Disclaimer: I do not own, nor profit from.
Authors Note: I just want to say that I am on Tumblr (type in “charanteleclerc” to Google), and I will be taking prompts, alongside You Believe in Ghosts. I am also starting a FrostIron fanfiction, so keep an eye out for it! Enjoy!
Revelations
John could see the tension behind Sherlock’s eyes, coiled like a spring. Sherlock shifted, uncomfortable.
“I’m not sure if that is such a good idea John.” John winced at the pain underneath those words.
“It may not be a good idea. But a worse one would be to let you walk out that door and out of my life again.”
“Technically, I fell...” Sherlock promptly stopped after a menacing glare from John.”
“You know exactly what I mean.” Sherlock hung his head. The silence stretched out between them.
“Your bedroom is exactly how you left it.” Sherlock nodded absentmindedly.
“Thank you.” John frowned.
“What for? It’s not that difficult to upkeep a bedroom no-one uses.” Of course you don’t use that room. You only hide in there once a month, once a week, every day...
Sherlock smiled slightly, a smooth quirk of the lips that John had missed so badly.
“Not just for the bedroom. A lot of people wouldn’t be so... understanding, and just let me back into their lives like you are.” John nodded at his feet.
“I’m glad you didn’t say forgiving. I might have kicked you back out again. Sherlock grinned a smile, his whole face lighting up.
“Precisely why I didn’t.”
And John couldn’t do anything but laugh.
o0o
John blinked awake in the morning light, a little disorientated. He dragged a hand through his short sandy blonde hair. He glanced over towards his alarm clock, sitting beside a cup of tea. 7:04am.
Wait a minute... cup of tea?
He didn’t remember getting up and making himself a cup of tea. Unless he’d suddenly taken to sleepwalking.
“Precisely why I didn’t.” Sherlock had amusement glinting in his eyes. John was laughing, his voice a little hoarse. Sherlock joined in too, his velvet laughter mingling with John’s, in perfect harmony.
Sherlock.
Sherlock had returned to him.
His Sherlock. Back from the dead. Back from that fall. Back.
John stumbled down the stairs into the living room, scanning the room quickly. The cushions on the sofa were slightly ruffled, a blanket strewn across the seats. John stared at the scene, his breath taken away by those small details that meant that Sherlock was still here.
“John?” Sherlock stood in the doorway the kitchen, holding another cup of tea.
“Sherlock.” There was no underlying message, no pain. Just a simple affirmation that he was still here. Sherlock’s eyes John’s face, registering every emotion that played across his face. John smiled. Sherlock’s eyes creased in confusion.
“What?” Sherlock looked down at himself, checking he hadn’t spilt tea over himself. This lay with John badly. John had never seen Sherlock so insecure. John always looked at Sherlock strangely. Sherlock had always either ignored it or shrugged it off with some sort of comment about John’s idioticy. But Sherlock had never been insecure. Far from it. He always bordered arrogance.
