Sherlock squinted as if he couldn't see John clearly, but John knew that wasn't the case.
"I know you. You were at the hospital with…Mycroft…I think that's the name. He told me that your name was…"
Sherlock looked down and his bushy brows furrowed as he tried to figure out John's name. John stood there, still in the doorway, with the door wide open. His fists clenched as he tried to suppress every feeling in his body to shout out his name, to take Sherlock in his arms and tell him who he was, what he did, and how much he loved his work. But if he knew Sherlock, he knew that he would want to figure it out by himself, even if he never did in the end.
"J-John, is that it?"
John's head slowly moved up and down. At least he got his name right, he could remember that much. Sherlock seemed satisfied with his correct guess and kept looking around the flat as if he hasn't been living there for years. John had to ask, he had to get the elephant in the room out of the way.
"Sorry, what are you doing here? It's not that I'm not happy to see you but…you're not fully healed."
The bandage was still on his head and his arm was still in its cast, as Sherlock's left coat sleeve was not on. He tilted his curly haired head slightly as if he didn't understand the question. His face was washed with a brief confusion before it returned to that stoic face.
"Mycroft put me here."
If John had a pound for every time Mycroft placed Sherlock in the worst situations, he would be one rich man. He crossed his arms and was starting to get angry at the elder brother's name.
"What do you mean Mycroft "put" you here?"
Sherlock looked impatient and rolled his eyes.
"He talked to me, at the hospital, and then he told me that the answers to my questions were here. He checked me out of the hospital and then dropped me off here and then drove away. "
'He ditched his brother who was suffering from amnesia in an unknown place?'
John just felt a part of his mouth twitch. For all that Mycroft says, he sure has a weird way of showing his love and concern for his baby brother. It couldn't have hurt him to stay until John got back? Pull him aside and inform him? John sighed. He understood why Mycroft did it. John was the only other person who knew that Sherlock was alive and of his condition, and as far as he was concerned, it would have to stay that way. Sadly, Sherlock was the secret between the elder Holmes and the ex-soldier.
"Brother of the year award goes to…" John muttered under his breath.
"Pardon?"
John shook his head.
"Sorry, I wasn't talking to you; I was just…talking to myself."
Sherlock gave him a funny look, but ignored the comment in his typical fashion. John sighed, he knew that this wasn't going to be easy for either of them but John would go through all the troubles he needed to, for Sherlock. Speaking of the detective, he returned to his seat on his couch and continued staring around the flat as if he hasn't done that enough.
"It's pretty late, do you want to go and have a quick kip or something?"
Sherlock looked so lost and it just tugged at John's heartstrings.
"What do you mean? Where will I sleep?"
"You…you live here, this is your, OUR flat."
"Really, I live here?"
John nodded and Sherlock seemed to take it to consideration as he placed his good hand on his lap and stared at it.
"So then, where is my room?"
John gave another sigh, but not one of stress. It was of pity for Sherlock and himself and he mentally apologized because he knows how much Sherlock hates any pity being shown on him.
"Your room is this way, let me show you."
He helped Sherlock up and led him to his room down the hall, Sherlock was walking slower than he usually would but John didn't have the heart to rush him. He was observing everything, like Sherlock Holmes does. When they set foot into the room, Sherlock looked at the bed, and the papers and posters everywhere and then back at John.
"This is my room?"
"…Yes…"
"I'm guessing I'm not a very tidy person." He smiled.
It made John's heart skip a beat when he saw his smile. Sherlock rarely did it, and John didn't blame him. Nobody ever gave him a reason to smile and then again, he would only save them for John and John loved to see them, especially when he's had a bad day at work and came home grumpy and tired.
"No, you're not. But that's okay, we're not all perfect."
Sherlock's smile softened, and then completely vanished. They both walked inside the room that hasn't been touch since his "death", nobody could bring themselves to go in there; it would be like disrespecting Sherlock. Sherlock turned around and said, "So I guess…I'll go to bed now."
John didn't even realize he was staring at Sherlock with a light smile on his face until the younger man started talking to him. He snapped out of his daze and shook his head.
"Yeah, yeah, sleep would be good. Do you…need any help?" John asked hesitantly.
"No that's okay; I…think I can manage." Sherlock replied rather awkwardly.
John looked away, he knew that was a stupid question to ask, but he was so overwhelmed that his best friend, his flatmate, and his colleague was back, albeit he had a few defects, but he was back and that's all that John needed. Noticing that Sherlock was waiting for him to leave so he could get changed, John turned to leave with his hand on the doorknob. He turned his head back around to say, "Goodnight, Sherlock."
Sherlock stared at him a long while before he responded, "Goodnight…John."