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Sherlock could admit to himself that he was afraid. It was laughable really. Not a week ago, he has faced down Sebastian Moran, Moriarty’s right hand man and most dangerous assassin in the western hemisphere, and had barely broken as sweat as he pulled the trigger and watched the light fade from Moran’s eyes. Yet here he was, shaking in his boots over a 5’6 army doctor withy a dodgy leg. He had felt a vicious thrill watching Moran die. Three years. Three bloody years of this, and now it was finally over. He raised his hand to knock again, but once more, lowered it before it could make a sound. Fantasies of homecoming had kept him going when times got rough. Of John who would….
No.
It wasn’t going to happen. He prepared himself for being screamed at. He prepared himself for being hated. He prepared himself for being hit: perhaps over and over again. If necessary he would beg for whatever small slice of John’s life that John would allow him, and Sherlock would take time to mourn what they had and would never have again.
He raised his hand to knock again and gently, soundlessly laid it against the door before pacing down the hall for the umpteenth time. He wished John had stayed at 221 B because then he could bolster confidence by going to Mrs. Hudson first. It’s possible that she might slap him, but he knew forgiveness would come soon after. Then, at least, John rejection wouldn’t be so bad.
He went to knock one more time, and one more time he hesitated. He could go back to Mycroft’s. He could do this tomorrow. He could go see Mrs. Hudson first. Yes, good. He was just about turn and go when the door swung open. There was John, small and rumpled grumbling as he opened door. “Why the hell are you stomping around my door at this ungodly hour?”. John looked up and they both froze. Sherlock didn’t dare breath for fear it would break the moment. Then John moved and Sherlock braced himself for the blow.
It never came.
He was startled by the arms that wrapped around him. The head that fell to his chest. The murmured “Oh thank God. Thank God. Thank God.”
Sherlock stood, frozen and tense, for a moment. His brain failing entirely to process the situation. Then his knees gave out, and John, good, dependable John, caught him before he fell.
John half helped, half dragged Sherlock into his flat and onto his couch. “Jesus” he fussed “You’re skin and bone. When was the last time you ate?”. He laid a blanket over Sherlock’s shoulders and walked to the small adjoining kitchen to turn on the kettle. “Do you want anything while I’m here?”
“No, I….” Sherlock stared at John trying to take it all in. “You didn’t hit me.” He said after a long pause. John stared back “Why would I do that?” he asked, clearly affronted. Sherlock let his head drop into his hands and braced his arms on his knees. His shoulders shook.
“Shit.” John rushed over and sank to his knees in front of Sherlock “Jesus, are you okay?” Sherlock brought his head up and let his hands fall, his eyes were bright and wet and there was a slightly manic grin on his face. His shoulders continued to shake with something that was neither quite a laugh nor a sob. John curled a hand around the back of Sherlock’s head and brought their foreheads together.
“It’s good to see you again.” John whispered “God, it’s been years Sherlock. You can’t imagine— I was so worried.” He pressed a gentle kiss to Sherlock’s forehead then got up to pour the boiling water. John carried over a cup of tea “It’s chamomile, no caffeine at this time of night.” an apple and a small pot of yoghurt “for god’s sake eat something before you waste away.” John sat a long time watching Sherlock as he ate. The silence was easy and companionable but bore the weight of the long conversations to come.
“Are you staying the night?” John asked as he did the cleaning up. “I don’t have another bed, but there are some sheets and pillows so you’re welcome to the couch. I imagine we have quite a bit to talk about, but frankly I’m knackered, and you look worse than I feel. Are you hurt anywhere?” Here he paused until Sherlock shook his head in a dazed ‘no’ “Good. Loo is through there, it’s a small place, you’ll find it. Feel free to take a shower. Extra towels are in the cabinet. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen. We’ll talk in the morning alright? Well,” he looked at his watch “later in the morning, perhaps early afternoon. Goodnight Sherlock, it’s good to see you again.”
“Wait!” Sherlock called just as John opened the door to his bedroom. “You won’t be angry with me in the morning? You have to promise me that you won’t wake up and realize that you’re really angry with me.” Then he added as a quiet afterthought “Please.”
John turned and watched him a moment with a fond expression that was a little bit sad. He nodded once. “I promise.” He said softly. “Get some sleep, Sherlock.”
—-
Sherlock awoke the next day to the soft sizzle of eggs being cooked. He slowly sat up trying to remember where he was this time.
“Scrambled okay?” John’s voice startled him into alertness. He stared warily into the kitchen and then the relief of last night washed over him.
“I’d make a proper dinner, but I don’t really have anything in and didn’t want to leave you alone.”
Sherlock rubbed at his eyes and looked around for a clock. “What time is it?” he asked, voice horse from sleep. He got up from the sofa and padded into the kitchenette.
“Nearly 7 o’clock” John replied easily “I’d ask if you’d been eating or sleeping well since you, um, left, but it’s clear you haven’t.”
“Why aren’t you angry?” Sherlock blurted. The sudden outburst startled John and caused him to spill egg all over the hob. He swore and then spooned the remaining egg onto a plate that already had buttered toast and some sautéed potatoes. He handed the plate to Sherlock before replying.
“Why would I be?”
Sherlock hesitated, not wanting to be the thing that set John off, but decided to take the gamble anyway. When he did speak, he rattled off the reasons like a deduction as if saying them quickly and matter-of-factly would make them less damning “Because I faked my death and made you watch. Because I didn’t tell you. Because I was gone for years without telling you or letting you know I was alive. Why wouldn’t you be angry? And it’s not because you don’t care because you clearly do.”
By the end, Sherlock was terrified and panting slightly. John just looked confused.
“Sherlock,” he said carefully “I’ve known you were alive for more than a year an a half now, probably closer to two.”
