Chapter Text
Sherlock stood erect in posture, his legs feeling as if they could collapse under his own weight. Not now, not ever did he ever expect himself to make such a stupid mistake. He'd done it now and there was nothing he could do to take it back.
'Who ever this is, it's not bloody funny.' it was sent without initials. Why? John had been texting this same number with great confidence only moments ago. He kept himself walking and made his way to the street, unmoving from in front of the tall building. He gazed down at the phone in his hand, frowning a bit.
'I don't believe it’s funny in the least, either.' he didn't understand why he had the right to be smug about this, or why he was even continuing this conversation at all. He'd gone this long without John, why couldn't he go a bit longer? He could stop then and now and continue on his mundane life at his small flat. He was finding himself craving more than that though. Then again, he always had craved more. The months passed so slowly, so painfully and he could feel his brain scratching itself raw.
'Look, I don't know who you are. Frankly, I don't care anymore. I suggest you stop impersonating a dead man and try to be yourself for once; it might suit you better.' He couldn't help but wonder how often John was pestered by bored souls that were pretending to be the 'deceased' detective. The amount of frustration he was getting from these texts was incredible. He could nearly feel how fed up and broken his friend was. Although, John's utter disbelief upset him to some extent.
'I believe I am being myself, John. I've been being myself for weeks, receiving your texts after texts.' he paused to read the message over a few times. 'Don't you bloody tell me who to be acting like.' the text was sent, although he knew he had no right to be angry. John had been through ups and downs that would drive any normal person insane, and here he was alive and well.
'You're not the first person to try this and I doubt you're the last; you might as well quit while you're ahead.' at least John was stating the obvious now. He hailed himself a cab, or at least attempted too. There wasn't one in sight for some time now. Traffic was unusually slow today, but then again routine wasn't something that was expected very often. His gaze flicked from the phone to the road constantly in order to spot a passing cab.
'No matter if you believe me or not, you're still responding to me. In the back of your mind, you know this number is mine and I am me. You aren't kidding yourself John.' a cluster of cars and other modes of transportation were in Sherlock's view. His face brightened at the sight of a lone, empty taxi. It pulled up to nearly bump the side walk curb and Sherlock exchanged a smile with the cab driver, speaking John's flat address. He had been told it many times by Mrs. Hudson. She often insisted Sherlock pay him a visit, but he would never do it.
'Right; you realize I can track this number. Fuck off.' straightening his back, Sherlock gave a small laugh at the aggressive response. John was questioning himself now, which was something he knew John hated. In fact, he was sure no one particularly liked questioning themselves. His eyes drifted from the phone to the passing buildings outside of the cab. Almost too soon, there was a response. He forgot he was actually sending these responses now.
'Be my guest.' he could understand John's utter disbelief for this whole thing. He did believe Sherlock to be dead after all. That he was actually second guessing himself on the identity of the number he had been texting for about a month was rather hilarious. He sunk into the back leather seat of the small taxi and closed his eyes, feeling the phone buzz in his palm again.
'Fine then, I will.' Sherlock wouldn't even bother responding to this text. He knew John would be on his way back from the clinic right after tracking the phone's location. He slipped the phone into his pocket and hummed a bit to himself. He wasn't one to want to fill an odd silence but the smugness that had come onto him so suddenly was just as quickly replaced with panic. This meeting was happening now, after so many months. He had to remind himself he wasn't always able to see John. For some time, he had actually the choice to return to John, but never did it. Lestrade had told him Sherlock might have been careless and missed one of Jim's underlings, though Sherlock was positive Lestrade was just concerned about Sherlock returning to normality. The taxi came to a halt sooner than he would have liked, but still he handed a fifty pound note to the driver from his shaky hand and emerged from the small vehicle. In front of his cab was another, from which John Watson exited. Sherlock could feel the air in his lungs become thick as his breathing strained. His coat fluttered around his legs in the faint winds and he raised a hand, waving with his fingertips. A smile crawled across his face a bit, and he felt bile rising bitterly in the back of his throat. Sherlock watched as John approached him at a rather staggering pace, only to clamp down on Sherlock's lower arms and stare him directly in the face. The taller man refused to meet the gaze of his friend, not wanting to risk tears just yet. He refused to be the first to speak, because he was positive the only thing he could manage to do was release a gush of air. John had retracted his hands and was now wearing a cold and unmoving expression.
