The day droned on and on, and all that was on my mind was Sherlock. I sat in my chair, just thinking of everything that had happened a few hours ago. He was alive. He was healthy. He was hiding. He was in our flat every night and you never knew. He did it to save you. To save Lestrade. To save Mrs.Hudson. Molly knows he's alive, she never told you. She couldn't. Sherlock is out there now, waiting to visit you again. Is he thinking of you? Is he sitting alone in the lab, bored with an experiment he's studied over and over again? Is he thinking of you? Is he off wondering in the shadows, mentally graphing someone's whole life story? Is he thinking of you?
I sighed, rubbing my eyes with the palms of my hands. I needed to get out of the flat, I need some fresh air. I needed a lot of things right now, but I had to start with the things I could actually get. Fresh air.
I walked along the street of the flat, not paying attention to anything. All I could think of were the times Sherlock and I walked these streets-Ran them more than walked. On our first case, Sherlock ran nearly the whole town, and I ran with him. Sherlock ran after criminals, cabs, and things he thought were there that weren't. I went with him. Times we'd laugh, walking the streets after a case to fill our bellies at a restaurant opened late. Times we'd laugh on a crime scene. I remembered the time Sherlock went to the bloody Buckingham Palace in only the sheets on his back.
I smiled, remembering the adventures we had. I was never bored. Could we still have those adventures? No. Sherlock had to stay hidden. Was he going to hide forever? If he didn't, he would likely be arrested for faking a death. Would he have to change his identity? Change his name, his look, his everything? He would have to go through hell and back just to be out in daylight. He did it to save me. He risked his life, risked everything. For me. I hadn't realized where I was walking or how far until I bumped into someone. "Oh, I'm sorry-" I began. They grabbed my hand, walking the opposite way. "Hey!" I said, stumbling back.
They continued walking, and I would have done something if it weren't for those hint of eyes. Sherlock. I tried to hide my shock, turning around to walk forward. I leaned closer, "What are you doing?!" I whispered harshly. He didn't let go of my hand, and he didn't speak either. I sighed, thoughts and confusion rushing through my head. Why in bloody hell was he out in daylight? I mean, the sky is getting a bit darker now but it's still way too dangerous.
He pulled me to the side, between the building of our flat and another. He faced me so that his back was against the streets and we were hidden in shadows. "Sher-You shouldn't be out now. You could be seen!" He hushed me, and now I saw it. He looked different. He was wearing a sweater with a wind breaker over it, the collar popped up. Of coarse. He had pants on similar to mine and different shoes. He looked different with just a change of clothes, but it was still far too dangerous. He lifted his hat, revealing blond hair-A wig. It wasn't obvious, but I knew he would never do that to his hair, no matter what situation. He had some miner changes in his facial features. Some makeup to reconstruct his face, and the small remnants of facial hair along his jawline.
He would appear different to a random bystander, but all I had to see were those eyes and I saw Sherlock. "You still shouldn't b-" He whispered quietly, his voice dead with seriousness-"He'll see you." I gave him a questioning look and he rolled his eyes. "Moriarty. He's not dead, obviously. He's got eyes all over London. I know he wouldn't try anything yet-But you need to be more careful. You're still a target. He knows i'm not dead. He's far too smart-He knows that I know he's not dead. But he wouldn't tell his men, not yet. He wants to play this all as a game. He wouldn't have done anything too fast-Not yet. He wants to watch me dance, John. He wants to play with our heads. This was all just to make it harder for me. For you. For us. He wants to hurt you to hurt me. You have to stay aware. Stay aware of your surroundings, of the people you're around. You have to use your senses, John. Can you do it?"
Sherlock was staring at me with a major intensity, his hands clutching my shoulders. I blinked a few times, drinking in the information. "I can do it." I said finally, my voice quiet. Sherlock stared at me for a moment, and I shifted uncomfortably. He pulled away, standing up more straight. He glanced up at the sky, seeing that it was dark now. The streets were still busy, but not as busy. We stood there in silence for a long moment, "Where are you going now?" I asked in the silence, feeling the cold night seep through my coat.
