A little one-shot I wrote some while ago and recently decided to share. This could follow my 'reunion' series, but can also stand alone. Hope y'all enjoy! ;) Please tell me what you think.
"Did I miss anything that you'd like to fill me in on?"
I couldn't reply at first, simply because he had missed everything- and I really wasn't sure how to tell him any of it.
Palms together as he paced in front of the couch where I sat, Sherlock gave me a look that promised he'd pursue an answer no matter how long it took him to acquire it. Such interest probably only existed because he had nothing of real importance to occupy his mind. Second day back, and already he was displaying signs of boredom. By tomorrow morning, he'd be shooting the wall.
Half a year after he'd faked his death and I still remembered his habits perfectly. Of course, I'd gone to pains not to forget little things like that, the reason for which is one fact of many that I was sure he neither did nor would understand.
Sherlock came to a stop in front of me. "Well?"
Looking back at his actually confused face, I found myself sighing. I could beat around the bush with this (and risk getting nowhere with him), or I could lay everything on the table and surely embarrass myself.
Here goes it. "What do you want to know?" I began, and giving him no chance to answer, continued, "The part about me not sleeping for three months or the part about my trying in vain to defend your name for more than five?"
Sherlock was frowning now. In his expression was either honest concern or an impression of it that he'd never before managed. "That will do," he answered. At the time, I didn't take note of the actual surprise in his voice, absorbing instead his words alone, and feeling abruptly guilty for what I'd said.
I held my face in my hand, swearing under my breath. "That was unfair, Sherlock. I'm sorry, I'm-" I shook my head at him. "I'm doing it again! I'm blaming you, and I have no reason to, I don't even want to-"
"John, calm down," Sherlock demanded, himself calm. He came around the coffee table to sit beside me, where I was then studied closely. "I had… I had no idea this had affected you so greatly."
I was resolving not to shout anymore at him- but after he'd completed that absurd statement my incredulity had no name. I heard myself laugh in a strange way and wasn't sure whether the tears in my eyes were caused by pain, exasperation, or this new humor that I'd discovered. "Sherlock, how did you think I would react?" My voice wasn't quite a yell. It was somewhere above a conversational tone, however. "You go and jump off a bloody rooftop for all to see, leaving me to pick up the pieces; every, bloody, fact that those vulture journalists wanted to pick apart, and the flat with all these loud and clear reminders that you were dead, and then here you are as if nothing ever happened, and that's supposed to be normal?!"
I wasn't even sure that I expected an explanation or any other kind of reply- but I was relieved to get that off my chest.
But instead of wearing the blank, shocked expression that I'd really hoped to see on his face, Sherlock smiled. "When have you ever favored normality?" he challenged, leaving me speechless for several seconds.
And then I laughed. Maybe a bit hysterically at first, but there was no actual reason for me to be angry- though Sherlock really did deserve my anger. He was startled when my laughing disintegrated into one heavy sob.
At that point I realized that the tears had escaped my eyes and I lowered my face, shielding it from view. Sherlock laid an arm over my shoulders, pulling me closer to him. I in turn shifted to all but bury my face against his shoulder, despite myself, and continued to shed what could only be described as happy tears.
While I often discredit my flatmate on the 'knowing when to say or do what' topic (and rightly so), that one time, he reacted just as I'd needed him to.