AN: this was intended as a oneshot I just forgot to click complete xD But since people seem to like it here's a disappointing end. Also, I think Sherlock has been chilling with Wallander and co. in Sweden because Magnus. (Tom Hiddleston.)

Sherlock's hair is shorter and straighter and lighter and he's dressed in a three piece suit. His hand is trembling slightly and it's the only way John can tell Sherlock is actually nervous about this.

"Hello, John." Sherlock smiles.

John doesn't think twice. He steps forwards and punches the detective squarely in the jaw before pulling him into a rough hug. "You idiot," he mumbles into Sherlock's chest. "You bloody idiot."

When he finally pulls away the relief vanishes and is replaced by anger. How could he do this? How could he? "Three years, Sherlock." He growls, "Three years."

Sherlock scoffs. "What? And you think they were easy for me, do you?"

They stare at each other for a long time, blue on blue and to John's surprise it's Sherlock who cracks first. His mouth twitches slightly. "You're right. I should have told you..." he mumbles. "But Mycroft..."

"Mycroft knew?" John asks before he can stop himself because obviously Mycroft knew and Sherlock gives him that look and John giggles despite himself. Sherlock smiles and for a minute there hasn't been three years between them. There's just Sherlock and John, the Consulting Detective and his Doctor, colleagues, housemates, friends.

But the moment is shattered as Sebastian comes trotting down the stairs to wind himself around John's legs and yowl for his breakfast. "Oh," John says.

Sherlock regards the cat for a few minutes before saying, "Don't worry, John. I have been informed of your situation." He says blandly and John thinks that only Sherlock Holmes could respond so calmly to the news that his best friend is shacked up with his greatest enemy.

They go back up to the flat and Sherlock sits down in his old chair like nothing's changed and says, "Just tea, please John."

John smiles as he clicks on the kettle and feds Sebastian and watches Sherlock's eyes dart around the room. Most of Sherlock's stuff is still where it was, the room is much the same but for James' things slung untidily about the place and grand piano in the corner. Sherlock stands and moves towards the instrument, stroking the ivory keys thoughtfully.

Is this it? John thinks. Do you just walk back into my life like nothing's happened?

He leaves the kettle boiling and Sherlock staring out of the window and goes into his bedroom. James is still asleep, sprawled out on the bed; his t shirt has ridden up. John lies down beside him for a moment and traces the scars on James' back.

James doesn't remember where most of them came from, his memory is like patchwork. He once told John he remembered things in flashes of colour and sound and John's glad. He loves James. And James isn't Moriarty. James is just a geeky genius with a sweet tooth. He wonders if that's what Molly saw.

He hears the kettle click and kisses James gently on the forehead before leaving the room and hoping James would sleep for a little longer.

When he gets back to the main room Sherlock's already made the tea and is sipping it quietly back in his chair. John takes his cup and says, "The rest of your stuff is in your room."

Sherlock glances in the direction of the room and nods.

"Mrs Hudson...She kept it clean," John adds. Sherlock smiles at the mention of Mrs Hudson's name. John sits down in the chair opposite Sherlock's and leans forwards. "So what are we doing, Sherlock?" he asks.

Sherlock looks at him, "What do you mean, John?"

"You can't just come back from dead, Sherlock," John says quietly.

Sherlock smirks, "Why ever not?"

John laughs quietly, "Only you, Sherlock Holmes."

He grins and John's heart skips a beat. "Well, no time to sit around sipping tea," Sherlock announces, leaping up and managing to knock the tea cup flying. "I've got a reputation to rebuild!"

He disappears in to his room and James chooses that moment to emerge, yawning and bleary eyed from their bedroom. "Mornin', John." He says, smiling sleepily.

My flat mate is back from the dead, John thinks he should say. The man you made jump off a building. But then James scoops Sebastian up and cuddles the cat close to him and John corrects himself. The man Moriarty made jump off a building.

"Morning love," he says as James' dark eyes roam around the room.

