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Thing were never the same even when Sherlock came home. Or as many would call it, when he came back from the dead. He's made several scenarios of it back in Serbia. Especially when he's being tortured day and night when he infiltrated the remaining nest of Moriarty's network. It kept him distracted from the screams escaping from his mouth which had become unrecognizable to him at the time.
Yes, Sherlock Holmes had played it all in his head. Dozens of times. Millions of times. But even with calculated prediction, there were two things life did not prepare him for.
Perhaps, the timing of his appearance to John, surprising him of his return was ill-timed. A miscalculated situation. In his defense, Mycroft should have known the army doctor would be proposing to his girlfriend. Mycroft hould have warned him about John's plan. Though, it wasn't entirely older brother's fault, really.
Of all people, Sherlock should have noticed it most of all. He was a consulting detective for God's sake. The excitement to see his friend was too much that he had forgotten how to be observant. It definitely slipped his mind about the small box hiding inside John's coat pocket. The excitement of seeing John again after weeks of enduring excruciating pain from wounds and bruises, the excitement to go back to London, hoping to settle himself once more in these familiar territory, back in 221 Baker Street and back in John Watson's life.
The ill-timing of it all was possibly intentional, to shake off the anxiety rising inside him with the idea of meeting his friend again. After all, Sherlock Holmes had always been the god of bad timing.
Guess that's wrong altogether. He realized that after earning a busted lip and bleeding nose. He really shouldn't have said a damn thing about the mustache. Although, he made a mental note to bring a shave for emergencies.
John Watson made a standard for the consulting detective. His reaction made him wary and possibly more prepared in meeting the remaining people he's yet to appear to.
However, it was entirely different when he showed himself to Lestrade.
“Oh you bastard.” Disbelief in the inspector's voice was the only thing that registered in Sherlock's mind when he finally showed himself. He had to wait for the inspector to be alone first as he was unsure how to reveal himself. It was only the second night in London yet he wanted Greg to know that he was indeed alive. Well, it was better if it came from him than Lestrade hearing it from others, right? At least, that's what he thought.
The look on Lestrade’s face made his footsteps stop for a second, worried that he may not be welcome anymore. Anxiety came knocking on his door as he brought himself in front of him and he didn't say a word. Sherlock went completely still, readying himself to receive a punch or a verbal abuse. His hands were on his back, clasped together tightly as he tried to hide the intermittent tremor that was beginning to appear.
What happened next was something Sherlock Holmes he never anticipated.
A strong arm wrapped around his neck, pulling him in a tight embrace gave another surprise to Sherlock. His body froze at the contact as his mind tried to register what just happened before slowly easing into the inspector's embrace. There was a pause from the inspector but no question was uttered. If anything, Greg's head tilted slightly to crook between his shoulder and neck, as if he was nuzzling him. Quite the gesture really. But it was immensely appreciated.
“Christ, Sherlock.” There it was again. Surprise and disbelief as he whispered those words. His embrace also felt a little tighter. “I've hoped for this to happen. I... you're bloody alive.”
An answered prayer. That's how the inspector's words felt like. His reaction was something Sherlock never expected at all. Wasn't he supposed to be angry for toying with people's emotions? Pretending to be dead when he wasn't? Making them grieve when they shouldn't? He was supposed to be angry, wasn't he? Like how John was angry with him when he found out. But Greg didn't.
He wasn't.
The inspector sounded so happy and grateful that he was alive and breathing. And that could be the reason of the tension feeling easing from his shoulder while letting out a sigh after holding his breath for so long. A small smile finally appeared on Sherlock's lips. He didn't say a word.
Upon Sherlock's return, he miscalculated two things. Things he may have anticipated but in different order. He was beginning to think that he may not have a place to go home to. That they had shut him out after staging his death and working non-stop for two years to bring a network that his enemy had established.
But someone managed to show him the opposite.
And though it may not completely erase what he had gone through within those years before coming back, it was a start.
He's finally home.