Lost and Found (Sherlock x Reader)

The Empty Hearse (Part 2)

"Short version," as he put it, "not dead."

Perhaps one day, John and Sherlock would have a good laugh about his reveal, but for the time being, John was furious. He attacked Sherlock multiple times. If there wasn't anyone else around, he probably would have murdered the consulting detective himself.
At the end of the evening, John was willing to walk away and not see Sherlock again. But his soon-to-be fiancée decided that she would talk him round. Sherlock watched her leave curiously. Their cab drove off, leaving him standing on the sidewalk with a bloody nose. He sniffed once and then walked on.

It was time to visit everyone else.
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At St. Bartholomew's Hospital, Molly Hooper was leaving for the night. She was collecting her things when she saw him in her mirror's reflection. She spun around to face him, a smile slowly forming on her lips.
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At Scotland Yard, Detective Inspector Lestrade stepped outside. He looked around to make sure he was alone before he pulled out a cigarette. He was just about to light it when a voice echoed around him.

"Those things'll kill you."

Lestrade froze. He recognized the voice immediately, of course. Taking the cigarette out of his mouth, he faced the shadows where the voice had come from.

"Ooh, you bastard!"

Sherlock stepped out of the darkness, fully revealing himself. "It's time to come back. You've been letting things slide, Graham."

"Greg!"

"Greg."

Lestrade inhaled sharply and moved towards the consulting detective. Sherlock thought he was going to hit him, but instead, Greg pulled him into a hug. It was awkward for Sherlock, but very nice nonetheless.
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The next and last stop, was 221B Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson was washing dishes in her flat when she heard the front door being opened. She shut off the water and listened carefully. Her first thought was that it was you coming home. But something told her that it was someone else. She looked towards her flat door.
Preparing for the worst, the landlady held a newly washed pot as a weapon. A silhouette appeared on the frosted window pane. A very familiar silhouette. The door was pushed open and Sherlock stepped inside. Immediately, Mrs. Hudson reacted. She screamed as loud as she could, fearing that she was seeing the ghost of her long-dead friend.
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Now, there was just one person left to tell. The person he most longed to see. It was you. He hoped to find you in your flat, but you weren't there. He asked Mrs. Hudson—who had since calmed down—where you were. She simply told him that you had gone out. So, all Sherlock could do was wait.
Hours passed before he heard the door downstairs open and close. His heart jumped and nervousness took over. He scrambled to his feet, putting his plan in motion.
You began to climb the stairs, ready to lie down in your bed and sleep. But just before you opened the door to your flat, you heard something from upstairs. Boards creaked loudly as though someone were walking around up there. You looked up to the ceiling, your eyebrows furrowed.

"Mrs. Hudson?" You called out, thinking maybe she was up there for some reason.

But she did not respond. Feeling the need to know who was upstairs, you walked up the rest of the steps. You arrived at Sherlock's flat door. A scared feeling washed over you, and suddenly you wished you had some sort of weapon. Taking a deep breath, you pushed open the door. It wasn't the main door to the living room though. You decided to go through the kitchen door. The reason for this decision was that, if someone was up here, maybe you could take them by surprise by coming through that door.
You stepped into the kitchen. You looked left down the hallway, but didn't see anything out of the ordinary. As you started to look right, something caught your eye. On the counter in front of you sat a familiar object. A coin that you had given to your best friend. Your heart started beating harder in your chest. With a shaking hand, you picked up the coin.

'Has this been here the whole time?' You thought to yourself.

You couldn't have missed this for the past two years, could you? The answer was made clear to you when a deep voice spoke.

"I was hoping you'd come in through that door."

You were suddenly frozen in place—paralyzed by shock and fear. You felt as though you couldn't move. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a figure stand up and start walking towards you. Clenching the gold coin tightly in your hand, you slowly turned to face him.
Lo and behold, there he stood. Sherlock Holmes was alive and well. You could not believe that it was true. Taking a step towards him, you lifted your hand and placed it on his cheek. Your heart fluttered in your chest as you realized that he was, in fact, real.

"You...you're..." Your voice wavered and you were unable to finish your sentence you were so shocked.

Sherlock grabbed hold of your hand. "Yes, y/n. I'm alive."

Tears dripped down your cheeks. In the span of just a few seconds, you felt so many emotions. Happiness quickly turned to sadness which morphed into anger. You pulled your hand away.

"All this time?" You asked.

He nodded. "Yes."

With anger getting the better of you, your reaction was one that startled Sherlock. You slapped him right across the face.

"You...you...how could you?! All this time you've been alive?!" You were shouting by now. "I...I can't believe you! I can't believe you would fake your own death just like...Adler." You spat her name out. "Just like Irene!"

"Y/n, please, let me explain-" He tried to step towards you again, but you shoved him back.

"No! No, there is nothing you can say that would make this better! That would make this okay! You left all of us here to grieve and mourn!" You hit him in the chest, causing him to stumble back. "I hate you, Sherlock Holmes! I hate you!"

Without saying another word, you threw the coin at him and then rushed out of the room. Tears were pouring down your cheeks. As soon as you had closed the door to your flat, you let out a scream of sorrow and anguish. You dropped to the ground in the middle of your entryway, sobbing relentlessly.

In his flat, Sherlock didn't quite know how to react. His hand covered his chest as he could still feel where you had hit him. It was worse pain than the torture he had just recently gone through. He picked up his coin and put it back in his pocket. Your voice continued to echo in his mind.

'I hate you, Sherlock Holmes.'

Sitting down in his chair, he lowered his head in sorrow.

"I thought you loved me."