Knit Me A Pony: Status Message Here

Coming awake was like coming out of a thick fog.

“I’d apologize,” John pulled a chair over to the side of the sofa and took Sherlock’s wrist, checking his pulse as he talked, “but I’m really not sorry.”

It took a moment for Sherlock’s brain to spin back up to speed and take stock of the situation.  Three years he’d been gone, and he thought the best way to say hello would be to just turn up at the flat while John was out. Breaking in had been easy, and he’d spent the best part of an hour rummaging through John’s things.  He’d just put up his feet when he heard noise on the stairs.

John’d come through the door and dropped the shopping, swaying on his feet dangerously. It’d taken two steps to cross the flat and catch John by the shoulders to make sure he didn’t fall.  There was a pause, a just long enough for Sherlock to get distracted by the details of John’s life (poor shaving, worn shirt, circles under his eyes, injury on his finger, wrong shoes for the weather); he failed to notice when John’s hands’d clenched tight.  

And then — this is where the memories went a bit fuzzy — John had slugged Sherlock hard across the jaw, hard enough that Sherlock was the one who’d ended up tumbling to the floor, head rapping the wood hard enough that he didn’t remember anything about being moved to the couch.

“I was trying to catch you, you know.” Sherlock prodded at his jaw gently, wincing at every press of his fingers. “You looked like you were about to faint.”

“I don’t faint,” John said.  He found Sherlock’s pulse acceptable and leaned in to check his eyes, before putting Sherlock’s hand down to rest on his chest. He watched Sherlock for a moment and sighed. “There’s tea. Let me get you some. And an ice pack.”

He’d hardly moved when Sherlock’s hand shot out to grab his elbow. “I am,” Sherlock said.

“What?”

“Sorry.”

After a beat of staring, John’s shoulders lost some of their stiffness. “I know. I didn’t expect you to say it, though.”

He stood up and caught Sherlock’s hand as it fell away, squeezing his fingers with a half smile. “I suppose even you can change.” His lips twitched. “A bit, at least. You couldn’t have rung?”

“I thought it’d be better to get it all over with at once.” His eyes narrowed just a little, and John could see a hint of a smile showing through. “I didn’t expect you to hit me, though.”

“Well, you deserved it.”

Sherlock snorted, but then flinched; that made John grin and squeeze his hand again.  

“I’m not sure if I’m glad you’re back yet,” he said.  ”But I am glad you’re not dead.”

“And in pain.”

“To be honest, I’m a little bit glad of that, too.”  John seemed to only just realize he was still holding Sherlock’s hand; he patted the back of it and finally let go.  ”Tea.  And then you tell me everything.”