The Return Of Sherlock Holmes

Sherlock Holmes comes back from death.
What's John's reaction? Is he going to forgive Sherlock for it? And from who is that mysterious letter?

Sherlock Holmes - SHMindPalace
John Watson - NotOurDivision
Greg Lestrade
Sally Donovan
Anderson
Molly Hooper
Mrs. Hudson
Jim Moriarty - HighFunctioningSociopath
Irene Adler

((This rp is based on the show. NO gay things, only things how it's REALLY like in the show.))

John sat on the couch, no emotions. The only thing he could think about, was his best friend, Sherlock Holmes, jumping from a building. He had seen Sherlock, laying on the ground, lifeless. His face, covered in blood.
Since that day, life had no meaning for John. Life wasn't right without Sherlock.
John sighed. "I shouldn't think about it anymore," he thought, as he stood up, to get some tea.
"It will become worse and worse, if I think about it."
He sighed again and sat down, with his cup of tea.
He took a sip, while thinking about Sherlock again.
"Why did you do it?" John thought. "Why did you jump?"

Sherlock stands quietly in front of the door.
'221B Baker Street.'
He reads the engraving over and over and finally raises his hand up to knock, but hesitates and puts his hand down again.
He has been standing there for half an hour now, wondering if he should knock and go find John or not.
Maybe John would punch him or hug him or kick him out, who knows? Even Sherlock didn't. He was betting on a punch and then a hug, though.
He sighs and rests his back on the door, looking up at the skies.
'Should I leave?' he thought, 'Or should I stay?'

He wanted to see John. He missed him, even if it had been only a month since he jumped, he wanted to see John.
He missed seeing John sitting around reading the newspaper, he missed talking to John, he missed everything about John.
He closed his eyes and sighed again, turning around with his hands raised, ready to knock on the door.

John had finished his tea. He placed the empty cup on the table and stood up. "Maybe I'll just visited his grave again," he though.
He grabbed his jacket, looked in the mirror and took a deep breath. "Calm down, John," he told himself. He turned away from the mirror and grabbed the flowers he had bought to place at Sherlock's grave. He hadn't been going to Sherlock's grave for almost a week. He headed for the door, and opened it. His eyes turned big when he saw a familiar face. "No, this can't be," he though.

Sherlock's eyes widen at the sight of John. His body stays still but he blinks rapidly.
It was John. John. John H. Watson. John Hamish Watson. /His/ John Hamish Watson.
He purses his lips and licks it a little before sucking in a deep breathe.
"Hello, John."

He squints his eyes shut, and waits for the punch.

John stood there, frozen. "I'm dreaming," he though. He rubbed his eyes. Is he gone? Nope, he's still standing there.
"....Sherlock....?" John said, full of disbelieve. "But.... y-you're dead." John gulped. "This is a dream, i-isn't it?" He gulped again. His best friend, Sherlock Holmes.... was still alive?

He slowly opens his eyes and finally takes a good look at John.
Still the same John as ever, just very weak and sleep deprived.
He reaches his hands out and traces his fingers down John's cheeks and smiles.
"Does this seem like a dream to you? Should I punch you to prove that this isn't a dream?"

"N-no," John said and gulped again. "B-but this can't be real. I saw you--- jumping--- laying there---" He gulped again. I'm hallucinating, he though. I need a good rest. He closed the door. It's not real. It's not real.

Sherlock frowns. Why would John close the door in his face? That's not what's supposed to happen. He grabs the keys from his coat and unlocks the door, opening it slowly so it won't hit John.
He said with a hint of sadness in his voice, "John?"
Why wouldn't John believe him? He was real. He was /there/. And he's back to find him. He misses John. Why would John do that to him?

John was in the kitchen now, making some tea for himself. I need to calm down, he though. He heard the door opening. Sherlock, he though. No, not Sherlock, it's im-po-ssi-BLE. He started to hesitate, but ignored it. He continued making his tea, pretending Sherlock wasn't here.

