Sherlock was still standing there, with his hand in his pocket and a hopeful look on his face. He didn't seem to notice that almost everybody in the pub, mainly John, Molly, and Greg were staring at him like they're witnessing the second coming of Jesus. John was frozen in his seat, he didn't know how to react; he didn't even know what to say. If he catches Sherlock's attention, they're going to know that John already knew about his resurrection and that would only result in more problems which neither of them needed at the moment. Greg didn't blink in over a minute and John wasn't even sure if he was breathing anymore.

"Sherlock…"

The detective's brows furrowed.

"You said my name…"

Greg nodded, like he wasn't even aware that he was talking.

"Yes…of course I did…"

"How do you know me?"

Greg finally blinked and his mouth started to move and John couldn't help but be relieved that he was actually alive.

"Wha-"

Before Greg could even begin to get his thoughts and words together, Sherlock looked over at Molly and John and his eyes widened so much, John thought that they were going to pop out of his head. John didn't know what he gotten himself into. He could see all of the questions he was going to have to answer in a few seconds. He felt as if he would need to get a table with a bottle of water and a few microphones and hold a press conference.

"John?"

Molly looked over at John with a confused face on.

"Sorry, why is he calling you?"

'You never were good with timing, Sherlock.'

"Excuse me; I…have to go…"

John was speeding over to Sherlock with the sternest look on his face. Sherlock looked like a deer in headlights as he tried to process what exactly was going on. He saw John nearing him and for some reason, he had the feeling that he was in trouble. That maybe he shouldn't have done that, but it wasn't his fault.

"John, I—"

Said person grabbed Sherlock by his good arm and forcefully pulled him out of the pub. Sherlock wanted to tell John his side of the story but John seemed upset and very eager to return home. He turned back around and said, "Sorry guys, I'll reschedule!"

Sherlock heard the girl he was sitting with shout his name and the man he knew as Lestrade was still standing there like an idiot. Sherlock wanted to laugh but he thought that John wasn't in the mood for that. They made it all the way back to their flat and John let go of Sherlock's wrist, which the younger man was grateful for. He was starting to cramp up because of John's death grip.

John started pacing back and forth and Sherlock wasn't sure what to do.

"John, I can explain."

"Just…sit down Sherlock."

John had reserved anger in his voice, and it was the soldier in him that kept it all inside and hidden away enough so that he could talk. Sherlock found himself slowly sinking down to the couch and watching John's movements carefully. He wasn't sure if he wanted to be scared, or angry just like John. There were so many things he had to say to him, and he knew that John wasn't telling him everything. Ever since he came back from the hospital or put here by…Mycroft was his name, right? John stopped pacing and clenched his fists and stood in front of Sherlock.

"What the HELL were you thinking?!"

"I…"

"Why don't you ever listen to me? I tell you to do one thing and then you go ahead do the opposite! You never listen! You always have to do what you want; it's always your way, because you're too bloody stubborn to listen to anybody else!"

Sherlock doesn't know who John is yet, besides his name and the fact that they had some sort of relationship in the past but for the guy who's claiming to be his best friend, he was sure acting like he was more like his caretaker and not his friend. He wanted to explain but John wouldn't let him get a word in and insisted on screaming the house down. While John was hooting and hollering, he didn't notice that Mrs. Hudson came upstairs because she heard all of the commotion.

"John what is the matter? You're screaming like you've-"

She gasped and a hand flew to her mouth.

"Oh my god…is that…?"

John stopped screaming and looked behind him and saw his landlady there, looking like she's just seen a ghost. Her frantic eyes flashed from Sherlock to John. John's lip twitched.

"Mrs. Hudson…"

"What's he doing here?" She asked through tears," He's supposed to be…"

She didn't finish the sentence and closed the door on the way back down the stairs. John gave the loudest sigh Sherlock ever heard escape his lips and ran his hand roughly through his hair. Since John wasn't screaming at him anymore, Sherlock decided to talk.

"…W-What was she talking about, John?"

John looked at him like he forgot he was there for a minute. Sherlock asked again.

"Why did she act like that when she saw me?"

John hesitated for a minute.

"Because she wasn't expecting you back so soon…"

Sherlock shook his head.

"She acted like she saw a ghost or something. And so did Greg and the lady you were with at the pub. And I thought you didn't know Greg."

"Sher— I never said I didn't know him, I never answered your question…"

"I know you didn't."

John knew that Sherlock finally had enough of this and wanted answers.

"What exactly is going on here? Why do you keep me holed up in here, this place that I don't even know, for days on end and tell me that I can't move from your…prison until you come back home!"

"Because…"

"Why is it that every time I ask you a question about my past or about our apparent "history" together, you always dodge it?"

John had no answer this time.

"I only went to the pub because…Mycroft…I think his name was came upstairs and asked me to accompany him to his car. HE TOOK ME THERE."

John's mouth hung open. He should've known that Mycroft was going to intervene sooner or later. He didn't like the way John was handling the situation it seemed. John didn't like the way he was handling the situation either. It was Sherlock's turn to stand up and take over the task of yelling.

"Ever since I woke up at the hospital, you and Mycroft have been telling me things that I have no clue about, Mycroft dropped me off here, I barely know who you are, and everything just seems so…confusing…."

John frowned as Sherlock's tone softened and he sort of deflated into the couch.

"I don't know what it is, John. But every time I look at you, all I see is this sadness and I don't why but I always feel like it's my fault. When I sleep I keep hearing your voice shout my name, but everything goes black and then I wake up with a headache. It's all so maddening because…I feel like I should know these things…but I don't…I think I can remember…but I don't know…Everybody that's seen me look so…miserable and scared and I want to know why, John. So I'm asking you…"

John could've sworn he saw Sherlock's eyes water.

"Help me remember who I am…"