Chapter Seven – The Full House
My head swam with confusion and shock. How was this even possible? I saw this man – at least I thought I had.
"John?"
"Sherlock! It's been a while, hasn't it?" He smiled at me as if it had only been a month since our last meeting. Just bumping into an old friend after a short time apart.
"John… how… how are you here? I thought you were dead! I watched you die!"
He looked at me with a sigh, looking around us before resting his hand on my arm. "I think we had better find somewhere we can talk, hm?"
I nodded in response, still slightly dazed by his sudden appearance. I was still unconvinced that this was all real, this had to be some sort of hallucination or a dream. "Baker Street?" I suggested.
"Good idea…" He walked over to the side of the road, hailing a cab before climbing inside, looking back at me expectantly. I looked around me with caution, I was wary of all my surroundings as I stooped into the taxi. John gave the driver the address before sitting back, looking out of the window. I couldn't take my eyes off of him – He was alive and sat next to me. He looked like he hadn't changed at all. I had never thought that this was possible.
The journey to Baker Street was completed in silence. Not a word was said until we were safely indoors in the living room we had once shared.
"It's tidier than I expected in here." I rolled my eyes at the comment. For over two years I believed he was dead and he was commenting on my organisation – or rather Mrs Hudson's.
"Is that all you have to say? Aren't you going to explain yourself! What happened? How are you alive? And – "
"If you give me a chance I can explain!"
"Then go ahead!" I slumped into my chair, looking up at him expectantly. I had to remain neutral, I was too emotional for my own good.
I watched as he pulled out a chair from my desk, facing me with his hands resting on his knees. "Sherlock, if you want the truth then… well I honestly don't know everything."
"Tell me what you know then."
"I remember you standing on the rooftop. And I remember you falling. And then everything after that is completely gone. I remember waking up in some room on a private estate, like an old hospital or something. I don't even know where it is"
"So what happened after that?" I was watching him carefully, trying to spot any of his tells that may reveal if he was concealing the truth. It was strange that I once trusted this man with my life and yet now I can barely believe him. How could he stay hidden and away from me for two years only to appear now? What was the point?
"After that, I was told you were alive and I had to make my own way back to London – only made it back yesterday."
"Yesterday? That makes no sense. You have been gone for two years!"
"Yes, yes I know! But I didn't even know that until a few weeks ago! I have no memory of what happened! I just woke up and then after a while they let me go!"
"But why?!"
"I don't know Sherlock!" He sighed and looked down at his feet. "I'm sorry I don't know what else to say…"
"None of this makes any sense…. But, if it's any consolation, I am glad you're not dead" I saw a small smile appear on his face which turned into a quiet chuckle.
"Not… dead… You know I think I'm glad about that too."
I smiled in response. It seemed that everything was okay again, things were on the path to normality. But it wasn't. There was a feeling that I couldn't shake off.
"It would be a little inconvenient too" I sighed, "I've had no one to share the rent with" John looked back at me with a raised eyebrow and a small smirk before looking around the room.
"I have missed this place. Although I suppose to me it has only been a few weeks since I last saw it." I watched him as he rose from his seat, standing in front of the sofa and facing the smiley face I had painted for target practice years before. Although I could not see his face, I could tell he was smiling back at the childlike portrait. He shuffled forward a little, as if he wished to get even closer, but jumped slightly as a wooden sound emerged from under the sofa. He frowned and knelt down, retrieving a bundle of dark brown wood and wiry strings.
"Sherlock? This… this is your violin isn't it?" He spun around, apparently presenting the mess for me to see. "What happened to it?"
I stood up and crossed the room, observing the bundle in his hands. "It's just broken, an accident..." Even I could hear the hollowness behind my words but did not speak anymore as I let my fingers lightly brush off the dust that had settled on the broken neck of the instrument.
I had kicked the poor thing under the sofa when a client had arrived unexpectedly one morning in a hope to hide the mess in the room. Before that, it had been a victim of my rage and a collision with the coffee table – it must have been a few days before I was admitted into the rehabilitation centre. I had simply forgotten it was there.
John's voice had broken my thoughts and made my head jerk upwards to meet his eye line. I hadn't heard what he had said. "Sorry, what was that?"
"I was saying that maybe you should have it fixed? Or replaced?"