Sherlock slowly made his way up the stairs, observing the place. It was all the same. He missed it dearly. 221B Baker Street. His true home.
He missed Mrs. Hudson, but she isn't as important as John for now. Right now, he has to prove to John that he is still alive. He wants to talk to John. He wants to give John a hug. He knows it sounds weird, but he doesn't care. He missed all of them too badly right now. One month of hiding and running away - he didn't enjoy that at all. Now he's finally back to where he belongs, and he will stay here forever till the day he truly dies.

The stairs made a soft creak but Sherlock continued to walk up the stairs. He smells the hint of tea from the kitchen and hope John is also making him a cup.

John looked up when he heard the creak from the stairs, but ignored it. It's just my imagination, he thought. Just my imagination. He filled his glass with tea and took a deep breath. But, what if Sherlock /really/ was alive? John shook his head, but filled another cup with tea and placed it on the sideboard. Just in case.

Sherlock finally reached the top of the stairs and he pushes the door open, revealing the living room. He enters and takes a deep breathe, letting it all sink in. This is where he belongs. He paces around the room, grabbing The Skull up to brush it a little and placing him down. He glanced at the smiley face on the wall which has been shot and lets you a little smile. He looks at the couch where a lot of things happened. And he looks into the mirror, and sees his own face. He closed his eyes and shakes his head before finally making his way towards the kitchen.

"John?" he said, hoping that John would answer him.

He waited. No answer. He sighed and stepped into the kitchen.

John immediatly turned his head, and stared at Sherlock, who came in. John gulped again, didn't know what to do. He quikly took a sip of his tea. "I-I made you t-t-tea," he said and looked to the cup he had made for him. So, Sherlock wasn't really dead. Could he ever forgive him for that?

Sherlock smiles and nods his head, walking towards the cup of tea and takes it, taking a sip.

"Thanks, John. I was parched for a cup of tea. How have you been?"

He looks up at John with a little smile on his face, hoping that John would forgive him for what he did. He wasn't going to apologize now. Not yet. Not unless John admits that he's real and forgives him.

"Well, miserable, confused, lonely... should I go on?" He looked to Sherlock. He had to accept he was still alive, but he wasn't going to forgive him yet. It was to early for that. Sherlock really had broke him. And now, John just couldn't forgive him for that.

Jim smirked. Sherlock was alive. He always had known that he was just to weak to really kill himself. That was the reson Jim didn't killed himself either. Because he knew that Sherlock wouldn't do it. Now he could do whatever Jim wanted to do. He already had a idea about what he wanted to do, but it had to wait a little longer. First, John had to forgive Sherlock.

"Sherlock," John said. "Why----why did you do it?" He carefull bit his lip and took a deep breath. "Why?"

((Sorry, short))

He ignores the second question and only replies to the first statement.

"Good to know that. Do I have to apologize?"

He flashes out a small grin and looks at John, quietly deducing him in his head as he grabs some milk to pour into his tea.

"Then don't tell me why," John said. "But then I will never be able to accepted what you did."
John looked on his watch. "It's late," he said. "I'm going to bed. I'll see you tomorrow."

Sherlock purses his lips and looks at John with a hint of sorrow in his eyes, reaching his hand out to grab your arm.

"John," Sherlock said, his voice weak and raspy, full of sadness, "I'm.. sorry. Please. Forgive me. I'll explain everything to you when time comes. For now, please. Forgive me."

John gulped. He saw that Sherlock really meant it. He felt like forgiving him now, and couldn't help giving him a hug. So he did. "I forgive you," John said. "We're best friends, remember?"

Sherlock's eyes widen slightly in surprise, but he finally lets out a small smile full of relief. John has forgiven him. John was his friend. Sherlock's.. happy. Very happy. He wraps his arms around John and lets John sink his head into Sherlock's shoulders. He whispers, "Thank you. Thank you, John." And he hugs John tighter, happy that he's finally home to where he belongs, and that his best friend is with him.

John smiled, happy that he had forgiven Sherlock. There probably was a good reason for it. And he came back. "But, how did you do it?" John said, his head still on Sherlock's shoulder. "It all looked so real."

Jim grinned. It was almost time. Almost time to anounce his survival. He already made te perfect plan to do it. And soon, he was going to make that plan happen.
How? Only he knew. Again, he grinned.