"Someone's here," he says looking at John accusingly. James doesn't like it when John doesn't tell him things. James puts the cat down and says, "Someone important. Someone you used to love..."

John wants to deny it but James is just as good at observation as Sherlock and he knows it'll be pointless. He curses himself for only falling in love with hopelessly clever geniuses and says, "James, it'll be okay." Before he can say more Sherlock emerges from his bedroom with an armful of his chemistry kit.

James' eyes go wide and his face goes pale. "You're-You're," he splutters as Sherlock watches him impassively. "You're dead," James squeaks.

Sherlock smiles slowly, "Clearly not, James."

James looks at John who smiles reassuringly before he looks back at Sherlock. "You faked it," he says carefully. "You needed to disappear."

Sherlock is watching him cautiously and James walks over to him. John holds his breath. James is studying Sherlock intently and Sherlock is doing the same back to James. It's like watching two tigers eyeing each other up, neither willing to back down.

It feels like hours have passed when James finally smirks and says, "Your hair looked better black."

Sherlock looks momentarily stumped and John laughs.

Living with Sherlock and James is like living with two extraordinarily bratty, competitive children, John thinks. The amount of times he's had to say, "Leave it you two!" or "Now, now, children!" It always ends in one or both of them slamming bedroom doors and refusing to come out for hours and John wonders how Lestrade copes with five kids.

Then there's the way they both seem to compete for his attention, his approval, daddy loves me best! It was rather amusing for the first few weeks to watch Sherlock eye James jealously or James sulkily throw things at Sherlock from across the room. But after a while it got dull.

It culminates one night when John got home late from the surgery.

He finds the flat destroyed and James and Sherlock sitting opposite each other, breathing heavily. Sherlock has a bloody lip and rather magnificent black eye and James' nose is bleeding.

"John," Sherlock greets without looking up. "You'll be pleased to know that James and I have settled our differences."

"We've agreed to work together," James adds smiling devilishly at Sherlock.

John's relief is short lived.

Sherlock is back solving cases and James helps him. They solve all their cases in less than a day. John should be happy but sometimes he thinks living with the James and Sherlock who hated each other was less irritating.

They stay up all night doing strange experiments or playing music or talking in that annoying way they have where they seem to say nothing and everything all at once.

"But maybe..." James will say.

And Sherlock will cut him off, "No, can't be...Perhaps..."

James will interrupt him with a giggle, "Of course not, silly!"

Then they'll share a moment of inspiration and they'll both grin and say, "Oh, that is brilliant!"

It's kind of cute the first few times but it makes John's head hurt trying to follow their conversations.

They still have their fallings out, of course and now they're rather more explosive and John's found that James can be really, really vindictive. Not that Sherlock's perfect, in fact whenever they do fall out Sherlock kidnaps Sebastian and James screams and throws things until his beloved cat is returned. And John supposes that if you're living with the two greatest minds of the modern day there's bound to be a bit of friction.

But they work so well together. They can give each other what John never could; an equal, a distraction, understanding. The comfort of knowing that they aren't alone. And John keeps them human.

Sometimes John catches Sherlock staring at James as though the man were a puzzle to be solved. Sometimes John thinks Sherlock misses Moriarty.

"He's fascinating, John." He says one evening while James lies asleep on John's shoulder. "He really doesn't remember a thing."

John hums and runs a hand through James' hair. "That's a good thing, Sherlock."

"It's his whole life, John. He can't remember his whole life."

John thinks about the scars on James' body, the amount of pain in the words that's what people do, Moriarty's dead eyes. His desperation for a connection with anyone. He wonders what would happen if Moriarty came back now. Would he leave? Could he leave?

James mumbles and shifts in his sleep, his hand fisting in John's shirt like a child clutching a teddy bear.

"I don't think he wants to." He says softly.

Sherlock doesn't look like he understands but he leaves it at that.

And so it goes.

John Watson, M.D, former army doctor lives with Sherlock Holmes and James Moriarty, consulting detectives.

The only ones in the world.