, his mind focussed only on one thing.
John.
John.
"John!"
Budapest be damned.
The detective waved and shouted for his doctor, the sence of releif at seeing him flooding his scenses.
"SHerlock?"
The former doctor shouted back, his own limps picking up momentum at the sight of the detectove comeing closer.
They sprinted towards each other, only to realize too late that they were much closer than they appeared.
With a grunt they collided into each other, sending both of them sprawling to the ground, John atop Sherlock.
A few moments passed before either man regained the ability to breath, and when they did the collapsed into a fit of giggles, clinging to eachother for support.
"Watch where you're going, git."
John managed, sitting up off the street before standing.
"I should say the same to you."
The former doctor held out his hand, helping the detective to his feet.
"Been out looking for me? Took you long enough."
Sherlock shrugged, straitening his coat.
"I got lost without my blogger."
John blinked, before crossing his arms.
"I'll say. Three years and I lived in the same flat!"
The detective winced, preparing himself for the inevitable fight that was coming.
"Three years Sherlock. And what were you doing?"
Here it comes.
"Saving the fucking world? Protecting me, us, all of us?"
Wait.
What?
"And to think all I had to do was sit at home and mourn the loss of the love of my life while he was out nearly dying every day."
The detective shook himself, completely thrown off by the change in topic.
He went to protest, to question, before a pair of lips collided firmly with his own.
He fell into the kiss, the warmth and comfort that only John could provide.
The peace that could only come when a man is reunited with his heart.
They broke apart, both wanting for air and neither one daring to draw a breath.
"How did you know?"
John straightened Sherlock's collar, his fingers caressing the wool of his coat.
"I was given your file."
Sherlock froze, fear and anxiety pooling in his stomach.
That file contained everything.
Every act that he had been forced to commit, in graphic detail.
"You aren't,,ashamed? Appalled? Disgusted? Angry? Anything?"
His voice was small, and he looked away, unable to meet his blogger's eyes.
"I was."
John said, watching pain grow in the detective's eyes.
He placed a firm hand under Sherlock's chin, guiding his gaze to meet his.
"At them. For what they put you through. What they made you do. But not you Sherlock, never you."
Sherlock let the words sink in, felt them filling some of the cracks that had formed, fixing him, repairing the damage done.
"So you know."
John nodded, stepping back, his hands grasping the detective's.
"I got the gist. I figured that you would fill me in on the details in your own time."
The detective nodded, a small smile threatening at the corners of his mouth.
"Thank you."
John nodded, kissing his cheek before peering around at the empty street.
"Do you have any idea where we are?"
Sherlock pulled away, a full 360 degree turn completed before he grabbed John's hand.
"Approximately a ten minute walk from baker street, if we take some back alleys."
The former doctor smiled.
"And if we run?"
Sherlock bolted, tugging an all too eager John after him, into the night.
Author's note: I like to play with Anthea a bit. Specifically her name. My theory is that everyone calls her by the name that she first told them, except for John. John is the only person who thinks to ask her what name she is going by currently, and she uses that as a way to hint at her purpose of being there. Also I like to think that Mycroft and Sherlock have grown a bit in their relationship as siblings through this whole , back to the story, ignore me.