"Explain." was all John said, his arms limp by his sides. Sherlock noticed John constantly eyeing him. He must have been weighing the possibility of this not being reality. Sherlock motioned with his head towards John's flat and cleared his throat in order to sound as audible as possible.
"Perhaps over tea." Sherlock made John the offer with a controlled smile, unable to take the step towards the building that he wanted to.
"Yes, right, what- fine."
"Thank you." He followed in John's stride, keeping his gaze on the pavement beneath his feet and the steps into the dull building. The furniture was simple and the flat itself was clean and had a musty scent to it. He quite liked it though. He sat in silence while prepared tea in the kitchen. He was curious how the doctor managed to slip out of work that day. Maybe he'd been sick recently already. He wouldn’t ask, because he didn't quite feel like he had any place to. John brought in a single cup of tea and handed it off to Sherlock, his expression no longer cold, but enraged and expecting.
"Now, tell me everything." Sherlock certainly had missed that demanding voice. It was a pleasure to hear again.
"Right, because ten minutes ago I was nothing more than a fool pretending to be a dead man. I suppose I do owe you an explanation." John was silent, his features sharpening to show his disapproving of how snarky Sherlock thought he had permission to be right now. It didn’t fail to make him incredibly guilty. "Fine. I died to disappear, though a few others know I'm alive." he took a small sip of the tea, enjoying the feeling of the steam on his face. "I wouldn't be wearing such a sour face if I were you. This was almost entirely for your safety."
"Who knew?"
"Lestrade, Molly and Mrs. Hudson."
"You trusted me but not them?" Sherlock was taken aback by that a bit, setting his tea down lightly. He never suspected John would take this disappearance so personally. Then again, there was little Sherlock understood about the way John thought.
"What makes you think their knowledge has anything to do with trust?"
"I don't see why you felt the need to hide this from me." Sherlock couldn't avoid a full explanation for long, no matter how much he wanted to. John deserved it more than anyone.
“I was afraid that if I approached you to tell you about my plan, I wouldn’t be able to finish my job on my own.” He felt embarrassed even admitting that. When it came down to it, Sherlock really enjoyed having John there for him in the toughest of times. But that was a job he needed to do on his own, and luckily had.
”What job?” Sherlock couldn’t avoid it now. He needed to tell John what he had been hiding for so long. It only occurred to him now that it might not just have been boredom alone that caused him to nearly go insane.
”I was given a threat by Moriarty. If I didn’t die, you Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade would all die. So I jumped. But I couldn’t-“he paused, trying to cease the shaking which had resumed throughout his whole body again. “I couldn’t leave you and the others. So I faked it. And if anyone connected to Moriarty found me alive, they wouldn’t have hesitated to kill you.” He body was betraying him again. He hated the feeling of not being able to control the way his body reacted to emotions. Normally, no matter what he was feeling, he looked as if the last thing that mattered to him in the world was worrying or even vaguely responding to his situation. He supposed the time he had spent on his own, sitting and considering so much. He recalled one job he had done and the man he had killed brought him to a startling realization. He couldn’t just kill men and live on life like nothing had happened. In days, months, years. He would still know himself, that he had killed so many people, ruined so many lives it was mind blowing. Some of these men had wives and children. And although mocking others and causing potential nervous breakdowns had never been much of a problem to Sherlock, killing man after man wasn’t just something a normal bloke did every day. “I told the others because I could keep my distance from them and only go out when it was absolutely necessary. If I had told you, I would have convinced myself to stay too soon.” He pressed his thumb and index fingers to his eyes, feeling the blood pumping behind them. It was surprising that John was keeping himself so calm like this. His dead best friend was sitting in front of him and all he could do was stare.
