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The last thing Sherlock had expected in his return was that you would welcome him with a smile and open arms, especially after how John had reacted. He’d walked up the steps to 221B and hesitantly knocked on the door, sure that he was going to get slapped or worse, but you’d pulled the door open and after the initial moment of shock gave a soft chuckle, “Welcome home, Sherlock Holmes.”

In all the time he’d known you, there had never been anything between you beyond a friendship that for some reason worked better than most and was stronger than he ever could have anticipated. It was something that had happened without him ever realizing, that friendship, but right now, sitting in his chair watching you making tea, he wished there had been more- not really for the love but to have a deeper connection, to escape from the loneliness he’d discovered in his heart.

He gave a fleeting smile at the skull still on the mantle before observing the rest of the flat. There was some new furniture, the most noticeable change being that John’s chair had been replaced with an oversized armchair with a purple jacquard pattern after you’d convinced him a few months earlier that he needed a piece of 221B in his new life. Even so Sherlock didn’t feel out of place. It definitely wasn’t the same as before but it wasn’t bad either. You’d moved on yet still remembered the past since his chair was not even a centimeter out of place and he could see edge of his violin case peeking out from the corner next to the bookshelves, not a speck of dust on it.

You yourself seemed quieter but not withdrawn, more like someone who preferred a good book to a night out, and you wore your hair differently but underneath that he could see the adventure-loving woman he’d known. You tucked some hair away from your face and handed him a cup of tea with a soft smile- when had he started missing that smile?

Guess it's true,
I'm not good at a one night stand
But I still need love 'cause I'm just a man
These nights never seem to go to plan
I don't want you to leave,
Will you hold my hand?

“You’re welcome to stay here, if you’d like, Sherlock,” you hummed, breaking him away from his thoughts as you slipped from the room and came back with a coat, “Your old room is a bit of a mess but the sheets are clean and I’m sure there’s still some of your clothes shoved to the back of the dresser.”

He cocked his head to the side, “Where are you going?”

“Out with some friends,” you shrugged, “I’m sure there will be plenty of time to catch up… that is unless you plan on disappearing again.”

“Can I come with you?”

Your eyes met his as your brow furrowed in confusion, searching his face for something. It was so unlike him to ask or even want to come. His eyes told you he was lonely but you were having trouble wrapping your head around that- Sherlock Holmes and lonely just didn’t go together in your mind.

He held his breath as he waited for you to answer, not wanting you to leave him even if it would likely only be for a few hours. If he couldn’t have John with him then he certainly wasn’t going to let you slip away as well. In the end, your mind reminded you that, for all his quirks and oddities, he was still human underneath it all and he had been alone for so long.

“Sure,” you nodded, offering him a reassuring smile to which he scowled, acting as though he didn’t need your reassurance or for you to patronize him. You chuckled softly, spinning on your heel to leave the flat and make him have to rush catch up with you. When he did, you started off down the street, seeming lost in thought before looking over at him, “I missed you, you know.”

“Obviously,” he stated flatly but there was a hint of a smile on his face and you suddenly felt his hand slip into yours. He ignored your startled look and was pleased when you didn’t pull away- he’d never know how much he needed human contact until that moment.

Oh, won't you stay with me
'Cause you're all I need
This ain't love, it's clear to see
But darling, stay with me

Another block passed in silence and then you glanced over at him, “You know what? Let’s skip this. It’s a nice night- fancy a walk in the park?”

He simply nodded and you changed directions- he needed you more now anyways. That much had become evident when he’d done such an odd thing as to take your hand in his. You’d spent so much time hiding your feelings from the consulting detective, regretting it when he was gone, and now… now you didn’t know what to feel beyond the need to help a friend who seemed a little lost. This wasn’t some romance where boy returns and throws himself at girl in a shocking of confession of love. Not everything in life had to be about love.

Reality was much more complex than that.

Sherlock snuck a glance at you. His best friend wasn’t speaking to him, his life was proving much more difficult to slip back into than he thought, and Mycroft kept pestering him about Mummy and the theater… then there was you. The one thing he found he could cling on to. The one thing that was simple and welcoming. In his life, he’d never needed someone more.

