I believe in you - Sherlock Fanfiction.

Chapter four - The truth.

**One week later**

Its been a week and neither John or Sherlock have said anything to each other. John just goes to work and comes back, visits his girlfriend Mary, watches TV with me (and Sherlock) and also talks to me like he's not in the room. Perhaps John is waiting for an explanation as to why Sherlock went anyway. And for Sherlock, well, he just looks like he's preparing. Like he's waiting for something too, for John to blow up or leave or punch him in the face. Nevertheless, he doesn't say a word and watches until something does happen.

At the moment, we were all watching TV. Mrs Hudson had not completely, but had gotten use to the fact Sherlock was here. I took a glimpse at Sherlock while me and John spoke and he looked like he was finally about to blow, like a balloon with too much air in.

"Are you just going to pretend I'm not here?" Sherlock snaps, "Because I am."

John looks down, "Sherlock..."

Sherlock leaps up, "What, John, what?" He paces the length of the room a few times before coming to a stop in front of him. "I have attempted to gather as much data as possible, categorize every aspect of your behavior after our impromptu reunion and I don't get it, John. Do you know how excruciatingly difficult it is for me to say that to you? I have tried to give you a recommended amount of space; I have tried to accommodate both your accelerating and decelerating response times to various behavioral variants and nothing. So tell me, John, what?"

I look at John and watch him as he grits his teeth and tries to focus on calming down the thrumming of his heart against his rib cage, to relax his arms that have gone abnormally still. I can tell this is a moment I shouldn't be involved in, but yet again I'm in the middle of it and I felt too awkward to leave.

When John speaks, his voice is low and calm, the words coming out stilted and slow. "You have no right," he spits out, stalking up the few feet towards Sherlock and jabbing a finger at his chest, relishing the sharp intake of his breath. "You have no right," he repeats again. "You have no right to come back and give me a time frame to be okay with it. I am human, Sherlock, do you even know what that means? You cannot expect to condition me into being friends with you again. You are just, you... how deluded are you, you—?"

"Machine?" Sherlock supplies, equally quiet.

There's a tension in the room I don't like. I glance at John, a little taken aback. But when I see Johns face it softens as he realizes what he had said. John clears his throat. "It wasn't very nice of me to say that." he repeats. Sherlock picks up his tea and sips at it. A few minutes of silence and John decides to go back to watching the TV, mostly because he has no idea what to say next. Abruptly, Sherlock puts his tea down and swivels around, crouching down to his level next to the sofa.

"It was all for you," Sherlock hisses at him, a slight pleading tinge to his words despite the dripping condescension. "You haven't been moronic enough — surely you haven't ignorantly deluded yourself to believe otherwise?"

"I know," John says, finally. John looks like he had realized the words are true the moment they leave his lips; a part of him wonders how long he's known for certain; maybe he'd known the moment he had saw Sherlock in our apartment for the first time in a while, immaculate and crisp and slightly wounded.

"It wasn't a vacation, like those tedious brochures you used to ogle at."

"I know."

"You could have been killed, John.".

"I know," he replies.

"You would have died and this flat would have been empty and I would have come back to your stained teacups and leftover curry in the fridge and I couldn't, John, the mere idea was utterly unacceptable."

"Sherlock," John breathes, "I came back to your pajamas strewn over that chair and nicotine patches under the table instead. It wasn't fair."

"... I know." Sherlock repeats, an echo of John words from before, "Wait... how did you know?"

"Lestrade had informed me. You told him you had to pretend to die, and my reaction had to be real so the gun men wouldn't shoot me and Lestrade and all." John tells him, "It doesn't make it okay. You coming back, it doesn't make the fact that you left okay."

Sherlock's face falls like a child who has just been told that there is no Santa, "It doesn't?" he requires a clarification.

John looks away. "No," he replies. I frown at him and nudge him arm, "It might be." He says again, "I understand why you did it. Maybe... Maybe you can sleep back in your old room."

The edges of my lips pull up into a smile as Sherlock's face as it lights up, "Really?"

"Yeah, I guess. Everything is still in there, even after three years I left it in there. I'll be moving out soon, anyway."

From that I know Sherlock has more questions, like why John is moving out, but he doesn't want to keep pushing him for answers. I smiled at the both of them. Maybe their little war was over now, and even though things aren't fully okay with the both of them they're not as many awkward silences and stares any more. I smiled even more at my best friend finally having his best friend back. I was happy for them both, and after their conversation there was nothing more to say. So we all just turned towards the TV and watched it for a couple more hours before heading to bed.