Data Doesn't Lie (Johnlock)

Chapter 4

Sorry its taken forever to upload, im having trouble finding sufficient internet access. Ill update as soon as I can, and I hope you guys arent extremely bothered. Teetee a fen, tata for now
~Shay
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JOHN

I was released from the hospital after a week, and Sherlock was with me all the while. Visiting hours were 12 to 6, and despite doctors and nurses shooing him away he refused to leave. Once in the night I heard him running frantically through the hallway, security charging after him requesting backup. I couldn't help but laugh, knowing they'd never catch him with his long legs.

But he'd come back, and he promised over and over that he wouldn't leave me again, sometimes monotone and dull and sometimes on the verge of tears. I believed him either way, and though I was still angry at him I didn't suppress my joy upon his return. Throughout my stay he sat by my side, recounting proudly how he'd taken down Moriarty's network and relentlessly trying to figure out my attacker. After a few days he became frustrated for lack if evidence, shouting at the nurse for not allowing him to examine the bullet. I missed this, I missed him. His voice, his face, his irritable pacing and random shouts at nothing in particular. It was like old times again. My doctor found that Sherlock's return might have helped my recovery speed up. Time flew, and I hardly noticed the week that went by.

Upon my dismissal, Sherlock recommended we return to our old flat at 221b. I told him I'd moved out, but being the stubborn man he was, he paid no mind to that information and insisted he needed to see Mrs.Hudson anyway. He supported my weight, half-carrying me from the car park against my protests and called us a cab. The cabbie didn't recognize us, thank God. The last thing I needed was publicity. I ducked, Sherlock helping me into the car before settling quite comfortably next to me. Drowsy from the hours of filling out medication sheets and listening to the drawl of health recommendations I already knew, I yawned, leaning my head on Sherlock's shoulder. He didn't complain.

I felt his eyes on me but was too tired to say anything. Once every few minutes I returned his icy blue gaze, sometimes longer than I'd anticipated and quickly turned away, feeling my face heat up. It was weird, being next to him again. Apart from the occasional outburst, he acted as if nothing happened all those years. It infuriated me, but I kept my cool. I didn't want to ruin what was just starting to rebuild. Look at me, fawning over him like a teenage girl. I chuckled to myself. He raised a quizzical brow at me, the smallest upward tug on those perfect, cupids-bow lips. Wait, what?

I just shrugged, lifting my head from his shoulder and retraining my eyes outside. Get a hold of yourself, Watson.

I wondered how things would be from now on, I was still confused about some of the things I felt. I turned to Sherlock.
"Sherlock?" He glanced back towards me, resting his chin in his palm. "What?" His voice rumbled, sending that familiar odd bass feel through me. "Where do we go from here?" He smiled at me, and I smiled back on pure instinct. "Home, preferably," he said simply. I nodded. "Good enough?" he asked. My smile widened to a grin. "God, yes." We rode in pleasant silence throughout the rest of the drive, excited to be going home.

SHERLOCK

The streets of London whizzed by all too quickly. Soon enough, we were home. Home...the word felt good, familiar, safe. I was honestly happy to see my dear landlady again, given she doesn't pass out upon the sight at me. I was in a good mood, helping my doctor from the cab and tossing a small, wrinkled wad of cash at the cabbie. I practically dragged John to the door, hopping in anticipation. John laughed, and I felt my spirits rise to their fullest. It'd been so long since he'd given a real, genuine laugh. It was warm and airy, without a care in the world. I let him be happy, and shared in his glee. I didn't feel like being robotic and poker-faced, I hardly did when I was with John. Oh, how I missed this.

"Someone's exited," John chuckled. I winked at him, amused by the newfound color in his face. I didn't care to knock, throwing open the door and greeted with the scent I could only describe as home. It was all so perfect, I was almost scared to think it true. I knew it couldn't be a dream, because until now my only dreams were night terrors. They wouldn't come again, I was certain.

"Mrs.Hudson!" John called to the landlady. I was still holding his hand, and I hoped he wouldn't notice. The sweet old mother-figure of Baker street hobbled excitedly from her own apartment up the stairs to John and me. "Oh, dear! I've been so worried for you the hospital called and I-"

She stopped talking quite abruptly as she caught sight of me. Her mouth opened and closed again like a fish, but no noise came out. "Hello Mrs.Huds-" I was cut off by her screaming. Her shrill shriek tore through my eardrums like a throwing knife, John and I flinched at the sound, and he gripped my hand tighter. "Sh-Sherlock, o-oh my goodness!" Mrs.Hudson fanned her face for air, repeating "goodness me" to herself to calm down. She took one deep breath and let it out slow. "Oh...oh Sherlooock!" She tsked at me in a scolding manner before giving me tired smile. "Where have you been," she asked, as if I were a teenager who'd snuck out for the night, returning in the morning. I smiled innocently. "Make me some tea and I'll tell you," I teased. Mrs.Hudson worried not for tea, but her vision was focused on John and my hands, still entwined. She looked at me, then at John, then back to our hands. A wide smile spread across her face, amd before I had time to explain John had already let go and frowned at her as if so say "no". I couldn't help but feel hurt, the ever-present "I'm not gay" and "he's not my boyfriend" were painful reminders of how I felt about John. Like old times, indeed.

Mrs.Hudson chuckled simply, her eyes crinkling intp her smile. "My boys," she cooed fondly, climbing the steps to our flat that my body longed to strawl about in after so long.

I stood for a while, avoiding John's glance. It was an awkward situation, but thankfully short-lived as I rushed up the stairs, my coat billowing behind me. I breathed in the sweet, musky scent of 221b that ensured me this wasn't a dream. I'd been so lenient with my personality as of late, and me parading around the house like a child at the carnival was really the icing on the cake. John stood in the doorway, supporting himself on the door frame and smiling. He'd left everything as it was, no doubt Mrs.Hudson had dusted. It was as if I'd never left at all. I turned to my blogger, leading him to his chair and collapsing face-first into the couch. John chuckled again, the sound filling the warm air of the flat, buzzing with energy. "I never thought you would miss this place as much as I do," he told me softly. I smiled into the cushion that supported my head, rolling over onto my back. In the kitchen, the kettle squealed its readiness and in minutes I had a cuppa in my hand and a laptop before me, trying to figure out the case of John's attack. John was mostly asleep, muttering occasional questions that I answered distractedly. It was so familiar, so peaceful. Everything I had missed so dearly mattered not, because after so long, I was home, I was happy. With my blogger by my side.