”Then why are you here? What changed?” another question Sherlock had been hoping to avoid. He removed his phone, which humorously still wore the pink case from so long ago.
”You began to text me and I began to respond.” He handed the phone to John and watch him scroll though, only remembering the second John’s face flushed that he had saved a response to the most sentimental text he had ever written, and would most likely ever write.
”You could have come back at any point; why’d you wait until now?” the aggravation had slipped from his voice and was replaced with curiosity. Even Sherlock hadn’t thought to hard about that. It was obvious, now that he considered it.
”After that slip up, I realized I was killing myself living this ruse. And I read though the texts and knew I would never forgive myself if you were living thinking I was dead another day.” His shoulders shook and he took a sharp breath in through his nose, shaking his head. He couldn’t believe he was breaking this easily. The lack of control was over whelming.
”A year and a half. A bloody year and a half, I thought you were dead and it tore me apart. And now you’re back and it was all a ruse and I can’t even be mad at you.” It had been a while since he’d seen John cry, and it didn’t feel any better than it did back then. “This is pathetic.” Sherlock bit his tongue and felt tears of his own fall to his lap quietly.
“I don’t believe I can stay, either.” Sherlock muttered, voice cracking with nearly every word. He peered at his hands and chuckled a bit. He had been flexing his fingers for some time now.
”Why not?”
”I hate myself. You can’t forgive me like this.”
“I’m not saying I forgive you; I’m saying there is no fucking way I’m losing you.” Sherlock nearly cringed when he heard John’s voice break. “Not again.”
”I’m sorry. I’ve been done for a while and Lestrade said I should be careful despite that. We could have always missed someone.” He reached up to wipe his eyes gingerly. He moved onto the far side of the couch as John took a seat next to him. He didn’t particularly like this closeness, but it wasn’t horrible.
”Have you ever considered that I don’t care? I don’t care if it puts my life in danger. I enjoy danger!” that Sherlock knew and had suspected from the first day he met John. He’d admit to himself that it was a trait of John’s Sherlock really admired.
”That isn’t it. I didn’t keep from you because of the potential danger. It was due to my own fear.” Expressing his insecurities was something he never thought would happen, not even at a time like this. But then again, when was a time like this something usual? Not having any strong knowledge on events that would take place in his mind should have been anticipated.
”Fear of what?” He could sense John’s uncertainty and although he was feeling incredibly responsible, it still irritated him. He had been doing too much explaining today and it was becoming a nuisance.
”A fear that I was too dependent on you, and that I could no longer fight for myself. It was reassuring to finish the job by myself. And the day I ‘died’, I considered telling you. But they knew you as my closest friend and I knew that with that knowledge, they’d keep their eyes on you until my death was confirmed.” He hoped that was the most amount of explaining he would be asked to do today. “It’s been a little over a month since I’ve finished.”
”Ah-“he puzzled at John’s sudden stop. “Are you going to stay? Or at least stay in touch?” he was pleased John was shifting from the topic of this ordeal. He’d done enough thinking about it himself. The pit of guilt returned to his stomach.
”I’d like to, if you wouldn’t mind too terribly.” His mouth quirked into a grin and he felt the weight and stress on his mind leaving him as John returned the smile.
”Of course.” After the minutes he had spent in John’s presence, he finally matched gazes with his friend and saw the life behind his eyes. “Oh and, Sherlock?”
”Yes, John?” he felt John’s arms wrap around his waist and froze with surprise, returning the embrace gently.
”Don’t you ever do that to me again.” Sherlock felt that didn’t warrant a response. That the hug was enough to explain his thought about that. “I can’t believe you’re really back.” He was correct about that too. John had thought his mind’s reality had been off. Luckily, he wasn't quite insane yet.
”Neither can I.” he sighed a bit and shifted his weight around on the couch. It occurred to him then, that this closeness was what he had been wanting- no, needing for so long. And even with that mistake against his seemingly better judgement, here they were sitting in the same flat and exchanging feelings of appreciation. Surprisingly enough, Sherlock couldn’t have wanted this to turn out better than it had.