A.N: How ironic that I would post this story as a oneshot and then write a sequel less than twelve hours later :) I couldn't leave the story where it was, I'm a sucker for happy endings. Enjoy x
John fumbled with his keys, hands numb from the freezing air. He unlocked the door to 221B and stepped inside, shutting the door and leaning on it for a moment.
It had been four months since Sherlock had told him he was really Moriarty. John still couldn't quite grasp the knowledge that his brilliant flatmate wasn't coming home because he was out there in London doing God knows what.
He sighed, straightened up and started walking up the stairs. Mrs Hudson hadn't come out of her flat to greet him, so she must be out. She had taken the news of what happened with Sherlock almost as badly as John had. John opened the door to the sitting room to a sight that made him freeze on the spot.
For his former flatmate was standing in the middle of the room, waiting for him.
John felt his eyes widen. He didn't know how to react. Ringing the police would be a good move, but he was afraid they'd chuck his old "friend" in prison and he'd never see him again. He mustn't let that happen. It crossed his mind to punch the man but the look on his face was so worn out and tired looking that he knew he couldn't. The man looked a wreck, like he'd been beaten. John tried not to care.
"John," he said softly, stopping John's trail of thought. The detective was looking at him as if he knew John was thinking of attacking him. He twisted his hands together nervously.
John looked him in the eye, "Moriarty," he said with as much coldness as he could manage. The taller man winced and avoided John's eyes, looking as if he'd been slapped, but he shook his head. "No," he said quietly, "it's Sherlock."
John frowned, confused. The last time they spoke, Sherlock had told John he was Moriarty and everything else was just an act. He'd mocked John and walked out like he'd just won an award. John had been devastated and it had taken him days to leave the flat again.
"What do you mean?" he asked, not as coldly as before. Sherlock swept over to his old chair and sat down lightly, gesturing at John to do the same. John stubbornly remained standing and stared at him, silently demanding an answer. Sherlock sighed but didn't push it, even he knew better than that.
"I expect you're confused as to why I said all those things to you at the pool-" John cut him off crossly, "Confused? I was bloody gutted and you know it. You told me it was all a lie and that you were Moriarty. You looked at me as if you couldn't stand me. You walked out of there like you were proud that I was completely losing myself because of you." John's voice cracked a bit on the last few words but swallowed and looked at the man, "how do I even know you're not just back to do it again? To pretend you're him and catch me off guard?"
When Sherlock looked him in the eye again John saw guilt and shame all over his face. John knew he was being sincere as Sherlock shook his head, "I'm not trying to trick you John," He said flatly, "Just hear my out, please?" He added with a hint of desperation. John relented and sank slowly into his chair with a small sigh. Sherlock relaxed and began to explain.
John listened patiently as Sherlock told him how Moriarty had threatened to kill him if Sherlock didn't join him, told him he had to lie to John before he would believe he was truly changing sides. Sherlock suspected he actually did it to show how at his mercy the detective was. He told him how he had to aid the consulting criminal in more than a few crimes to gain his trust, and how he planned to bring him down. How he succeeded in killing Moriarty by shooting him in the heart.
However, he did not tell John about how Moriarty had realised his plan before he could put it to action. How he'd had him beaten up by two men while he watched and he'd told Sherlock that once he was dead he was going to kill John.
That was all Sherlock needed before he snapped. Moriarty was dead before he even realised Sherlock had a gun.
As Sherlock finished talking, he noticed John was staring at him as though he was a patient. He realised John knew he was hurt and there was no point in denying it. John narrowed his eyes, "I'm still mad at you," he said firmly, "but its obvious you've been hurt and need my help, so I won't say anything. For the moment," he added briskly. Sherlock' mouth twitched in a small smile as his flatmate rose to make tea and get a first aid kit. He knew his non-spoken apology had been accepted.
He knew John would always forgive him.