A/N:

Hello and BIG thanks to the lovely reviewers and for the favs&follows! This chapter is really long, but I just couldn't bring myself to cut it anywhere even though I actually started writing this ficlet with the intention to have a sappy romantic reunion and it turned into a full-out battle of wits and I want the next chapter to finally be romantic, and also I think I'm gonna be developing traces split personality disorder if this goes on for much longer but I guess that's not that bad and I kind of see it as an advantage... sorry for rambling, here comes the chapter.

Enjoy, and kindly leave a review, I thrive on your feedback!

"It's just a magic trick."

Words that were spoken in a suicide note almost three years ago, and John was about to discover if they had been meant as a hint, or a taunt.

For the near-panic condition he'd been in before just from entering the flat (along with something that he might have called his version of a mind palace weren't it just a field on enemy territory that he had to maneuver in an unmanned tank), John was completely, utterly calm as his eyes roamed over Sherlock. The subject of observation had done him the favour of sliding even further into the soft shine of Baker Street's streetlights, and he could make out the differences and similarities of a face he thought he'd never see again, the hard edges, strong cheekbones and chin, new lines and old ones deepened. How long he just observed, John couldn't say, but finally he quietly cleared his throat (the panicked coughing in the kitchen left some pain there) and started to voice his thoughts to Sherlock, not unlike he had done to his (fake, thank god thank god thank you) headstone a little over half a year ago.

John saw alert but exhausted eyes, worry lines and fine scars, hardened skin on the knuckles of Sherlock's hands were they rested on his knees. He saw skintone, clothes, hair, tiny movements of facial muscles and slight shifts of stance, and he deduced.

"I'll say just one obvious thing now, but it will sum up everything I'll say from here on out: You've changed. First of all, your physique. You're a lot less gangly than you used to be. There's more muscle to you now, and even in a resting position it's apparent that you are quite strong. Generally, your stance is well-balanced and you are in excellent physical condition."

He couldn't help the somewhat betrayed tone that crept into his voice as he made that particular observation about the man whose bones he'd believed to have witnessed shattering.

"Secondly, your clothes. You're wearing a customized Belstaff, but it can't be the old one since that one was bloodied and torn beyond saving, so a replica, chosen to make you look more familiar to me, maybe to make sure I would actually believe my eyes when I'd see you." John couldn't help but adding in his head that it had worked, being one of the most memorable items in Sherlock's wardrobe.

"It's indeed indistinguishable from your old coat, the same size, which doesn't go for your trousers and shirt, they are a little larger in size to accommodate your changed frame. Now, why would you have built up strength? Judging from the skin of your knuckles, you've been in many fights, some of them not long ago as the skin is still healing in some places. So I suppose you've kept on chasing criminals", without me, John silently added, "and it often included physical assault... so you did some catching as well."

Some part of John both marveled and scoffed at the fact that this was probably the longest time Sherlock had ever listened to him without interrupting constantly.

"Now, your hair. It's very short compared to the way you liked to wear it, most likely because it was impractical and also too recognizable. Also, it's not as curly as it used to be, which hints that you dyed it multiple times, again to erase your trademark looks. Speaking of hair, there's a tiny razor cut on your cheek, not quite healed, meaning you shaved recently and it must've happened in a hurry since I can't think of a single time you had ever cut yourself while shaving; and also you might not be used used to doing it regularly anymore, probably kept a beard for some time and nicked yourself when you got rid of it. Back to the subject of skin... there are also no nicotine stains on your fingers, so you haven't taken up smoking again. Good news for brainwork, I suppose."John wasn't exactly sure why he'd voiced that last observation, but Sherlock had looked a little proud at it, so he figured it was at least a bit good.

There was probably an abundant amount of things still waiting to be observed about the silent man in the leather chair, but John was no genius and he was no machine either, so he figured it was time to bring this exercise to an end.

"So to sum it up, and I know you don't need that but I do, you have fought and run a lot in the last years and changed your appearance repeatedly. To conclude my deduction and also to make use of your willingness to actually listen to me, I will now give you some input about how the last years went for me, and don't bother saying that you've deduced it all, because sentiment is neither obsolete nor obvious, as much as you like to say that."

He could sense Sherlock's reluctance to keep silent much longer, so John gave him a warning look that strongly suggested don't you try me, mate and went on speaking before he could either get interrupted or carry out the constantly growing impulse of punching Sherlock straight in the face.