“He’ll come around.”

“What?” Sherlock huffed, looking over at you.

You smiled at the path in front of you, “John. He’ll come around in time.”

“I see I’ll have to retrain you not to point out the obvious.”

“You never trained it out of me in the first place,” you chuckled.

“Can’t hurt to try.”

You huffed softly and then looked over at him, “Well since we’re already off to such an awful start on that front, I might as well add that he may have moved on but he never forgot you.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Obviously.”

You stopped, scrutinizing him for a moment, “For some reason, I question whether or not you actually believe that to be true.”

He opened his mouth to respond but the way you were looking up at him, the way your eyes seemed to see into him, made him unable to lie to you so he just turned his head back to the path and worked his jaw. What was this? He didn’t get upset over things like this. He didn’t have trouble lying. He was a sociopath for god’s sake. He needed to get a grip.

Why am I so emotional?
No it's not a good look, gain some self control
Deep down I know this never works
But you could lay with me,
So it doesn't hurt

You squeezed his hand and jerked your head back in the direction you’d come, “Come on. Let’s go home. It’s getting late and it’s been a long day.”

He was glad you didn’t press him as he tried to reign in the whirlwind of emotions coursing through him- you just walked along next to him with you hand securely wrapped around his, enjoying to quiet of the night. He wondered if maybe he should try his hand at something with you, at some sort of deeper relationship, but then decided no. It wouldn’t work. He wasn’t made for love. That was something he was almost sure of. Almost. Maybe- just maybe- somewhere in him there was something that was- a part of him that would allow him to love. He shrugged it off. Now was hardly the time for that. Love was trivial- a sickness of the weak- and something he didn’t have time for.

Not now… and quite possibly not ever.

Now, he was a broken man and he felt more than lost. Now, he needed a friend to lead him out of the dark and into the light.

You released his hand upon entering the flat, using it to cover a small yawn before beckoning to him, “Let’s get you set up and then I’m going to turn in.”

“I don’t need your help, (F/n). I’m not a child and even if I was I would be perfectly capable of figuring it out on my own.”

“Don’t start with me, Sherlock,” you puffed, rolling your eyes as he followed you into the room he’d lived in before he left.

There was a new desk against one wall along with a chair, a plethora of papers spread across it and a section of the floor in addition to some filing boxes that looked to contain what ever it was you were working on now. On top of his dresser was a box labeled ‘winter coats’ and a few others across the room with ‘Science stuff’ scrawled across their sides.

You stepped over to the dresser, rummaging around in the drawers as you offered, “Just ignore the papers. I’ll move them out to the living room table in the morning… here we are.”

He quirked an eyebrow at you when you handed him a pair of his pajamas and his dressing gown and you shrugged, “We all hold on to things we shouldn’t. Fortunate for you I’m a tad sentimental.”

The next moment you were walking away from him, calling over your shoulder, “Would you like another cuppa before I head upstairs?”

“Don’t ask questions you already know that answer to, (F/n)”

He could hear you let out a soft chuckle and then the kettle being put on before he moved to change and flopped down on the bed- his bed. Just having you as far away as the other room made him feel more alone and empty than before- like knowing what it was like to have you near made the loneliness that much more acute when you weren’t. He wondered for a moment if maybe he was losing it or if he was sick.

When you slipped back in later, you had also changed, using the time it took the water to boil to get ready for bed, and you sat down on the edge of the mattress to hand him his tea, “Here.”

“I don’t want it anymore.”

“You are such a difficult twat, Sherlock,” you huffed, plopping the tea down roughly on the nightstand and moving to stand before he caught your arm. You sank back down and looked over at him, he was face down on the bed with his head turned away from you but you still heard him mumble, “Stay.”

“What was that?” you demanded, not believing your ears.

“Stay with me.”

There was a hint of desperation in his voice that you couldn’t bring yourself to ignore so you pulled your feet up off the floor to lay next to him, “Alright, Sherlock. I’ll stay with you.”

You rubbed his shoulder comfortingly as you let your eyes slide closed, “As long as you need me, I’ll stay.”

Oh, won't you stay with me
'Cause you're all I need
This ain't love, it's clear to see
But darling, stay with me