One More Miracle

Homecoming

Chapter 10: John's POV

Once I woke up, it took me a second to recall the events of the previous night. This is what I remembered: Moriarty was alive, he had a henchman named Sebastian Moran, and Sherlock was back. Yes, Sherlock was back. I wasn't dreaming. I had pinched myself several times just to make sure, and I had confirmed that I had been fully awake. I had my best friend back. And it was about bloody time, too. 

Oh yeah, and my head hurt like crazy, too. Moran was responsible for that. He had slammed the butt of his gun into my head, knocking me unconscious and more than likely giving me a concussion in the process. But I would be okay. We all would now. Because we were all back together on Baker Street. Me, Sherlock, and Mrs. Hudson. 

Mrs. Hudson. She hadn't been home when Sherlock and I had come staggering in through the front door, me barely strong enough to stand, even with my arm draped over Sherlock's shoulders; his weight supporting mine. I had collapsed almost as soon as we had returned, so I didn't get to see the look on Mrs. Hudson's face when she discovered that Sherlock was back. 

But I did get to hear her reaction. Not a minute after I realized that Mrs. Hudson didn't know Sherlock was back, I heard a plate smash, followed by a cry of "Sherlock!" It looks like Mrs. Hudson's up, I thought to myself. I might as well join them. With that, I heaved myself up and out of bed, trying to fight my mounting headache and using my bedside table as a way to steady myself. I staggered down the hallway and down the stairs towards the kitchen. That's where the smashing sound had come from. 

When I entered the kitchen I saw a sight that was strange, but not unexpected. Sherlock was standing by the table, one of his hands on his microscope, the other consolingly patting Mrs. Hudson's back, who was clinging to Sherlock as if for dear life. Like if she let go, he'd disappear again. When Sherlock saw me, he gave me a look like "Hasn't this been long enough?" I responded by clearing my throat to announce my arrival. "Morning, Mrs. Hudson," I said. She jumped slightly and turned around to face me, and when she did, I saw that her eyes were red, like she had been crying recently. To confirm my suspicions, Mrs. Hudson wiped a tear from underneath her eye and sniffed. 

"Oh, John," she said, holding out her arms. Obligingly, I walked into them, and she clung to me almost as tightly as she had to Sherlock. After a second, Mrs. Hudson moved one of her arms from around me and stuck it out in Sherlock's direction, inviting him in. Almost, but not quite reluctantly, the consulting detective took his hand off his microscope, his slender fingers trailing on the cool metal, walked over, and put one arm around Mrs. Hudson's shoulders and the other around mine.  

"My boys," Mrs. Hudson said, her voice muffled as she buried her head in both Sherlock's and my chests in turn. We stayed like that for a minute, both Sherlock and me patting our landlady on the back reassuringly as she took it all in, occasionally sniffling and repeating the phrase "my boys." Finally, Sherlock had had enough. 

"Okay, Mrs. Hudson, that's enough sentiment for one day," he said. 

"Right, of course," Mrs. Hudson said between sniffs. "We've just missed you, Sherlock." She turned around and walked out, and behind her, Sherlock nodded tersely, like he knew what he wanted to say, but he couldn't push the words past the barrier formed by his lips. Instead, he turned on his heel and took one step back to the kitchen table, where he promptly sat down and looked in his microscope again. I rolled my eyes at my flatmate's ability to immediately shut out all emotion and return to his work, but then again, this was Sherlock we were talking about. Of course it was this way. 

It then occured to me that the others still didn't know of Sherlock's return. "Sherlock," I said, "Lestrade and all the others at Scotland Yard don't know that you're back. Or even Molly."