"Well, obviously, as you would say, I have had theories. Theories that you weren't actually dead, that you had staged it, that you were another step ahead and just made Moriarty believe that he was the one in the lead. Some of them weren't worth crap, some of them seemed somewhat likely at the time, anyway, what I'm trying to say is... I did think of the possibility that you had fooled the world, and well, me. And yes, I know you give me some credit even though you called me an idiot most of the time. But I also know you would've realized that over time, I would stop believing in even the most logical theories."

At this, Sherlock's eyes dropped from John's face for just a fraction of a second, and when their gaze returned John made sure to show him he had noticed the flicker of worry in them, no matter how annoyed he was with himself now for still feeling like he had an obligation to soothe Sherlock's every insecurity.

"Now don't give me that look. I never stopped believing in you, I only stopped believing that you, and I repeat myself like an idiot, might have tricked me and were actually alive and... scheming away without me as you have always been prone to do, and let me make very clear that YOU are a bloody idiot for that, always excluding everyone from your plans. It always made your friends worry, Sherlock", his voice caught a little when he realized this was the first time in years that he had called the name out to the actual person, "and it gives your enemies opportunities to attack you at moments even you can't foresee."

This time, Sherlock's eyes didn't leave his face, although they did narrow in slight annoyance.

"Anyway", and it was simply astounding how Sherlock managed to infect him with annoyance just by being there when for all this time, him being there had been everything John had missed, "you must have known that within some time after your... fall... after I saw you...", here he had to clear his throat again, and Sherlock had the decency to look guilty.

"With every month that passed afterward, it seemed less and less likely that it was a 'magic trick' and more and more likely that you were indeed dead", he spat out the word to Sherlock and this time there was definitely satisfaction in the way the detective recoiled as if receiving a slap to the face, "and I... well, I fucking broke, Sherlock, and I'm not going to be whole again for quite some time. I stopped working at the clinic, I mostly stopped talking, and I stopped feeling anything but grief and anger. Most of the world believed you were a fake, nobody saw that Moriarty was not just an actor and some newspapers even wrote that you had bullied the man into suicide when word got out that he shot himself, and the injustice of it all still makes me want to kill something."

"And still, even though you must've known, at least to some extent, what your 'death' would do to me, you didn't reappear until now, three damn years later. Looking a lot worse for wear, too, so you haven't been away voluntarily. So, there. That's my big conclusion: You did not choose this. I'll go out on a limb and say that it's Moriarty's fault and he somehow blackmailed you into jumping, and since he shot himself he must've been one hundred percent certain you would actually do it even if he himself wasn't a threat anymore. That bit's actually somewhat romantic, him killing himself, thinking you would join him shortly." The mad fucker, John mentally added.

"But you had somehow anticipated his plan, staged your death and managed to convince the world of your tragic end. But instead of resurfacing shortly after, you stayed away for such a long time, which brings me to my final deduction – you were still being blackmailed and forced to stay in hiding, and while I can think of many reasons why you would comply to that, the most likely one is this: Moriarty had left behind a dangerous network that you felt compelled to neutralize, and it took you longer than you thought. The question that remains is: Why would you still keep the people closest to you in the dark, letting them grieve for you even though you were alive, all the while fighting Moriarty's forces on your own? And I think I know the answer to that, but I'd like to hear it from you."

Somewhat exhausted, John ceased his speech and leaned back in his chair, absentmindedly noticing that he was indeed sitting in a pile of dust on top of wax paper.

Sherlock closed his eyes briefly when John's deduction ended, nodded once as though reassuring himself, and looked at him again, no small amount of admiration in his eyes.

"A veritably brilliant observation and mostly, a sound deduction, John. Goes to show that most of the public are sorely mistaken in their appraisal of your intellect. But there's one fact you have omitted." Despite the troubled look on his features, anxiety battling fatigue, there was a smile in Sherlock's voice.

"And what would that be?", John asked, warily as he vaguely suspected he might be about to be very humbled by something obvious that he had missed.

Sherlock smiled, but it looked sad.

"I've missed you, John."

-TBC soon-

A/N

AND NOW KISS! no, not yet, stop it! argh! I actually wanted to complete the whole awkward "I'm alive"-"Oh you're alive" - conversation in one chapter and get on with the romantic part, but these ARE two brilliant characters written by two brilliant men and performed by two brilliant men and they just wouldn't stop being brilliant and I had to keep typing despite the inadequate amount of brilliance that I have to offer. Damn, making up deductions is so damn hard, my respect for Mark and Steven grows even more.

Thanks for reading, I love you forever for it.