sherlock reunion

In which Sherlock comes back after pretending to be dead for two years, finds John moved out of Baker Street and nearly engaged. He’d deduced two possible reactions… but not this.

Of all the outcomes Sherlock had prepared himself for, this was not one of them. There had been two scenarios in his head, two ways John’s emotions could play out. Shock was, in both scenarios, naturally the primary stage. That is logically what happens when a previously thought dead person presents themselves. It was the stages that came after the shock is where it got tricky, given that Sherlock had to take into factor that they were surrounded by the public eye, in a very crowded, very upscale restaurant. It was where the road split. Road one: Shock would be followed by disbelieve, perhaps tears, but most likely not with John. No, it was more likely disbelief would lead to laughter, the slightly bitter kind that Sherlock could picture on John’s face, the kind that would melt into relief, maybe even a slightly uncharacteristic hug. It might be a briefer display of emotion due to the public eye but at least Sherlock would know it was alright now.

The second road was not preferred but it ended the same. On this path anger followed the shock, maybe John stormed out of the restaurant, maybe delivered Sherlock a rightly deserved punch… But they were together in the end. Sherlock was forgiven in the end.

He never thought, however, that the stage of anger would be so prolonged. He never imagined that John wouldn’t eventually get along to embracing his lost best friend. Sherlock never pictured John leaving him standing alone on the curb of a dumpy fish and chip place with a bloody nose.

Ms. Hudson, on the other hand, had had exactly the reaction Sherlock had predicted when he walked into 221B. She’d screamed, cried, screamed again when he placed a gentle hand on her arm, and proceeded to alternate between the two for the next hour. Sherlock could barely focus on her however, only being able to think about how, as she wrapped him in a very tight hug, he would do anything to have experienced this reaction twice that night.

“Oh Sherlock,” Ms. Hudson patted his cheek fondly, a smile brightening her face, “I take it you’ve seen John?”

Sherlock tense, “Yes. Yes, of course.”

She laughed delightedly, squeezing his hand before bustling into the kitchen, “I’ll get the kettle on for you two, then.”

Sherlock unknotted his scarf, hanging it on the familiar coat hanger, taking note in the back of his mind the relief that filled his chest at being, well, home, “Sorry?”

Ms. Hudson looked over her shoulder, “Well, I gather he’ll be around shortly, yes?”

Sherlock froze half way through shrugging out of his coat, the thought hitting him harder than he expected. Would he?

“Yes.” Sherlock said stiffly, dropping his coat over a chair—John’s chair—with a flourish, “Yes, of course. Tea would be lovely, thank you.”

Ms. Hudson gave him another firm kiss on the cheek and a Oh Sherlock, do play some violin for me tomorrow. I can’t tell you how I’ve missed it, and left him to “get settled.”

Sherlock had prepared the tea with shaking fingers. Of course John would be around. He wouldn’t let the night end like it had would he? He’d want to see Sherlock. Definitely. John was a man of answers, and he had two years worth of questions to ask. Sherlock had poured the water into the tea pot, set out two cups (he’d looked for John’s favorite mug only to find it no longer in the cupboard), milk, and sugar. He’d put it all on a tray, set it rather too harshly onto the coffee table, fell into his chair…

And the waiting had begun.

Sherlock was very good at sitting still usually. He could go days on end without speaking, without moving. But he couldn’t seem to manage it tonight.

He paced, drummed his fingers, watched the clock. By the time he decided to change into his pajamas, it was nearly two in the morning and he had already retuned his violin and stabbed the fireplace mantle approximately 57 times. The tea was cold and he hadn’t had a drop. He hung his coat up from its place on John’s chair, fluffing the flag pillow and smoothing the velvet out.

It was two thirty and Sherlock listened to Ms. Hudson’s bedroom door close downstairs. No doubt she had been waiting up for John. She’d given up. He wouldn’t.

Sherlock kept his phone in hand. John may call rather than come over now that it was so late. He had a…fiancé now, after all. Sherlock swallowed hard at the thought, checking his phone again. Another outcome Sherlock had not expected. Of course, he felt foolish now, thinking John had—thinking John could ever feel… whatever Sherlock had felt. Whatever Sherlock feels. That it was John and him, him and John. He never dreamt that there could be any other version of either of their lives, he never thought…

Sherlock pressed his hands over his eyes.

