Tall Buildings and Pill Bottles - A Johnlock Story

Better Days and Recovery

John's POV

"John! Get up we have a case!" Light flooded the room as Sherlock yanked back the curtains. I groaned, not ready to get up. It had been about a month since Sherlocks attempt, and he had finally been cleared to start cases again.

I pushed myself into a sitting position, just in time for a ball of clothing to be flung at me. "Get dressed, we have a case!" I shook my head, chuckling as Sherlock bounded around the room. "I'll be downstairs, hurry!" I rubbed my eyes, the light making my head throb slightly.

As fast as I could, I changed into the clothing that Sherlock had grabbed for me. He was indeed waiting at the door, a taxi was already there waiting. He must've called one, which was a tad odd for him. It made sense though, since I'd still needed to get dressed. Normally, I would've talked him into eating something, but the look of pure excitement on his face held me at bay. I didn't want to delay his first case back anymore.

The grin on his face was wide enough that I could've sworn that his face would split in two. I hadn't even made it to the door before Sherlock had grabbed my hand and was hauling me out and into the cab.

  I didn't really pay attention to it as Sherlock babbled on and on about it, ecstatic to be on a case again. The cabbie looked alarmed before he realized who it was. Most people were like that, despite the people who were freaked out by him indefinitely.

The whole ride to the scene, Sherlock went on and on, but I couldn't manage to pay attention. He was just breathtakingly beautiful. His gorgeous raven colored curls brushing against his porcelain skin, his galaxy eyes glowing with excitement. And possibly, happiness. He didn't look so frail and ill anymore. He looked healthy, good even. He'd begun taking medication again, and we were now beginning to see the effects as well as the weekly therapist appointments, he was getting better. He truly was. I was so taken with him that I barley noticed when we arrived.

I payed the cabbie while Sherlock waited on the curb, albeit, not very patiently, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Greg was waiting for us at the entrance, as well as Anderson. "Glad to see you back, Sherlock." Anderson smiled, handing him a pair of gloves. Sherlock gave a smile back, and began examining the scene. 

"So he's doing well then?" Greg asked, hands in his jacket pockets. I glanced over at Sherlock, as he buzzed around the scene. "Yeah, he is." I smiled, a genuine one. "He's beginning to really recover." Greg clapped me on the back. "I'm happy, and hopefully he is too." We grinned at each other for a moment, so incredibly happy that we'd made it this far with him. This recovery was better, according to Mycroft, than any of the other ones.

Sherlock snapped his gloves off, catching our attention. "It was the electrician." He rattled of the specifics, and Greg began giving orders to find him. Sherlock took my hand, his infamous crooked smile appearing. His eyes glowed with excitement and an impish gleam.

The case turned out to be quite textbook, a good one for Sherlock to begin again on. "Are you doing alright?" He nodded, before motioning ahead. "Yes, actually, I'm quite happy right now. I've got you, I've got a case, solved easily, yes, but it was a case." I laughed, shaking my head.

Sherlock lifted the tape for me without missing a beat. "Let's get breakfast," he suggested, not ready to go back to the flat. I nodded, not the most eager to get back to the flat either. "There's a crêpe shop not far from here, if you'd like to go," he added, pointing off in the apparent direction of the crêpe shop. "That sounds lovely, sweetheart." He flushed at the nickname, not quite used to it yet. I leaned in and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.