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John held his breath as the front door creaked open and the familiar footsteps trudged up the steps. For two years, he’d dreamed of them, convinced he’d never hear them again. Now they paused outside the flat, and his lungs threatened to give out altogether. His hand moved automatically, rhythmically stroking Archie’s head as if the dog’s steady warmth could soothe the panic rising in his chest.
Mariana had offered to stay the minute she knew he was coming back today, but John refused; he needed to do this by himself. So she was staying with Imani for the night so they could have the whole building to themselves.
The door swung open.
Sherlock Holmes stepped into 221B for the first time in two years.
John didn't move; his eyes fixed on a spot just beyond the TV, even as Archie jumped off the couch to reunite with his third owner.
"Hello, Archie. I bet you missed me." John tried to remain still, but lost that battle and turned to see Sherlock crouching to give the dog an enthusiastic belly rub. "Yes, you did"
Sherlock seemed to realise he had an audience and stood to his full height, his face as impassive as always. "Hello, John."
Of course, he hadn’t changed. A touch older, a little more muscle, but the same ridiculous coat, floppy hair, and ear defenders resting casually around his neck. He looked exactly as he had the day he-
John forced the thought away.
He stood as well, but almost immediately wanted to sit back down as his knees shook. "Sherlock"
John cleared his throat, patting his sides, the silence pressing in on him "Do you want some tea? I need to feed Archie anyway..."
"John"
He paused in his attempt to flee to the kitchen and closed his eyes, "Yes, Sherlock."
"You don't want to talk to me" It wasn't a question.
John turned "No, I don't"
Sherlock frowned, stuffing his hands into his pockets "Why?"
"Oh, I don't know," he scoffed, "Maybe it's to do with the fact that I thought you were dead for the past two years. And I only found out yesterday that that wasn't true."
John took a deep breath, pressing his fingers to his lips "Look, your room is still through there. I haven't touched anything, so feel free to do whatever, but I need to get to bed. I have work in the morning."
Sherlock remained standing in the living room doorway, emotions and questions flashing through his eyes as John moved about getting things ready for tomorrow, checking that his badge and lanyard were still in the bowl on the coffee table.
"New job?" Sherlock finally asked, making him look up.
"Yep, work as a GP now."
"I thought you were a podcaster?"
John sagged in defeat. There was no getting out of this. "The podcast is gone, Sherlock. Can't very well continue a podcast called 'Sherlock & Co' when the titular Sherlock is dead." John collapsed into his chair, his voice cracking, "I could barely edit that final episode, just listening to you fight then...fall. I-I couldn't..."
Sherlock finally moved from his place by the door and into the seat closest to John's. "I never expected to live", he admitted quietly.
John scoffed hollowly, "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"
Sherlock dropped his gaze.
"But you must have known Moriarty was there." John leaned forward, trying to catch Sherlock's eye "That the note that sent me back to the hotel was fake. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have taken off the mic, wouldn’t have left it on the ledge. Wouldn't have recorded that...message."
Sherlock remained silent.
"Why? Why didn’t you say anything?"
Sherlock breathed in through his nose, finally looking up at him," I didn't want you to be in danger."
John rolled his eyes and made to stand up.
"I mean it." Sherlock hurried to say, "I care for you, John. If anything went wrong, I didn’t want Moriarty to have the opportunity to harm you."
"So you went over the edge with him instead? I think you’re forgetting that we care for you as well, Mariana and I. She's been a godsend by the way, despite losing her job, her VISA, and nearly being sent back to Spain."
"I-" Sherlock stuttered.
John dragged a hand down his face, suddenly bone-deep tired. "Why did you come back, Sherlock?"
"The last of Moriarty’s empire has been dismantled. It was safe to return."
"And you thought everything would go back to how it was?" John laughed without humour.
Sherlock's silence was deafening.
"I grieved for you, Sherlock." John said, his voice raw, "Weeks spent unable to get out of bed. Couldn’t leave my room because everywhere I looked, you were there. You saw me after Mary. And still you left me, for two bloody years, without a word that you were alive.”
John took several deep breaths, his eyes filling with tears he was desperately trying to hold back. "You know, there were nights when I didn’t want to be here anymore. I've learned that everyone around leaves me eventually, and I thought that if I could just remove myself from the equation. The people I love could move on without me dragging them down."
"...John, I-I didn’t know."
John threw his hands in the air, tears breaking free, "Because you weren’t there, Sherlock. That’s the problem. You weren’t there when we needed you most because you were DEAD!"
Archie nosed anxiously at John’s knee, whining. John rested a trembling hand on the dog’s head but forced the words out before courage fled. "And just when I was beginning to get over you, your brother shows up, you know, the one you've never thought to mention before this. Mycroft. He tells me you’re alive and that you’re coming home."
John furiously wiped his eyes. "I don’t understand why you couldn’t tell us."
Sherlock finally stood up and grasped John’s upper arms so he could look him in the eye. "Mycroft said it would be safer if you and Mariana didn’t know until we were sure any remnants of Moriarty were gone. I agreed, after all our adventures and the amount of danger I’d put you through. I couldn’t bear it if you or Mariana were hurt because of me."
His hands loosened, falling away reluctantly "But I seem to have made things worse."
John shook his head. "Not worse. I just really, really missed my best friend."
"I’m your… best…friend?" Sherlock blinked.
"Yeah, of course you are. Even after all the shit of the past few years, I wouldn’t want anyone else."
Something fragile cracked in Sherlock’s face. He extended his arms slightly "Hug?"
"Yeah, come here," He folded Sherlock into his arms, feeling the tension fade from the detective’s shoulders. John buried his face in that ridiculous coat, hiding stray tears.
"I really am sorry, John."
"I know you are, mate," John replied.
Their hug was interrupted by Archie nudging between them, snuffling their legs impatiently for food.
John broke away, pretending not to notice Sherlock wiping his eyes. "Yes, Archie, I’m coming. You'd better eat all your dinner this time or you’ll be having none of those nice treats Mariana got you."
John walked into the kitchen, followed by Sherlock. He began getting Archie’s food out and refilling his water bowl.
"Where is Mariana?" Sherlock glanced around as though she was going to jump out of the shadows.
"She wanted to give us space to talk. She’s staying with Imani tonight. But she was furious after Mycroft’s visit, so brace yourself for the slap of the century tomorrow," he said, flicking the kettle on.
Sherlock nodded gravely. "I will endeavour to be suitably chastised."
"She missed you, Sherls, just like I did."
"I missed you, too."
"Hot chocolate?" John held up a stray sachet.
"Do you have-"
"Marshmallows? Always"
Sherlock just smiled, feeling for the first time in two years that he was home.
//////
"I can’t believe you recorded our entire conversation," John muttered, scrolling through the playback on his phone.
"I thought it would make for an emotional and moving episode to relaunch the podcast," Sherlock replied with a shrug or as much of one as he could manage while hanging upside down on the sofa. "Mycroft gave me the mic to hide."
"Yeah, but..." John tried to protest.
"Oh, come on, John," Mariana laughed from the armchair. "You can’t tell me you’re not secretly glad. Besides, now we’ve got a third mic."
"This one can be yours, Mariana," Sherlock said, grinning.
"For when we inevitably drag you out on a case," John added.
"Speaking of," Mariana pulled out her phone with a mischievous flourish. "Got an email this morning. A body was found in a beach house up in Scarborough. Police suspect foul play."
Sherlock sat bolt upright, his eyes gleaming. "What do you say, Dr Watson?"
John couldn’t help the grin tugging at his face. "I do believe the game is afoot, Mr Holmes."