But perhaps he should not have left for two years. For a so-called genius, he seemed to have a habit of realizing things too late when it came to John Watson. Maybe one could only be a genius in one aspect of life, one field. Sherlock considered this. If that was the case, he’d gladly trade his knowledge of chemistry, of crime, of anything, for an upstanding understanding of John. Just John. It may not be more useful in his line of work. But he would be happier. Emotionally. Sherlock blinked at the realization. He was surprised, but it felt… true.

It was approaching four in the morning when Sherlock resigned to his bed. He couldn’t stare at the empty chair across from him any longer. If he did he was worried he may throw something, or miss the mantlepiece and stab himself instead with the amount he’d been at it. He let his phone rest on his chest, fingertips to his chin.

He didn’t want to admit it, but his hopes were crumbling around him. John was not calling. John was not coming up the stairs. John had left him on the curb after hitting him once, twice, three times. He found that his chest hurt more than his cheek or nose.

Sherlock was just beginning to resign himself to a few more hours of sitting completely still until it was considered a socially acceptable hour to rise and start a day in the life of the living, when his phone buzzed against his ribs, shocking Sherlock’s eyes open.


The screen said John.

Sherlock had barely picked up before he was saying his name.

He was met with a few beats of silence and then, slowly, “You’re awake.”

Sherlock felt pinned against the mattress, “You don’t sound surprised.”

The response was more immediate this time, “I’m not.”

You’re awake.”

Sherlock nearly closed his eyes at the familiar scoff, “Yes, of course I’m awake.”

“I… I’m not surprised… either.” Sherlock had never struggled for words so much in his life.

Silence followed and Sherlock thought he heard John pouring himself tea, or maybe a drink.

“Jesus,” A chair scooted back over the line and John sighed as he sat now, “I’ve not a clue what to say. How’s the nose?”

Sherlock felt himself smile a little at the comment. This was the most normal he had felt in two entire years, “Not as bad as the ribs.”

John chuckled softly, the way he did when he was confused, “What? I didn’t hit you in the ribs.”

“No. You didn’t.”

Silence followed again. Sherlock heard John’s breathing stop and restart, “Sherlock-“

“Don’t worry, I’m okay-“

“No, that’s not the point, Sherlock, the point is that you let me- You let me knock you around when someone else had been doing god knows what god knows where.”

“Don’t worry, you’re much gentler than Serbian interrogators.”

He heard John set his tea down too hard, “What? I- Oh my god, I swear, if you’re joking-“

“I don’t joke.”

Another laugh, this time disbelieving. It sent another shock of relief through Sherlock, “Yes you do, Jesus, Jesus-“

“John. I’m okay-“

“Well, you were dead this morning!”

John’s breathing was harsh over the phone. Sherlock could picture him rubbing his eyes. Sherlock just listened for a moment to the familiar sound. He didn’t know how to start. Sorry was nothing, not what was needed, it wasn’t enough.

“John…” Sherlock let out a breath, “I-“

“Don’t you dare say you’re-“

“I wanted to tell you so many times-“

“God, did you now?” John was nearly fuming again, “That’s the first time you haven’t given into one of your impulses.”

Sherlock closed his eyes. Hardly, John. Hardly.

Sherlock breathed deeply through his nose, “You’re right. I should know better.”

Sherlock heard a clatter that sounded like John throwing his cup in the sink, “Yes. Yes, you should.”

“Maybe I’ll give into one right now.”

A beat of silence, “What?”

Sherlock was already halfway to the door, “I’m coming over.”

The laugh was back, nervous and relieved this time, “Sherlock it’s nearly five-“

“I’m giving into an impulse, John.”

“Right…” A chair scraped back, “Yes, okay. Alright.”

“I’ll catch a cab. Text me the address, would you?”

Sherlock thought he heard a hitch in breath, a small sniff maybe. It made his chest ache, “Yeah.”

Sherlock shrugged half way into his coat, “Okay-“

“Right, can we not say goodbye?”

Sherlock’s brows furrowed, “John?”

“’s just the last time you said…” John couldn’t seem to finish but he didn’t have to.

Sherlock understood. He understood and he knew he’d never utter the word ‘goodbye’ to John Watson again.

“See you soon, John.”

