Moving Backwards.

thecityofpaper:

(inspired by this post, because UGH IT WAS LIKE A PROMPT WAITING TO HAPPEN)

Sherlock bursted back into the flat and saw John sitting in his chair reading the newspaper.

John locked his gaze, and just sighed.

“Hello,” John said.

“John, I’m so sorry, I-“

“Sherlock, stop. It’s fine.”

Well that was unexpected. Sherlock thought.

He sat down in front of John, waiting for him to say something.

“Sherlock, you’re getting the couch wet.”

Right, the rain. He got up, peeled his coat off, and went to make tea, all the while thinking What the hell?

—

Occasionally, John broke something, or yelled, but never directly at Sherlock.

He would throw a beaker on the floor, and just stand there breathing in and out.

Sherlock knew never to come close to him, only to intervene when John was about to injure himself.

Sherlock decided this was just John’s way of coping, and really, Sherlock deserved much worse. John just let him quietly slip back into his life, without much questioning.

It was unexpected.

If Sherlock was being perfectly honest, it was really weird.

He had been gone two and a half years, he expected a punch in the face, or for them to even talk about it.

But nothing came, just the occasional breaking of glass.

It was really weird.

—

“John, is everything alright?” Sherlock asked after two weeks at home.

“Everything’s…” John swallowed hard and looked back down at his book, “Everything’s fine.”

—

Sherlock obviously told Lestrade he came back. He wasn’t going to just sit there with no cases.

He came by 221B one afternoon, and John said hello and offered tea, to which Lestrade said no, I won’t be here for long, and walked into the living room.

“Sherlock, I know you haven’t been home long, but we have a triple homicide, locked rooms, no evidence. Will you come?”

Sherlock looked up to see John white as a sheet.

“John, are you alright?” Sherlock asked, as he stood up slowly.

“Lestrade…you can see him too?”

“Oh my god,” Lestrade said quietly. He looked back in forth between Sherlock and John, and Sherlock’s jaw dropped to the floor.

He didn’t, he didn’t think…

“Oh, John…” Sherlock whispered.