Sherlock was dumbfounded. When he finally spoke, all he could manage was “How?”
“I thought you knew.” John said, and he frowned when Sherlock just shook his head mutely.
“Well, I, um, wow.” John shook his head like a dog trying to expel water. “I though you knew, I mean I thought that it was you intended in your note.” When Sherlock just stared and did not reply, John continued on.
“No, okay then, wow. So, I was wrong about that. I never believed you were a fraud. I had lived with you for a year and a half by that point, I said it then, I’ll say it now, I know you for real. It took me months before I could think about that day with any sort of clarity, but when I did, I wanted to know why. What that bastard said to force your hand-“
“What did you come up with?” Sherlock interrupted.
John flushed slightly “You always pretend not to care, but I never thought that was true. Which is why I was so upset when—. No, that’s beside the point. He said he’d burn to heart out of you, and what better way to do that than to threaten the people you care about. So maybe, the people you told me to tell that you were a fraud: Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, Molly.”
“And you as well!” Sherlock interjected forcefully.
“And me as well.” John said with a knowing nod that filled Sherlock with unexpected relief.
“It was you, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade.” Sherlock explained “Molly was included to alert her to make the necessary preparations. She helped me—“
“Fake it. I know” John cut in.
“You do?” Sherlock asked, startled.
“It was a long shot,” John said “but I went to ask her about the autopsy report trying to see, well, I’m not exactly sure what I was looking for, but I was hoping that maybe I’d just know when I saw it. So I went to Molly. I’m glad she helped you Sherlock, but for the record, she’s a terrible liar. It was obvious she was hiding something when I asked for the autopsy report. It didn’t take too much more after that before I was able to bully out of her that she had helped you fake your death. I feel a bit bad that I made the poor girl cry.” John grew quiet and stared at nothing for a bit. The silence was heavy and a bit uncomfortable, so Sherlock felt pressured to finish it.
“So that’s why you’re not angry with me?”
John let out a single bark of a laugh “I was angry with you. I was so angry with you for such a long time after that. I wondered how you could leave me like that. How you could just not tell me you were still alive.” John grimaced slightly, but it was a resigned look. “But I had a long time to cool out and puzzle through it. Eventually I just came to terms with the fact that you must have had your reasons, or you would have tried to contact me.” John looked at Sherlock expectantly.
“I, um, yes.” Sherlock paused for moment trying to work through the muddle of explanations that he had haphazardly prepared for when he expected to be begging for forgiveness. They had all gone out the window with the shock of John’s forgiveness.
“At first it was too dangerous. I’m sorry you had to suffer John. Believe me I am, but your grief was important to keep up the ruse. I couldn’t risk all our lives on telling you. After that… well after that, I was essentially on the run while taking down the last threads of the web. Telling you would have meant one of two things: either you would have insisted you come with me, and while I value, no, need your company in my life, it was nearly impossible to stay in constant hiding alone. To have tried with two, would have been hopeless. The other option would have been to tell you and then continue my mission alone, but to tell you the truth John, I all to frequently believed that I wouldn’t make it back alive, and to make you live through my death one time was one of the hardest things I’ve even done. I couldn’t do that to you again. There would be months where I would have been unable to contact you, and I couldn’t risk you looking for me.”
John nodded thoughtfully throughout the explanation. “You’re right. I would come after you, but I also see how I would have slowed you down. I had wondered if that was your reasoning.”
“Know this, I wanted you with me every step of the way, would have come for you if I felt I could, but it was just too dangerous, and I know you live for danger, but I couldn’t have risked you in that way. You’re too… you’re too important.” Sherlock paused looking abashed. Suddenly, he brightened up, “What to hear how I did it?”
John laughed and grinned wolfishly “So, you see, that was the other reason I wasn’t angry with you. I know how you love to show off, so I went ahead and asked Molly. I already know. I’ve already gotten my revenge.”
“That traitor!” Sherlock looked so dramatically insulted that John burst out laughing, and within moment, Sherlock joined in as well. Just as they were running out of breath they would glance at each other and be set off again. They laughed until their bellies hurt and they wheezed for air. It was the happiest both men had felt in a very long time.
Finally, Sherlock his breath “John,” he said quietly and in a tone of voice that sobered John from his giggle fit “I just want to thank you for understanding. These past years have been hard, and I was so afraid that coming home would be the hardest part, and you, and your forgiveness. You’ve made all of this, all of the hell I’ve been through worth it, and I can’t even begin to convey the gratitude I feel for that.”
John regarded him for a moment before nodding in acknowledgment.
“Do you think,” Sherlock pressed on “and I know that this is a lot to ask, but that maybe, we can start back where we left off, before all of this happened?”
John clenched and unclenched his hands “I’m not sure that’s possible Sherlock.” Sherlock drew a sharp breath and tensed, and John hastened to add “No, not like that! You said I was important to you, and you, God, even after all this time, are one of, no probably the most important person in my life and I want what we had back as much as you do, but it’s going to take some time.” John looked down at his hands “it’s been a long time, Sherlock, and in that time we’ve been living different lives. People change, it might not be easy. But I’m going to try, and I’m going to work damn hard if that’s what it takes, and even if there are bumps in the road, yes, it’s going to work out okay.” John looked up to see that Sherlock now had a small hopeful smile on his face.
“I couldn’t ask for anything more.” Sherlock said honestly.
A sudden thought made John snort in amusement, and when Sherlock raised an inquisitive eyebrow he said “I was just thinking, how even when we met, we were never really strangers. We never really need an adjustment curve, so maybe I was wrong about all that, maybe we’ll slip back into place because we belong there. And maybe, we’ll make it even better than before.”
“Better than before.” Sherlock agreed. And they smiled.