I heard the door opening from upstairs. I shoved my hands in my jeans pockets; my hair was tied back as best I could and I'd just put my glasses back on. I padded along the corridor, Mycroft had said he wanted to see me when he got back so there was no point in making him wait for me. "Mycroft?" I called down. He didn't answer; he did that sometimes when something hadn't gone to plan. I rolled my eyes. "Mycroft" I drummed down the stairs, watching my bare feet, "what's…?" I looked up and froze.

I stepped down slowly, once, twice to the floor. My mouth hung slightly open. I blinked repeatedly as I stared at him. I stared and stared and a tear ran down my face, my voice shaking "You…"

Sherlock gazed up at me, "Me" he replied softly.

I opened my mouth but no sound came out. My voice caught harshly in my throat, a harsh sob the only noise breaking through. I looked away, turned from him with my hand to my mouth. How? How could he…? How could he be here? How could he lie to me for so long? I stifled another sob.

I slowly brought my gaze back to him, "Sh… Sherlock" I breathed. I walked forward, eyes locked with his, my heart pounding. I staggered toward him, my own hesitance strange to me. Sherlock stood tall in front of me. He looked so tired; his hair had grown long and tangled, his stubble had come in rough, he needed a shower badly and his clothes were only good for the bin. But it was still him; the eyes, the face, the cheekbones – the stance was the same, the air about him still held that same presence that was him, Sherlock Holmes. He had become a different person entirely and yet he was exactly the same – still my Sherlock.

"Charlie" he said, staring down on me with the slightest hint of a smile, his voice tinged with arrogance "I'm-"

Slap!

"You bastard!"

Sherlock stumbled sideways, hand automatically going to the now bright red side of his face, his voice changed, weaker – broken "Charlie, I'm sorry, I-"

"Shut up." I hit him again and again with the flat of my hand, weak hits falling on his arms "You abandoned me for two years! Let me believe you were dead! I relapsed because of you!" he physically flinched, not at each strike, but at the words "Mycroft barely let's me out of his sight any more! I'm trapped here! You selfish, thoughtless, arrogant idiot! How could you be so stupid?! I- I…"

I cried loudly, shaking as I stumbled away from him a few steps. Betrayal and anger mingled with relief and joy as I watched him look across at me from behind his hair. I stepped backward again, my heel colliding with the foot of the stairs causing me to loose me balance and tumble gracelessly onto the step. I slumped there, staring up at him with tears running down my face. There was pain in his eyes, pain and guilt. He could barely hold my gaze, where my eyes were filling with tears, Sherlock didn't cry, but his eyes were full of hurt, regret and a plea for forgiveness. He took a tentative pace forward. When I made no attempt to stop him, he came to kneel in front of me. Sherlock took my hands in his, rubbing his thumbs across my knuckles. I could see him counting the scars that bridged my wrists; he knew which ones were there when he'd left, he knew which ones I'd made since. His eyes searched mine, deducing everything that was secret. He swallowed silently, licked his lips and breathed deeply.

Sherlock wiped the tears from my face before tilting my head up to look at him. The faintest hint of a bruise could be seen at the neck of his top, and I knew from the way he held himself that his back, chest and legs must be hurt as well. "What have you gone and done now?" I muttered, tracing the edge of the bruise on his neck, "you fool".

He laughed weakly, "I guess this is what happens when you're not with me"

"I guess – well hope you've learned your lesson" I laughed weakly, my voice hoarse as I tried to keep back more tears. Leaning forward I tried to push his hair back from his face, "You need a hair cut"

He chuckled "I know, but I came to get you first"

"Well that's sweet Darling, how very thoughtful." I said sarcastically.

Sherlock leant forward and said softly, "Sarcasm as a defence mechanism – isn't that what I said the first time we met? My first deduction of you."

I smiled "Shut up Sherlock." Thoughtlessly I leant in and kissed him. Sherlock's hand went to my neck, the other to my side. I tangled my fingers in his hair, holding it away from our faces. It seemed so unreal, even as our lips pressed together and his hands caressed my skin; I thought I was dreaming, I was hallucinating again, but here he was, with me.

I broke away then leant my forehead against his, "And you need to shave"

Sherlock grinned, "What? You don't like it?"

"I prefer my consulting detectives clean shaven." He helped me to my feet, "Who knew the truth, Sherlock? Mycroft obviously, did John…?"

"No – Mycroft, my parents, Molly and a select group of my homeless network, that's all"

"Oh, 'that's all', really." I growled "Honestly, I need to teach you-"

"Sarcasm as a defence-"

"Sherlock"

"Sorry" he said as he took my hand, "I'm sorry" he smiled sincerely.

I sighed and hugged him gently, "oh, shut up." He winced slightly but repositioned himself to avoid bruises then placed another kiss to my lips.

"I thought" kiss "kissing was" kiss "only for" kiss "special" kiss "occasions." I said quietly.

Kiss "My resurrection isn't" kiss "a special occasion?"

"You've not been 'resurrected', you just" kiss "stopped lying" kiss "to me"

Sherlock looked at me for a moment, before kissing me again more deeply, "And I'm so, so sorry"

I grinned and shoved him away playfully, "Don't quote Doctor Who at me when you should be making a serious apology"

He smirked, "Sorry." I hugged him more carefully. "Mycroft has a car waiting outside for us, are you coming?"

I gave a sarcastic sigh and laughed "Oh, alright then." And we walked hand in hand from the mansion to the car, the way we should be.