Sherlock looked around for a second, then looked back to me. "Mrs.Hudson left to go out about 15 minutes ago." I didn't know how he knew that, but I wasn't going to ask. "Come on, then." I said, heading towards the street. "You go. I'll follow after you once you get into our flat." I nodded, trying to appear as casual as possible while I walked out between the buildings. Not many people were out and about as I made my way the few steps to our flat. Our flat. Even though Sherlock wasn't living there, he still called it our flat. I entered the building, "Mrs.Hudson?" I called out. No reply. She wasn't home then.
My mind raced to just the thought of Sherlock coming back into the flat. It's hard not to have a panic attack knowing your best friend just shows up in your flat the previous evening after being 'dead' for 5 months.
I fumbled in the kitchen, starting the kettle and getting out two mugs. I set them on the counter as I used to. Nostalgia hit me as I got out Sherlock's favourite tea. I hadn't touched it since he left. I set the teabags in the mugs, the kettle whistling.
The sound of a door knob turning broke through the silence just as I set the kettle aside. As he said he would, Sherlock entered the flat.He immediately started throwing his wig aside. He inched off his coat, throwing it on the ground as well. "Sherlock-" I started, but he just continued pulling his clothes off. I was about to ask him what the bloody hell he was doing, until I saw a hint of his clothes under the ones he wore as a disguise. I felt myself smile, my heart thumped faster. There he was again. Alive, and just as Sherlock as he could be. "These clothes are awful, I don't know how you manage to wear them." He said in a disgusted tone, nudging the clothes aside with his foot. He wore his grey shirt and blue plaid pajama trousers.
"You wore your pajamas under those clothes?" I asked. He looked at me as if it would be weird if he didn't. Our eyes met a tad longer than usual, then he looked to the tea in my hands. "Is that-"
"Earl grey tea." We said in unison. He looked up to me for a moment, a hint of a smile playing on his lips before he took a mug. It felt so odd, having Sherlock back in the flat again, but at the same time it felt as normal as it did before. This was all still sinking in, and it would probably never sink in completely. I caught myself looking at him for long periods of time, and he returned the favour. "Do you always lurk during daylight like that?" I asked, moving to sit on my couch. Sherlock was already in his, legs propped to his knees. As always. "Where's my robe?" I sat there for a moment, both of us in the silence. Sherlock raised and eyebrow at me, waiting for an answer as he sipped his tea.
"I uh-I don't know." Sherlock gave me a look, and he knew I was lying. But he didn't stay on the subject, now setting his tea aside. "Sometimes." He said suddenly. I gave him a confused look and he got the hint, "Sometimes I go out, minor disguise. Not for long, but just enough to get some air in my lungs." He shrugged, taking his mug into his hands again. "Do you always walk on our street?" I asked, tapping my hands nervously. His eyes concentrated on my nervous hands as he replied. "Usually." It was silent again, and I watched Sherlock. I couldn't help it, he was here.
He looked up to me, catching my gaze. I looked aside, taking a sip of my tea. "What's on the telly?" Sherlock asked, surprising me. He never was interested in watching telly unless it involved a 48 hour murder case-(Where he would state the entire murder and who did it within minutes) or if it was a court show. (Where he would state aloud who was or wasn't the father)
I sat at the desk behind Sherlock's chair, a hint of black curls showing above the seat as he slumped into it. He was home. Although he wouldn't admit it, he was more than happy to be home. He finally got to sit in his chair he hasn't sat in for months.. He got to hold the remote in his hand he hasn't held for ages. He's able to slump in front of the telly and shout at it. He's able to be home and do home things. What was weird to most people was comforting to Sherlock. What should be weird to me was what made me go on adventures, complain, sigh, roll my eyes, feel anger, feel betrayal, feel friendship, feel happiness, feel the world crashing down on me, feel depression, feel lonely, feel surprised, feel shocked, feel comforted, feel loved, feel happy again.
What was Sherlock to most people was everything to me.
