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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 wi

John Watson rubbed his eyes wearily and summoned the last fragments of his patience. "Alright, run it by me one more time. You did what?" Sherlock Holmes was, for some unfathomable reason, sopping wet and covered in soap suds. His clothes were plastered to his skinny frame and he stood dripping in front of Watson's armchair, peering down at his friend through his sodden fringe. "I ran through a car wash." He explained, calmly, for the third time. John sat back in his chair, his eyes closing despairingly, and asked the question again. "Why?" "Chasing a suspect." "And it didn't occur to you to go around the car wash instead of through it?"