It’s 2030. Fall out boy have now renamed themselves fall out man and actually turned into one giant meme. Just Brendon’s head is left and when Ryan was asked to be interviewed, he zoomed off into space. My chemical romance have broken up after thirteen years of a reunion era. Tyler has permanently kicked Josh out of the band and in retaliation Josh added Oakley to his Tyler tattoo. Pop punk is retro and the new trend is 2005 Pete wentz eyeliner. Sherlock is on its sixth season and in celebration of doctor who’s 100th season, Moffat told fans that there would be a wholock crossover, releasing posters and trailers but really was just trolling everyone. SPN mysteriously disappeared from existence and all we can say is that it is of supernatural causes. Tumblr has been taken over by Pepe and every blogger must wear frog masks and chant hail Pepe when they go outside. Everyone talks in emoji.

If Mary was not there, after Sherlock came back, the reunion with John would have ended with a desperate kiss. They did miss other too much. You know very clear from how Sherlock first asked about John. Not anyone else. How he touched his lip while talking about John’s moustache.Or how while using Molly as a proxy Sherlock continuously mistook her as John. Or how John actually shaved for sherlock and dressed his best to meet with him. Never forget Donde esta yolanda. Not even subtext. I am giving you text.

In which Sherlock comes back after pretending to be dead for two years, finds John moved out of Baker Street and nearly engaged. He’d deduced two possible reactions…but not this.

Part two to this post

John answered the door before Sherlock could even text him to let him know of his arrival, and immediately stepped out onto the front steps, already dressed for the cool London air. Sherlock’s eyes fell onto his scarf. His dark blue cashmere scarf. His gaze made John look down too.

“Oh.” He shuffled, “I’d forgotten I ever…” He glanced back up at Sherlock to see him smiling slightly. His neck warmed but he couldn’t help but slowly offer once of his own, “took that..”

Sherlock studied it a moment more then looked out to the street, the streetlamp casting his high cheekbones in stark contrast. John felt the tug. The oh-so familiar tug snug deep inside his chest that he hadn’t felt in so long. That he’d felt for the first time in two years earlier that night. Sherlock’s voice broke his gaze.

“Are we walking then?”

John cleared his throat, “Yes, I thought It’d be more…” he shook his head as they trotted down the steps side by side, “I don’t know what, I thought It’d be nice.”

“Walking is scientifically proven to let blood flow easier, therefore clearing and stimulating the brain at the same time and making it easier for thoughts to form and function…”

Sherlock broke off and fell back next to John, realizing he’d walked a step ahead of him.


Sherlock tried to study John’s profile, “You usually stop me by now.”

“Oh.” John kept his eyes ahead, “Well, I haven’t heard it in a while.” He glanced at Sherlock, “Might’ve missed it.”

Sherlock nearly fell behind this time. He fought to keep his voice neutral, “Really?”

John let out a little laugh, “I’m going to regret those words.”

“Probably, yes.”

Sherlock watched the neon sign of the 24 hour cafe catch John’s eye, and nodded quietly when he asked if he wanted a tea for the road. He waited, hands clasped behind his back and facing the street while John went in. He felt good about how things were going so far. John seemed… Sherlock closed his eyes. John seemed like he wanted Sherlock to think he was okay. Sherlock almost felt disappointed that John thought he couldn’t see through that.

“Right, two sugars, this one’s yours.”

Sherlock turned, starting slightly. He looked down at John whose cheeks were pink from going from the warm shop to the cold early morning.

John rolled his eyes, eyes crinkling in a smile, “Stop looking at me like that, of course I remembered.”

But Sherlock couldn’t. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to stop looking at John like that. John who was the only person who bothered to remember how he likes his tea—save Ms. Hudson. John who was the only person in the world who could read, not his thoughts, but his emotions. The only person in the world who acknowledged he even had normal emotions.

John had turned his eyes to the city line, nodding towards it as he blew on his paper cup, “We’re gonna see a nice sunrise.”

Sherlock blinked, attempting to regain his composer, “Ah, yes. Day one back in the land of the living.”

He didn’t miss John’s flinch and instantly regretted his attempt at a joke.

“Do me a favor,” John sighed, “Don’t-“

“I won’t say things like that.”

John studied him for a moment then snorted, mumbling something like “bloody mind reader” as he led the way across the street to a small park with empty benches.

Hardly, John. Hardly.

John chose the bench with the best view of the only barely pinking sky, sitting down with a sigh and crossing his ankles. Sherlock took the seat beside him wordlessly, burning his tongue on his still too hot tea.

“This is… odd, Sherlock.”

“Two people waiting for the a sunrise? I hardly think that’s the definition-“

“Sherlock..” John’s voice was soft, much more serious than before. Sherlock took the hint. They needed this. They needed words—good, solid words—not to dance around each other.

