Sherlock's Great Return

-Flashback, John-

John had seen him have his great fall. He had been watching him, trying to come up with a plan.

Later, at Sherlock's funeral, John and Lestrade stood close togheter. They were both immensly close to Sherlock, and he guessed they both thought if they stood so close togheter, Sherlock would come back. Lestrade had offered John a place in his flat. John declined, but leaving Sherlock's stuff at 221B, moved in a tiny flat in the same building as Lestrade.

John's nightmares never went away, and he spent alot of time burying himself with work he once did with his best friend.

-Current day, Lestrade-

Lestrade had been to work early, and left late. Afterwards, he left to take John to dinner and to Baker Street. John wanted to stay there. Lestrade hadn't been in six months, since he was forced to arrest Sherlock. He wasn't sure he could go back.

So, when Lestrade turned the door after returning to his 2 bedroom flat, he was shocked to see a light on.

He went inside, to the empty bedroom, to see Sherlock.

"It can't be.... I'm dreaming. You are dead." Lestrade stammered.

"I faked it. Now, in front of John, I'll explain."

"May not be a good idea."

"I have nothing but good ideas" Lestrade sighed. Sherlock was still full of himself. But he had missed the detective.

Lestrade pulled out his mobile, and called John. They arranged a meeting for tomorrow at nine.

Lestarde offered Sherlock some soup and clothes. Then he ran a bath for Sherlock, because the man stunk. Sherlock was hurt mentally, so he asked Lestrade to sit with him. Lestrade said "Fine." and just talked to him. It felt nice to just talk, and Sherlock just listen, his head drooping slowly to his chest. Lestrade could figure the troubled man was tired, and was starving. You could see his ribs.The once eleven-stone(152 pounds) man now barely weighed eight and a half stone(approxamently 103 pouds) Lestrade pulled Sherlock out of the bath, pulling a dressing gown around the cold, wet detective. The detective was hardly 30, but looked so much younger in sleep, but older in wakefulness. Lestrade tucked Sherlock in the guest bed and fell on his own bed, knowin he'd have to be at great strenght for tomorrow.

The next day, Sherlock ate and showered willingly. He let Lestrade trim his hair.

At nine sharp, the bell rang. Lestrade answered it, Sherlock sitting in the sitting room. Lestrade showed John in the sitting room. Sherlock turned, his strange silver-like eyes focused on the visitor.

John realised who it was. Lestrade tried to stop, but it was to late. John punched Sherlock's face and ribs, so hard there was at least four cracks of bones breaking before Lestrade could pull John off.

"SIX MONTHS SHERLOCK! SIX MONTHS!"

"John.... calm down" Lestrade said. "Sherlock, get in the bathroom, I'll be in in a minute." During this, John struggled against Lestrade's restraining arm.

Once Sherlock had scurried out of signt, Lestrade let go of John.

"Come on. And try not to kill him."

They walked in the bathroom.

Sherlock flinched and tried to run when John entered. The bad thing? Neither John or Lestrade blamed him.

"Sherlock." John approached him like he was a wounded animal. Which, in a way, he was.

John looked at Sherlock eyes, brown meeting the grey eyes. And he noticed something.

The great Sherlock Holmes was crying.

John broke then, and went from the man who was breaking Sherlock's bones to hugging him, stroking the soft dark curls gently. Sherlock tensed at first, but relaxed.

"I missed you" Sherlock whispered to John as they left Greg Lestrade's flat for 221B Baker Street.