Before I Began To Grow

Chapter One

A/N: I do not own any of the characters in this story, bar original creations. I recognise that BBC own the Sherlock characters I am writing about.

Also, I wrote this before season three came out. This story was completed in autumn 2013.

CHAPTER ONE:

Just pick up the phone. Pick it up and call him. 

Sherlock bit his lip and only continued to stare at the phone in his hands.

Seven years, it had been. Three years, Sherlock had been missing, and then four of John Watson ignoring Sherlock Holmes.

But, this is important. Just put aside your feelings like you used to. When did you let yourself succumb to these emotions, Sherlock? 

Sherlock sighed, and finally hit 'ring' on John's number.

Sherlock raised the phone to his ear, his stomach in knots.

The phone answered on the fourth ring. ''Hello? Who is this?''

Sherlock shut his eyes. It had been too long since he had heard that voice.

The consulting detective drew in a deep breath. ''John, it's me. It's Sherlock.''

There was no answer for three long seconds.

''Sherlock?'' John's voice rang out with disbelief and curiosity. He obviously realized this, because he cleared his throat to start again.

''Sherlock, it that really you?'' John asked, his tone more formal this time.

Sherlock bit his lip, finding it hard to keep things together. ''Yeah, it's me. I sort of need to ask you-''

''Did you hear something? Is that why you're calling me?''

Sherlock arched an eyebrow. ''What? No...Sebastian has been sighted.''

Sherlock heard John sigh. ''This is not what I need.'' He muttered. ''Sherlock, you've gotten me at a bad time. I can't just really run up to London right now.''

Sherlock nodded, a feeling of disappointment spreading through him.

''Oh, I see. My-my bad. I'll see you around, then.''

''No, wait, Sherlock...it's been years.'' John let out a small laugh. ''Tell me how you've been?''

Sherlock couldn't help smile. He had missed John's generosity, despite everything that had happened.

''...Just the same. Same, old me.'' Sherlock said, not very enthusiastically. There was an awkward pause.

''Look, John...Just call me if you can make the case. You know where to find me.''

He hung up before John could answer, and collapsed onto his couch.

That had been much harder, and a lot more brief than what Sherlock had expected.

Yes, it was he who hung up first, yet Sherlock still muttered John's name bitterly as he forced himself to get up from the couch.

No point in just sitting about and crying. Sherlock had learned that years ago.

                                                                        *

John placed his phone back onto his feeble, and in no way sturdy, coffee table.

He and Sherlock hadn't spoken in more than two years, But, John would often think of his old friend. He would wonder if Sherlock still did cases, still played the violin...still lived alone.