Sherlock nodded once, looking down into his tea, “Yes. Yes, I suppose this is.”

John leaned back against the bench, eyes on the man beside him. Really, odd was not the word to describe this situation but, then again, he’s never been particularly good with words. He was in disbelief. Here he was, watching his best friend—his very dead best friend—sip a cup of tea and joke about watching the sunrise.

“You’ve got terrible timing.” He settled on.

Sherlock straightened, “I gathered that. You know, with the ring and the wine… the restaurant reservations-“

“No,” John laughed, he couldn’t help it, “Well, yes, that is also terrible timing, but I mean longterm.”

Sherlock finally looked back at him, “Longterm?”

John set his cup beside him to cool, “You jump of a bloody building, I-“ John’s chest suddenly feels tight at that hard fact, “I saw you- okay, you’re going to have to tell me-“ He pinched the bridge of his nose, “No, sorry, not the point right now. The point-“ he closed his eyes briefly before turning back to his friend, “is, is that you died but you didn’t. You died… and you let me watch you die, and then you let me grieve and- God, Sherlock… I grieved. I grieved…”

The air is filled with just their breathing for a moment, both labored, both filled with the sting of unshed tears. This is not what friends are suppose to do to one another.

“I wasn’t okay, Sherlock, I was not okay. For so long.” John said between breaths, “I met Mary, honestly pretty recently and she… God, she helped. She helped and I got a little better every day.”


“No.” John let out a long breath, “I got better and then you come back and you see me better and that isn’t fair. Because now you have no idea what you did to me. What your death did to me. What losing you…”

John couldn’t finish and turned away, picking up his tea and quickly taking a sip. Sherlock was left breathless and frozen.

“John..” He tried again and this time wasn’t cut off. John’s hand was shaking. He didn’t seem to have any words left for now, “What I- What I said before at the chips place…” Sherlock closed his eyes. His brain felt foggy. Without the usual sharpness he felt bare, unarmed. He forced his eyes open again, pushing against the fog of emotions, “John, I try not to say things I don’t mean. I meant what I said. It was for your protection. I’m not-“ he cut John off when he opened his mouth to speak, “making excuses. I made this mistake. I made this mistake and I’m so, so sorry.”

John’s cup was nearly squashed in his hands from his grip and was in great danger of spilling over. His breathing was labored, his head bowed, “Yes.” He let out a shaky breath, “Yes, well I’m the one who made the mistake of getting use to it.”

Sherlock’s mind immediately reeled, searching for context for the statement, but coming up blank, “Getting use to what?”

John bit at the inside of his cheek for a moment, worrying the skin, before looking back at Sherlock, blue eyes swimming, “You always being there.”

And Sherlock felt it all over again. The cold pavement on his back, John’s fingers on his temporarily stopped pulse, his cries and broken words. Sherlock Holmes, high-functioning sociopath, felt heartbreak for the second time in his life.

“Please…” Sherlock swallowed, both halves of his heart hammering, “Please get used to it again.”

For a split second Sherlock saw John’s jaw clench before it was hidden from view, John’s tea falling to the ground as he dropped his head into his hands, shoulders shaking.

“John..” Sherlock felt his own voice break. He couldn’t think straight, he was at a loss for words. All he could seem to see in his mind was John. All he could think was that John was hurting and it was his fault. It had been his fault for two years. The ache that settled in after that thought burned like acid.

John’s voice came out muffled and thick, “You have to understand-“

“I do. I do understand, John-“

“No, you don’t.” John was looking up now, eyes rimmed red and burning into Sherlock’s, “You were suddenly gone, and I was suddenly right back where I was before I met you. I couldn’t sleep, I was alone, and every night staring down the fucking barrel of a-“ John closed his eyes turning his head away.

But Sherlock didn’t need him too. His mind had finished the sentence for him and for once he wished he wasn’t so fucking quick. He couldn’t breathe.

He didn’t have words but, he decided, right now he didn’t need them.

He reached out, tilting John’s face towards him and, for once, acted without logic, without thinking. He kissed him. He kissed John because he loved him, because he always had, and because it said everything he couldn’t. He kissed him because sorry wasn’t enough—he was sorry, he was in love.

