Experiments (Sherlock BBC- Johnlock Fanfic)

1- The Great Return

Hullo loves :)

So the events of this story take place after the Reichenbach Fall. It's all purely fictional, all credit goes to the show and all that sort of stuff.

thanks a bunch for reading!

----

The harsh wind blew through my hair as I looked up the familiar street. Nearly a year had passed since Sherlock had died, and I hadn't been back to Baker Street since. I'd stayed with Harry for a while, but her drinking habits were unsettling. I hopped from house to house, staying with friends, or any cheap form of housing. I'd stayed with Mike for a long time, even with Molly. Everything had fallen through though, as it always did. I felt unwanted, unneeded, and the only place that ever really felt like home was his last resort.

But it had come to that. I found myself staring down at the familiar street, walking as slowly as possible. The wind blew behind me, as if urging me toward the door. With a mixture of sorrow, nervousness and familiarity, I arrived at the door to 221B Baker Street.

Hesitating, I knocked, and was soon greeted by the familiar face of Mrs. Hudson, who squealed in delight and enveloped me in a hug. God, I had missed her. She was the closest thing to a mother I ever had.

'Oh John it is so good to see you! My, oh my, you've gotten thin! Oh quickly, come in from the wind dear, you must be freezing!' she smiled at me as I walked inside. Closing the door behind me, I realized she hasn't changed a bit. She still had the same old, kind face, the short greying blonde hair and swooping dresses.

'It's great to see you too Mrs. Hudson. I sure have missed you, and this place. I'm sorry I haven't been back sooner, I just couldn't come back here...' I trailed off looking down at the floor. Mrs. Hudson patted my arm.

'Oh I know all too well dear. I haven't dusted the flat since... I never leased it out you know. I just couldn't. I couldn't bring myself to move his things either.'

We both stood in silence, both thinking our own sad thoughts. My mind wandered to after Sherlock's death. I never returned to the apartment to get my things. I visited his grave every day, just to talk to him. The pain of his death never left me, and my therapist said that it never will.

'Well I'll just um, head on up then?' I said to Mrs. Hudson, nodding to the stairs.

'Oh love, I'll come up and make you a tea', she smiled warmly at me, and then proceeded up the stairs.

'That'd be great thanks.'

I felt cold to my gut as I approached the door to our home. Before I reached to open the doorknob Mrs. Hudson grabbed my arm. Her eyes had gone wide with worry.

'John did you hear that? I think there's someone in there,' she said in a whisper. I pressed my ear against the cold door and hear banging noises, of what might have sounded like footsteps.

A sudden burst of anger shot through me. How dare someone break into Sherlock's flat? What right did they have to go through his belongings?

Slowly, I inched open the door. A wave of nostalgia hit me, as I saw the familiar room. Sherlock's coats hung on the coatrack, and the whole apartment smelled musky, just like him. I had missed the smell, and the place, and a small lump formed in the back of my throat.

Bringing my mind back to reality, I reached for an umbrella on the coatrack, careful not to touch Sherlock's coat. I crept through the apartment, following the banging noises. I crept passed the bookshelf, his violin and our chairs, with Mrs. Hudson following behind me. The banging was coming from the kitchen. Before I could creep around to look into the kitchen, a man stepped out.