I nodded and collected the pile from his hands, dropping it carelessly on the desk by the window. It was broken beyond repair, what was the use of caution anyway? "Mycroft will most likely want to speak with you."
"No thanks, I don't fancy a nap…" He smiled lightly, obviously trying to lift the uneasy mood that had settled in the room once again.
"John, I think it would be best. After all, we know very little about what has happened to you and perhaps my brother may be able to help us out." I turned to return to my chair when I heard a door open and shut on the floor below.
"Oo-hoo! Sherlock! Are you here?" A voice shouted from the hallway. I recognised it immediately as the voice of my landlady Mrs Hudson.
I spoke in a whisper so she wouldn't overhear our conversation. "John I think you should wait in the kitchen. We can't tell her you're here."
"What are you on about? Of course we have to tell her!" He objected in an equally quiet voice, gesturing to the doorway as footsteps echoed from the stairway. "Well, I'll tell her… You've never been the best at sensitivity!"
"Well you can't just stand here and offer her a cup of tea can you? You'll scare the life out of her!" John sighed and ran a hand through his hair.
"Alright! I'll go wait in the kitchen! But we will tell her at some point, okay? And be nice…" He looked at me with a raised eyebrow and passed me to the kitchen area.
"Be nice? Of course I'm nice…" I muttered and looked up as the door opened, Mrs Hudson emerging from the doorway carrying a plastic shopping bag.
"Oh there you are Sherlock! Why didn't you answer me? I've bought the pineapples and vinegar you said you needed, but please don't make too much of a mess, will you? Oh and I bought some new mugs so you have some for company rather than those old ones you always use…" I smiled and let her ramble on as she always liked to do; until she started to make for the kitchen.
I quickly moved into her way, chuckling awkwardly as she frowned. "Uh Mrs Hudson! Thank you very much for those, um… things you were saying about… I can take it from here don't worry about it!" I reached for the carrier bag, lightly pushing her shoulders to turn away. "Why don't you go put your feet up, hm?"
"Sherlock? What are you doing?" She said as she resisted my light encouragement. "You're hiding something from me, aren't you?" She turned with a stern look, resting her hands on her hips. "I always know when you're up to something! Now, what have you done to my kitchen?"
"Nothing! Your kitchen is absolutely fine! And you can see it… just not now… Isn't it time for your evening soother anyway?"
"Sherlock, let me through!" I sighed in defeat, glancing at the kitchen before clearing my throat.
"Alright… just stay calm…" I stepped out of the way, biting my lip as Mrs Hudson shook her head – I sensed it was more amusement than anger.
John stood behind the dining table smiling softly, as if to seem unthreatening and friendlier as she turned the corner. Her eyes widened in shock, her hand clasping her mouth as she gasped with tears in her eyes.
"John? No, it can't be? It's impossible!" She looked between us, seemingly afraid and confused. "But… John you died… you…" I put her hand on her shoulder, gently leading her to my chair as John followed us to the living room.
"Mrs Hudson, I told you to stay calm. Your breathing is too erratic-"
"Oh never mind my bloody breathing!" She put her head in her hands, wiping her eyes before looking up again at John with clear disbelief.
"Sherlock… maybe some tea would help, hm?" John suggested, taking a seat in his chair. I nodded and went through to the kitchen as he began to explain what he knew of his disappearance.
It was still an odd feeling; knowing that John Watson was sat just behind me, holding Mrs Hudson's hand and trying to comfort her. There was no doubt he'd ease her mind, he always had a knack for that. But just the thought of him here was surreal and yet also natural at the same time. I had realised this when I had instinctively prepared his tea: milk, no sugar. I carried the new mugs into the living room and handing them to him and Mrs Hudson before sitting in the chair by the desk. Mrs Hudson seemed calmer, she was smiling widely at John like he was a lost son, although I suppose he was to her. John was his usual self and seemed completely comfortable. It was as if no time had passed at all.
It was two years ago. I didn't fall from Bart's hospital. John Watson didn't die.
Hi! Okay I'm seriously bad at this. I wrote the author's note days before I went to on holiday where I decided last minute to leave my laptop at home. Hence why we're here a month later. But I did it and it's a long one so I hope that's good until I post the next one! Thanks to those who have stuck by this story! And to anyone who is new here: HEYYYYY THANKSSSS!
Anyway, fave, follow, review! :-*
~astudyinredbeard