One more miracle

Chapter Five

"John."

Sherlock placed his hand firmly on John's shoulder. He had never meant for things to go this far, or to drive his dearest friend to wits end. John abruptly stood and turned to face him, causing Sherlock's hand to fall back to his side. All color immediately drained from his face, and the sound of the gun coming into contact with the floor rang through their ears.

"You... you..." He stammered for several minutes, constantly blinking to make sure the dark man before him wouldn't vanish. "Sherlock?"

He nodded softly. "Yes John. It's me." They stood together in silence when John stepped forward, gingerly reaching out to touch him. A finger glazed the material of his coat, and he looked up with glittering eyes.

"You're real. You're actually here." Sherlock nodded with a soft, rarely shared smile. He waited for John to speak again, to maybe admit how much he had missed him. Maybe to even hug him out of joy. He was ready for any of those options.

He wasn't, however, prepared for the punch.

He heard a loud crack as John's fist connected with his nose and he stumbled back, holding it carefully in surprise. John was scowling down at him, his face growing red. "You bloody idiot!" He yelled down at him as Sherlock attempted to regain his composure. "It's been 3 bloody years! What were you doing!?" Despite all the yelling and cussing flying past his ears, Sherlock couldn't help but notice that John wasn't using his cane. "Listen to me, Sherlock." He growled, grabbing the taller mans chin to look at him.

"Do you have absolutely any idea what you put me through!? I spent every day at that bloody grave of yours!" He threw his hands in the air as if admitting defeat and walked back to the end table, ripping the suicide note to shreds. Sherlock stood up carefully and attempted to speak, but John whipped around and cut him off. "Tell me Sherlock, how many days did you just sit and watch me at your grave, just sit and cry for you, hoping for a miracle that was impossible?" He glared up defiantly.

"Everyday." Sherlock spoke softly in order to not provoke him more. "I watched you every single day. I listened to you talk, I sometimes even answered to myself." His eyes were unbelievably sincere as he gazed at his only true friend. John's face seemed to soften with surprise and a twinge of satisfaction, but he would not speak. "I did it for your own safety, John. Sebastian Moran is still out there. If he knew I was alive, he'd kill you." Sherlock found his eyes wandering to the ground, unable to face John's gaze for the first time. "But you became a danger to yourself. I...." He breathed in deeply facing him head in once again. "I'm sorry John. I truly am. I don't know how I can possibly make up for what you endured."

They stood in silence, just staring at each other. For the first time, Sherlock could feel himself wriggling under John's gaze. He had every reason to be angry. In fact, He wouldn't blame him if he didn't forgive him. Yet after it all, John took a deep breath in and sank into his chair. He rubbed his temples a few times with his eyes shut and looked back to make sure Sherlock was still there. More silence. He then grabbed the newspaper and flipped it open, hiding his current expression.

"You can start by making us tea. You have a lot of explaining to do."