John didn’t freeze like he expected him to. Instead, he reacted like he’d been shocked, touched by fire, and didn’t miss a beat in fisting the collar of Sherlock’s coat, other hand in his hair. He was crying, Sherlock thought maybe he was crying as well, but it didn’t matter. Tears mixed and Sherlock pulled John closer by the waist, his tea joining John’s, forgotten at their feet.

When they parted they were breathing hard and the sky was a brilliant orange and red. John didn’t say anything, just leaned his face into Sherlock’s neck where Sherlock could feel him breathing. It was the most comforting thing in the world and Sherlock let his eyes slipped closed, feeling like he’d been waiting for this for an eternity. And, for that moment, everything felt okay. Or like it would be.

For that moment, it was just the two of them against the world. Once again.

Tagging some people who wanted to be tagged! Thanks for reading :) @deathfrisbee-221b @unrelentinghost @theodduckling and some other people who commented and might want to be tagged? ily! @yoonrey @swimmingfeelsinajohnlockianpool @sherlockfandomtandem

A Study in Pink sets the stage for all of our future expectations. Nothing in this show is done by accident, and the way it is all handled is masterful. Seeds are sewn in this first episode that will never cease to matter throughout the duration of the show.

Take the first meal Sherlock and John share together at Angelo’s, where Angelo insists that the pair must have a candle for their table:

It seems like sort of a “joke” in a way–something that could easily be brushed off if we didn’t all know that TJLC is real. And the candle thing continues to be a theme. Illumination itself is a subtle theme throughout the show, with all the color-coded lights and the fact that Sherlock dubs John his “conductor of light” in “The Hounds of Baskerville.”

I noticed something recently when watching what is surely one of the favorite scenes of all Johnlockers: the reunion of Sherlock and John at The Landmark in the episode “The Empty Hearse.” This is the night Sherlock returns, supposedly from the dead, and interrupts John’s (rather lackluster) attempt to propose to his girlfriend Mary in a rather half-hearted effort to, in his own words, “move on” from Sherlock.

Notice anything missing from John and Mary’s table?

There’s a lamp, sure, but no candle. Maybe that isn’t terribly unusual. But look at the other tables in the restaurant:

Most have candles.

It doesn’t stop there. When Sherlock catches his first (heart-stopping; you can clearly see that in his face, just as it has been pointed out that if you isolate certain audio tracks in this part here you can hear Sherlock’s thudding pulse) glimpse of John after two years away…

how does he see him?

There is a candle placed strategically between them, clearly visible from Sherlock’s vantage point.

This isn’t the only throwback to Angelo’s on this night. If more is needed, I’m including this little bonus below. The writers have done this *so many times,* where certain words and phrases come back again. It isn’t an accident and it isn’t lazy writing. We’re talking about the combined efforts of two very good writers here, and though John’s nerves on this night aren’t exactly hard to pick up on, we get this cherry strategically placed on top:


How could you do that? Hmm? ;)

Last Call (part 1) - Sherlock x reader

A/N: Hello, everyone! So, this is my first time ever writing anything Sherlock related, and I’ve also never in my life written anything with a reader, so excuse my ordinary attempt at it…
This supposedly takes place during 2x03, but I’ve changed some things to fit the plot, so the timing is a little bit different.
Also, this is a new writing blog, so if you want to read more like this, don’t hesitate to follow me!

Word count: 4252
Warnings: angst, mentions of suicide

Originally posted by schedulingemotions

[Part 2]

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athina-blaine  asked:

I was rewatching TEH and the part where Sherlock walks into the restaurant and he sees John. I never noticed but you hear his heart catch and then he's so overwhelmed and. Just. He wanted so bad to surprise John and make him smile, just end me please

ATHINA I ACTUALLY WROTE A META ABOUT THIS. And other people have written about the heartbeat, absolutely. There’s even a “scenes without music” version of this and AND everytime I hear it it kills me.

Sherlock so badly loves John, and he so badly just wanted to restart everything, as a way to make everything right with John and be with him. And he DID try, but pulled back when John WASN’T happy to see him. He was terrified. His plan was going horribly wrong. 

Dear fucking god I love how much he loves John. He’s so sad. Just looking at John overwhelms him. My heart set it free please.

I have still issues with how John and Sherlock’s reunion in teh was handled..I really wanted John to faint like in the canon dammit..Why the fuck was Mary there. She was introduced in the canon differently and if she was not there when Sherlock came back.The reunion would be actually angsty and romantic……

Yeah I guess I know why Mary was there…

Mary's death scene in tst

Ok I’ve always wondered this but is the reason why Martin i-won-a-bafta Freeman did such an awkward performance in Mary’s death scene because he and Amanda broke up and that completely messed up their chemistry on set too?

