One More Miracle

Answers At Last

Author's Note: Once again, guys, I'm sorry this update took so long. This one took a lot of thinking, so here, have some Johnlock anxiety, and also indulge in my theory on how Sherlock survived the fall. 

Chapter 13: John's POV

The cab ride to Speedy's Cafe, the restaurant right next to our flat, was spent in silence. But that was okay; it wasn't an awkward silence. It was a silence that is created when the people that experience it are too busy thinking to notice the lack of conversation occurring between them. This silence was one that Sherlock and I were all but used to, despite the six month separation from one another. Although, I guess that would just count as a much longer, much sadder silence.

See, this is what I mean when I say we were too busy thinking to talk.

Both of our minds wandered until we got to the cafe, and by the time we arrived, I already knew exactly what I wanted from this lunch--besides food, of course. I wanted answers. By the time we left to go back to the flat, I wanted to know more about Sherlock's fake suicide: why he did it, if it had anything to do with Moriarty, and how he did it.

When we entered the cafe, I picked out a booth in the very back, the same one that Mycroft and I had occupied when he told me about the death of Irene Adler, hoping that we could get some privacy. Sherlock and I both took a seat across from each other, and a minute later a waitress came to take our order.

"Hey, John, it's good to see you again," the waitress said. I knew her--her name was Tessa, and I came her often enough that she knew me, too. Most of the waitstaff did, and they had kind of taken care of me after Sherlock left. I guess they felt sorry for me, and I had given them enough of my business that we got on quite well.

Then the waitress turned to Sherlock, whose head was bent over the menu. "And I don't think I've seen you bef--" she began, but then Sherlock raised his head. "Oh my God," she said. "I remember you."

Sherlock's eyebrows took off, only to land at the edge of his hairline. "Oh, you do, do you?" he asked, his tone tinted with curiosity.

"Yeah, you used to come here all the time. Mainly with him, of course," she said, pointing at me and giving Sherlock a knowing look, "but then you just kind of disappeared a couple months ago. If you don't mind my asking, where exactly were you?"

It took everything I had to keep from snorting in disbelief at that comment. Instead, I settled for shooting my flatmate a look that said, "Doesn't she read the news? You were practically a celebrity, for God's sake." Sherlock's eyes darted quickly to mine and back to Tessa's, and I could tell he understood. "I was...away," he said. "Away on what you could call a business trip." 

"Oh, okay," Tessa said cheerfully. "Well, now that you're back, what would you like to eat?" I shook my head and looked down at the menu and pretended to study it. I heard Sherlock talking, but I didn't really process what he was saying until Tessa turned to me. "And for you, John?" 

I was about to say that I didn't really want anything, despite telling Sherlock the exact opposite earlier today, but then something something surprised me into ordering. Sherlock ordered food. A full meal, in fact. Maybe even more than a full meal. I had never thought of Sherlock eating so much in the whole of the time that I had known him. Too stunned to think properly, I defaulted to ordering the same thing. With a small smile, Tessa turned away from our table and went back to the kitchen. 

As our waitress walked away, I couldn't help but notice a half-smile turning up the corner of Sherlock's mouth. He was pleased with himself, I could tell. "What're you smiling about?" I asked suspiciously. If Sherlock was happy about something, that wasn't always a good sign.