A/N- This is the first in a series of 'Reunion' fics that I began last year. (The actual reunion is a bit after this one.)

I hope this and the rest are well received, but if there is something I've written that you feel is unclear, unforgivably out of character- or if you just don't like it- please tell me so, but also let me know why! I'm always seeking to better my writing skills, so your opinions mean a lot! ;D


(Transcribed 4-14-13)


Frowning, Sherlock watched from a short distance as his former flatmate approached their old home. While John remained without the cane, his limp had returned. Its presence now was a clear signification of some past trauma- and Sherlock was more than aware of what that had been.

It bothered him to know what control he held over John's life; that his "suicide" had brought back the psychosomatic limp the army doctor had overcome nearly two years past. In addition, John was unhealthily thinner when Sherlock had last seen him four months ago, when so much had gone wrong.

It was pointless to dwell upon, Sherlock knew, but he couldn't help wishing that he could go up to John now and simply explain everything to him. An entirely and altogether stupid idea, of course. The whole point of this ruse was to keep his continued existence secret. Informing John of the truth would almost certainly give that away.

It hurt all the same- as John looked aware across the street- to observe the altered, half-blank expression that Sherlock read from even one side of his shadowed face, so well he knew his friend.

This was so much less than he had ever wanted for John. He felt the urge to sigh, and this once, allowed it. His only reason for returning to Baker Street had been to check on the doctor, and to observe firsthand- if from a distance- how life had been treating him as of late. Honestly, though, Sherlock had anticipated little better than what he found.

As if sensing his friend behind him, John turned about, giving Sherlock barely the opportunity to do the same before John could see his face.

When the detective had turned, he walked, and kept walking. As he did so, he noticed an unfamiliar flicker of doubt in his mind- doubt towards his purpose for coming here, and about what he'd hoped to accomplish by this action.

Most unfamiliar, yet no less real for its peculiarity.

John couldn't have said what it was that prompted him to look back, but upon doing so, he caught sight of a man in a long overcoat walking away from him down the street.

The thought was absurd- and pathetic for its degree of nostalgia- but John was reminded strongly of Sherlock, if not by the man's similar hair and choice in clothing, then by his confident stride.

Or perhaps I've simply lost my mind, John considered, and deemed it the most likely conclusion.

Shaking his head, he opened the door leading up to the flat in which he now lived alone, and walked in.

A/N- No, I'm not going all Merlin-hallucinating-Arthur on you! John's not actually going to think he's crazy when he finds out the truth.

Thanks for reading! Again, this is first in a series of what will be seven one-shots, and the others are longer.