I mean Martin is hands down talented. Exhibit A: the Sherlock reunion scene in teh. No words. All face journey. And it’s so powerful and a believable performance. So….what happened in the tst death scene? He performed the anger towards Sherlock so perfectly. The complexity of regret and anger and sadness and despair when he looked at Sherlock and said “you swore it”, god the chemistry between Martin’s acting and Ben’s acting was so brilliant. And YET in that same scene his chemistry with Amanda’s acting fell flat to me.

I’m not talking about the “mooing”. I’m talking about how the entire time Mary was trying to say her final words to John and Sherlock, all John did was look at her but he seemed to be not really paying attention to her? And he’s just constantly shushing her when she’s trying to talk, no matter how many times I watch it, the shushing thing just felt off and weird. Amanda and Benedict’s acting dynamic in that scene was perfectly in line, Mary is trying to apologise in her own way and Sherlock forgiving her and clearly distraught by her dying before his eyes. But when it came to Martin and Amanda’s chemistry in this scene, Mary was saying “John you were my whole world” and in return the timing of John’s shushing felt so out of place. And I just wonder: why is this so awkward to watch? It’s usually so immersive thanks to their amazing acting, but this time, something about Martin and Amanda’s dynamic specifically was so unhinged that it pulled me out of the immersive story and instead of seeing John and Mary, I see Martin and Amanda - two actors acting. And that, when an audience ends up seeing “actors acting” instead of seeing the character, that’s not usually a good sign isn’t it

Reichenbach - A Study in Johnlock. Part 3 - The Reunion

This is the third and last part of my Reichenbach study (read part 1 and 2 here X and here X) . Maybe I will add another post with some conclusions but first we shall look at the return of Sherlock Holmes and his reunion with John Watson. 

We all know how the reunion happens in Canon - Holmes taking off his disguise, Watson fainting, Holmes opening his collar and reviving his friend with brandy, everyone happy. But as Moftiss have pointed out, this is not a very realistic scenario. 

So let’s have a look at the adaptations I already examined in part 1 and 2 - with the exception of Ritchie Holmes since we are still waiting for the third film showing us the reunion. 

I will start again with Rathbone Holmes which - not very surprising - is the least dramatic of them all. A postman brings a parcel to Watson. He says something a bit not good about Holmes, gets whacked by Watson, and only now reveals himself. Watson is comforted with a sip from a hip flask and a friendly shoulder pat.

Then we have the new Russian Holmes. Here we get a different story altogether. Because - spoiler! - it’s sometimes twins. Mycroft and Sherlock, that is. Or at least they could be twins. 

When Sherlock returns, he pretends to be Mycroft. After an investigation Watson takes him home to serve him coffee as Mycroft is totally drunk. When he starts swearing, Watson definitely knows that this is the other Holmes and punches him. Then we get a faint but not from Holmes but from Mrs Hudson who has become Mrs Watson by now. After she has been revived and Holmes answers with a sassy “Sorry for being alive!” she whacks him as well. So there is a clear parallel with TEH except here it is played mainly for comedy. Afterwards Holmes gets the opportunity to explain what he happened. Here we get a prolonged reunion scene but free from any romantic undertones and with a strong comic element. 

This is the reunion scene from Granada Holmes, “The Empty House”. It is very close to Canon with Holmes attending the surgery dressed as the old bookseller. He reveals himself prompting Watson’s faint. Holmes revives his friend with a sip of brandy and loving stroke to his face. Watson is happy as a clam and shows Holmes the Reichenbach letter which he had framed and keeps in his study. Watson is happy to hear Holmes’s story and more than eager to start their next adventure together. There is no anger, no bitterness. (We should keep in mind what Moftiss said about this version being implausible. On the other hand we should remember that Canon Holmes did not pretend to commit suicide in front of Watson).

Now for the older Russian Holmes version. As shown before, we have a highly emotional Watson. He faints dramatically. We get a heartfelt hug which Holmes returns. And then something I have not seen in any other adaptation: Holmes overcome by his feelings and starting to cry. This is maybe the most emotional reunion, dominated by happiness, without any violent reaction. This is why I would rank it second after BBC Sherlock because it gives us an important part of the emotions one would expect: relief, sheer happiness, both men being moved to tears. But of course this is only one half of the emotions one might expect. What is missing here is rightful anger, the feeling of betrayal, of having been excluded. 

