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Chapter 4

John paid the cabbie and took in his surroundings.  

“Alright, Sherlock.  Where are you?” John muttered to himself.

“Right here, John.”  

John jumped and was able to stifle the yelp that threatened to erupt from his throat.  

“Sherlock!  Jesus, you scared me!”  Sherlock had silently appeared behind John as the cab pulled away.

“Not my intentions, John, but amusing nonetheless.”  Sherlock flashed a quick crooked grin as he glanced at his friend.

John couldn’t help but chuckle softly.  It was moments like this that made John’s heart swell.  It was so much like how they were before the fall.  

“Alright, I’m here.  You said it was urgent.”

“Indeed.  Follow me.”  

Sherlock led John through an alley and down two more streets.

“We’re here, John,” Sherlock whispered.

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Chapter 3

Six months. It had been six months since Sherlock Holmes had reappeared into his life. John was grateful that his friend had come back from the dead. Well, technically, he had never died, but for THREE YEARS John had believed it. John had mourned the loss of his friend, visited the tombstone, and beat his self-conscience to a pulp for his inability to stop his friend from jumping off that damned roof.

John now knew the truth. Sherlock had faked his death in order to keep John, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson safe. Moriarty was dead by his own reptilian hand. Unfortunately, this left a large web of sinister underlings who still posed a threat to Sherlock’s friends. Mainly, John. Sherlock, being Sherlock, went off on his own to take them down.

Of course John was delighted to have his friend back and in relatively good health. Relative in the sense that Sherlock only had some bumps and bruises on his return, if not a few more battle scars. Sherlock had still not opened up on the origin of many of those scars. He had told John the ‘why’ and the ‘where’ of his ordeal of three years, but had been very vague on the precise “what”.

Despite their rather emotional reunion, Sherlock had become very distant quite quickly. His usual cold and uncaring nature had returned tenfold. There were scarce moments of…fondness?…normalcy?…just like old times?…peppered in between the downright frigid atmosphere Sherlock was projecting. It was maddening at times. John wanted nothing more than to help his friend heal from whatever he had to endure while he was away. Every time John tried, he was met with a brick wall of indifference. John wondered if Sherlock cared at all, if the whole ‘saving my friends’ episode had been some sort of one-off thing. He felt guilty when he had these thoughts, but Sherlock was just a mysterious as he had ever been.

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