When Sherlock returns, John doesn't react. Sherlock walked into the flat, almost hesitant. "Hello John," he said, quietly, cautiously, the way you would talk to a frightened animal. John looks up from the paper, says, "Oh, Hello." And promptly returns to the paper.

Sherlock stares for a moment, brow wrinkled in confusion. He opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it, and closed it again. He walked over to his chair, slowly taking off his coat and scarf as he did so. "How are you?" the same slow, cautious tone as before.

"Eh, fine. Shoulder's acting up, but no big thing. How're you?" John's reply is easy, familiar, he doesn't look up from his paper. Sherlock stares. John finally withdraws his head from the paper when Sherlock doesn't answer for some minutes. "Sherlock?"

"Ah, yes, I ..I'm quite well. Can't complain."

"Right, well, I'm about to make a pot of tea, want any?"

"Yes, thank you."

Sherlock continues watching John as he heaves himself out of the chair, walking over to their kitchen. He watches, brow furrowed, as John makes two cups of tea, one with no sugar, the other with two sugars and a cream. The sweetened tea is pressed into Sherlock's hands, and he starts, not realizing John had finished.

"You all right there, Sherlock?"

"Yes, yes I'm…fine." He drinks his tea, consumed in his study of John. John goes back to the paper, flipping the pages every so often. After a bit he stands up, walks over to the table, tea cup in hand, presumably to check his e-mail.

The door opens.

"John, dear, I-" Mrs. Hudson spots Sherlock, shrieks. "Sherlock? What in the world, oh, my heavens, you're alive?"

Sherlock is more concerned about the way John stiffens, his spine straightening like iron. He slowly turns around, face white as sheet. "I- " he starts, face drawn in a way that makes him look 10 years older, a kind of terrible hope shining in his face. "You mean you can see him too?"