Now for BBC Sherlock. We get the same pattern as with the fall and the aftermath - everything on a grander scale, more dramatic, more emotional, more realistic, more personal. 

Sherlock appearing in a thin disguise - hiding in plain sight - before revealing himself to John. But there is no faint here, no tears, no overwhelming joy, but violence, bitterness, grief, anger. As Moftiss said, this is how a man would realistically react to what he must feel is the ultimate betrayal. John Watson is a heartbroken man, even when he proposes to his girlfriend and even after Sherlock is back. And what do we see after Sherlock’s bravado has evaporated? Helplessness and shame. 

Followed by the violent reactions of John to respectively Sherlock’s inappropriate joke, his admission that lots of people knew about the fake suicide while John did not, and, finally, to Sherlock’s attempt of luring John into his world again, of appealing to his love for danger and adventure (and maybe his love for Sherlock, too.)

But of course this is still not enough because Sherlock craves forgiveness which John is not willing to grant. We get a first heartfelt “I am sorry” after the bonfire night, a second desperate attempt in the tube carriage, and another apology months later during the best man speech in TSoT. 

And TAB shows us that at least in his mind Sherlock is still not over his faked death and what it did to John. The whole disaster of series 3 - the engagement, the marriage, being shot by John’s wife, the less than credible reconciliation, Magnussen’s death, Sherlock’s exile - has been caused by Reichenbach. Its reverberations are not over. 

In BBC Sherlock Reichenbach turns into a trauma - because it separates the two people who belong together, because it disturbs the whole dynamic of their relationship, the balance of the show. And this imbalance extends into series 4. It still has to be solved. Reichenbach is not over. 

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Me: Mystrade where Greg and Mycroft dated as teenagers and met again as adults.

(By the way guys, don’t be afraid to send me prompts haha.)

Greg stared unblinkingly at Mycroft in front of him who had just said the most incomprehensible words to ever come out of his mouth. ‘Break up’. Mycroft was looking at him expectantly and Greg was only just able to force himself to see pain in the other boy’s expression, just barely hidden under his calm façade.

“But…why?” he asked stupidly, and it spoke volumes about their relationship that Mycroft didn’t look in the least annoyed. “If it’s because we’re keeping it from our families and everybody at school, I don’t care about that, you know I don’t.”

Mycroft stared at him for a moment before he stepped forward seemingly without thinking about it and wrapped his arms tightly around Greg’s shoulders and Greg hugged him back fiercely, burying his face in Mycroft’s shoulder as the other boy pressed his nose and mouth into his hair.

“What the hell is going on with you, Mycroft?” Greg asked and Mycroft tightened his grip marginally as he replied.

“We need to break up.”

“You’re sending very mixed signals, then.”

Mycroft stiffened and pulled away at that though Greg refused to let go of him, keeping his fingers gripped tightly in the fabric of the sides of his shirt.

“Please don’t do this to me,” Greg pleaded and Mycroft rested his hands over Greg’s to gently pry his fingers loose.

“It’s just not working,” Mycroft replied resolutely and it was such an obvious lie that Greg nearly laughed. But he could tell that this was important to Mycroft, that he believe this lie, and he couldn’t stand to do anything Mycroft didn’t want him to. But he also couldn’t just give up.

He leaned forward unexpectedly and kissed Mycroft hard, his mouth desperate in this last-ditch suicide attempt to convince Mycroft not to leave him.

Mycroft kissed him back just as roughly for at least half a minute, no doubt to satisfy one last craving, and then his mouth went still and he pulled away, turning around to walk away without a word, opening the front door of Greg’s family’s flat and striding away with no hesitation. They’d both felt the finality of the kiss, and Greg crumpled to the sofa when Mycroft was gone, feeling empty after the loss of the one person in his life that had made him truly happy.


A decade later and Mycroft still felt the loss of the only man he’d ever loved keenly. It had ruined his other attempts at a relationship completely and eventually he just stopped trying.

At Uni, he’d forced himself to put Greg from his mind, refused to check up on him in any way, shape, or form. He had his own life to live and he had no doubt moved on from their schoolboy romance. Or at least that’s what Mycroft called it. They’d both known that it was so much more than that, but Mycroft needed to think of it in those terms to avoid going absolutely mad.

