Work Text:
221B had been empty for years. Mycroft had paid for Mrs. Hudson to keep it open for some of his people to have a place to stay from time to time, though she never saw anyone coming or going. It had been 2 years since she heard anyone ask about the flat upstairs, but when John showed up out of the blue, fresh from a long holiday he was welcomed with open arms. He looked so much better than when Mrs. Hudson had last seen him. Well rested, well fed, and overall happy with life.
“Where and earth did you get off to, then?” she asked over tea.
John shrugged, “Where didn’t I go? I had originally tried retiring to the countryside. I had rented a little place out in Sussex but that fell through. But about the same time, an old mate of mine had looked me up and was there when it happened and convinced me to go traveling with him.” He took a sip of tea. “From there we met up with his cousin and another friend, and off we went to the most exotic places, met the most interesting food, Sherlock would have loved it...” he said wistfully. Mrs. Hudson sighed with fond memories of when she was young and traveling. “But that’s neither here nor there, the fresh air was just what I needed to put things in perspective, and I’m ready to get back to work. I’ll find some locum work, and maybe even try to solve an old cold case for Lastrade. For old time’s sake.”
Mrs. Hudson looked thrilled. “Oh it’ll be so nice to have someone upstairs again.” John smiled and finished his tea.
“I have to go grab a few things this afternoon, but I’ll be back by supper.” and with a kiss on her cheek, he was off.
***
By the end of the day, John had settled into the flat, like a comfy old shoe. He didn't have many things, maybe a few mementos from his travels, but moving back in was 1 large box, a wood crate, and going through Mrs. Hudson’s storage room upstairs, where most of his and Sherlock’s old things were. He dug out the skull and some old jumpers and headed downstairs. He put the skull back its rightful place centered on the mantle, and smiled. One more memory to display.
He then plopped down in his old chair, opposite Sherlock’s, in front of the fireplace, and picked up a book to settle in for a relaxing evening of reading. He was 4 chapters in when there was a knock at the door. John got up and opened the door a crack. On the landing, there was a scruffy looking man, with a graying hair, and a beard, holding some magazines.
“Good evening sir,” he said in a bad french accent, “Could I interest you in some fine reading material?” The way the stranger had said it had sounded like a come on. the man held out a catalog of titles from adult magazines.
John rolled his eyes, “Not interested. Wait, how did you even get in this building anyway? The door’s locked down stairs, and it’s far too late for solicitors, even for ones as shady as you. So what do you really want?” he scowled at the man. The man smiled.
“Very… observant.” he said dropping the accent. John recognized the voice and grabbed the man’s beard. “Oi! It’s real John--Oof!” He didn’t get to say much else because a fist landed directly in his gut.
“Sherlock, you git, you deserve more than that! Now get in here so I can thrash you properly!” and with that John yanked the man’s beard and dragged him inside the flat and thew him on the sofa.
Sherlock took a moment to catch his breath and and tried to flatten his unruly beard. He longed for a shave and a shower. but first things first, he had to make sure John was alright. Last time Sherlock had spied on him, John was devastated, and was worryingly distressed. it wasn’t long until he disappeared so completely, not even Mycroft could find him. Sherlock had searched to no avail as well. He continued to take down Moriarty’s empire with the hope that he would find John along the way. Months after he had finished with Moriarty’s men, he continued hunting for John with no luck. Until today.
Sherlock regained his composure, “John I just want to start with how sorry I…” he stopped. John wasn't paying any attention to him, he was holding a crowbar and opening the large crate. Sherlock stood, he didn’t like being ignored when he was trying to apologize.
John wrenched the crate open and pulled out what looked like a bazooka with the initials P.O.V. spray painted on the side. He aimed it squarely at Sherlock. Sherlock took a step back. “Now John. Don’t do anything hasty…” he backed until his heel hit the sofa “Remember Mrs. Hudson’s walls..”
“Sherlock,” John pinned him with a cold gaze, “I know you’re about to apologize, so please continue. I’d love to hear it.” But Johns aim, never wavered.
Sherlock took a breath and continued. “I did it to keep you safe. Moriarty had snipers on you, Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson. If I didn’t jump, they’d kill you. I had to fake my death. I knew you would be angry, but at least you’d be alive to be angry. So I’m not sorry.. but.. What I’m trying to says I apologize for what I put you through, but not what I did for you.”
“Don’t start getting sentimental on me. No matter what light it’s in, it was still a shit move on your part. No matter how many times you apologize, you’re not going to get it, the pain you put me through. So that’s why I have this.” He pulled the trigger.
Sherlock is back on the couch with then the look of a sudden epiphany and quickly stammering, “Because no matter how much I apologize, I can’t take the hurt away.” He got up, looking confused and what he just realized.. He opened to ask, but was blasted again and continued, “And I hurt my friends so deeply they don’t know if they can ever trust me again.” He took a breath and looked at the POV Gun., “That is fascinating, what kind of gun is that?”
John smirked, “You like that? You’re not the only one who can take an extended holiday, you know. I’ve been traveling with some friends, and we happened upon this. A Point of View gun. Pull the trigger, and the other person sees things from your point of view. At least that’s what the Guide book tells me.” John smiled and pulled the trigger again.
“And that’s how you’ve moved on, traveling, so I might not even have a place in your life anymore…” Sherlock suddenly looked sad as he thought about this.
John rolled his eyes and then smiled, a genuine smiled and pulled the trigger again.
“But you forgive me?” He looked at John, wide eyed. “After all the pain I’ve caused?” Sherlock had not dared hope for forgiveness. John was smiling when Mrs. Hudson walked in.
“John, I heard yelling going on up here... are you alright?” She stopped in her tracks at the scene of John holding what looked like a bazooka at a scruffy, bearded stranger holding, what looked like adult magazines. “Oh I didn’t realize you had a client. I’m sorry to interrupt, I’ll just run downstairs and make some tea then. Would you boys like any?”
Sherlock spoke up “Yes, thank you, Mrs. Hudson.”
Mrs. Hudson’s attention was instantly locked on the bearded man, now smiling in the living room. She looked at John, grinning like a loon. and back to the stranger. “Sherlock?”
He nodded, “Hello, Mrs. Hudson.” and she ran up and hugged him fiercely.
“Both boys back on the same day, Oh how wonderful! Now John, don’t you ruin my walls. One of you doing that is bad enough as it is.” she smiled as she said it.
“Actually doesn’t shoot anything like that.” John smiled, evilly. “Let me show you how it works.”
A bolt of fear went through the detective as John showed Mrs. Hudson how to aim it. but then logic kicked in.
“If I get through this,” he thought, “I will find a way to use this against Mycroft.”
Mrs. Hudson fired.
The End