Before I Began To Grow

Chapter Three

Sherlock woke early in the day, the sky was still dark and if he hadn't had a watch he would have thought it was still three in the morning. But, no. It was actually seven in the morning, and Sherlock had decided he was bored with dreaming.

He pulled his body out of bed, his muscles stiff for some unknown, and slightly annoying reason. He switched on his light and walked over to his wardrobe. He opened the door and looked in the mirror attached. He ruffled his hair and turned away, ignoring his dark eyes.

He put on his dressing gown and walked out into the sitting room, not really caring too much if he woke up John or not.

Since the excitement of yesterday, Sherlock had given himself some time to think about what John living with him again could actually mean. His initial response was delight. Positive feelings for something that made him so very happy.

...But, so much had happened between the old friends. Maybe a little too much for things ever to go back to the way they were. Sherlock wished with every part of him that he could forgive John. He wanted to go back to being able to see John's face without any feelings of resentment being there. Maybe the only way he could ever get this to go away would be for John to apologize. To say sorry for absolutely everything which he had pinned on Sherlock.

Sherlock padded into the kitchen and opened up the fridge. A stale bottle of milk and some gone off vegetables. Time to go shopping.

Sherlock grumbled to himself, wishing he could just have a day alone, at home with no distractions.

John would probably go into a fit of laughter if Sherlock had told him how he wanted to spend his day. Because the Sherlock John had known was erratic and excited and always raring to go. If boredom had crept up on John's Sherlock, Sherlock would've been miserable for days. But, he wasn't John's Sherlock any more. He had never been John's Sherlock.

Sherlock's tummy rumbled and he rolled his eyes at himself. ''Fine, fine.'' Sherlock mumbled to himself (it had become a habit) while he walked back to his room to get changed.

                                                                               *

John woke up to the smell of bacon. He smiled to himself and rolled over onto his back, gazing up at the ceiling. What a day yesterday had been. He hadn't wanted to admit to himself how much he had missed Sherlock... not just 221B Baker Street. Not Lestrade. Not the thrill of the case. Just...Sherlock.

John needed to clear out his head. He needed to sort through what all this meant. He was hoping Sherlock wouldn't bring up their falling out...would he? Was he even still angry? It was years ago, after all.

John let a hand flop over to the bedside table. He felt around blindly until he found his phone. He switched it on and saw that it was nine in the morning. John guessed he should get up. Besides, that food smelled delicious.

John threw on a grey t-shirt and some worn out jeans, and trotted down the stairs. He was at the door to the kitchen when he finally remembered Sherlock's odd behaviour from the night before. Should he bring it up? He knew only too well that Sherlock had never been one for talking about his emotions...but, then again, that had been seven years ago. Maybe he had learned since then. John shook his head, almost laughing at himself. Sherlock, no matter how much time he'd had, would never change how he viewed his feelings.

John opened the door and walked into the kitchen. His face fell when he saw the food he had smelled from upstairs was in fact, burning. John quickly turned off the stove and grill. He used a spatula to prod about the burnt eggs. John frowned and turned around. Sherlock was standing in the sitting room, his back to John. He was reading something off his phone, his hand shaking slightly.