None of that was at the forefront of his mind, however, as he’d just gotten a call saying that Sherlock had been hospitalised for substance abuse, and while it wasn’t exactly surprising it was still alarming. He immediately left to drive to the part of the city where Sherlock was attending university and he went to the nearby hospital, pleased when he was directed to Sherlock’s room without question.

Sherlock was asleep but of course Mycroft was going to stay anyway. He pulled up the visitor’s chair that was nearby and settled down to wait,  his mobile already in his hands so he could stay in touch with his staff while waiting for Sherlock to wake up.

He heard the door open but didn’t look up, thinking it was just a nurse, though a moment later he heard the sound of a paper cup hitting the floor followed by the overwhelming scent of cheap coffee.

Mycroft looked up in confusion to find Greg - an older, already-greying Greg, but still him - standing in the doorway looking at him in shock.

“What are you doing here?” they asked simultaneously, though Mycroft was quick to answer his own question while Greg was still staring at him.

You're the one who found him? Of course you are, it would be just like you to be wandering around at night, and in the places he would sneak away to no less. Your love of danger continues unabated.”

“Shut up for a second.”

Mycroft snapped his mouth shut as he realised he was babbling and he stood up to go into the adjoining bathroom to get a towel. Greg was still staring at him as he came out of the bathroom and stooped down to mop up the spilled coffee, being careful not to get any of it on his shoes or trousers. The silence continued as Mycroft took the towel into the hallway to drop it in a laundry bin, and then he finally couldn’t stand it any more.

“Would you say something to me, please?” he asked softly as he stood in front of Greg and the man simply reached up to hesitantly readjust and straighten out Mycroft’s waistcoat with trembling fingers.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Greg asked fervently and Mycroft smirked even as he stared at Greg’s hands resting lightly on his chest. 

“I see your language hasn’t improved with time. I’m here because my brother overdosed, and I would like to visit him in hospital to tell him what a colossal idiot he is,” Mycroft replied and Greg’s head shot up.

“He’s your brother? That's Sherlock? The kid who ran around wanting to be a pirate, the kid who named his dog Redbeard, and buried your father’s pocket watches for treasure and made him follow maps to them? That Sherlock?” Greg asked incredulously and Mycroft was secretly pleased that Greg had remembered so much about him.

“Yes, that’s Sherlock,” Mycroft said softly as he reached up to rest his hands over Greg’s, curling his fingers around his hands and stepping a little closer to him. “And…I know it’s been ages and things are different but - ”

Mycroft stopped talking as Greg suddenly wrapped him up in a tight, rib-crushing hug and buried his face in his shoulder just like he had that last time and Mycroft immediately held him just as tightly, breathing in the scent of his hair and pressing soft kisses to the side of his head.

“You don’t have a partner?”

“After you I couldn’t stand to be with another man, and none of the girls I dated were worth my time,” Greg replied in a rush in between suddenly desperate kisses to Mycroft’s neck.

Mycroft let Greg kiss him for a few moments before he gently stopped him and instead pressed slow, soft kisses to his temple and his forehead.

“You must remember we’re in my brother’s hospital room,” Mycroft murmured warningly and Greg nodded weakly.

“I’m an inspector. I went to university back home instead of moving away like you did. I’ve missed you every second of every day for ten years,” Greg suddenly started murmuring at a furious pace and Mycroft knew he would never be able to bring himself to say anything like that in return but Greg would know. Greg always knew.

“Well that was something I never wanted to see,” came the tired voice from behind Mycroft and he whipped around to find Sherlock looking at him with bloodshot eyes and a vaguely disgusted expression on his ashen face.

“Well I - ”

“Mm. No. I don’t want to hear it,” Sherlock said immediately in clipped tones, stopping Mycroft with an upraised hand that he promptly let fall to the bed again as he was too exhausted to keep it up. “Just take it outside. You don’t need to sit here and nursemaid me when you’ve got…reunion things to take care of,” Sherlock muttered and Mycroft was, for once, pleased to have a brother that was almost as astute and observant as he was.

Mycroft nodded and turned to leave with Greg behind him.

“Oh and get me some coffee while you’re out there. See if the nurses will let you sneak it to me,” Sherlock added as the pair left and Mycroft just rolled his eyes as Greg chuckled.

“I like him,” Greg murmured once they’d started walking down the hallway.

“You won’t when he sobers up,” Mycroft replied smoothly as he slipped his hand into Greg’s, completely unsure if it was allowed or not.

It was.