Sherlock Homes was sitting in a cafe in a disguise consisting of a tatty, old, blue boiler suit, a workman's fluorescent yellow vest, a black bobble hat jammed down over his ears and glasses. He was thinner than usual and under a tan his skin was a grey white.
Although nobody in the cafe saw it Sherlock was in a state of nervous tension. He had spent nearly 2 years chasing Moriarty's minions and bringing them to justice. Now, at last, he could go home. The source of his tension was that he wasn't even sure if going home was going to be possible. He didn't know what sort of reception he would get from John.
Sherlock had hidden a tiny monitor at the foot of “his” gravestone and had heard in his earpiece John saying that no-one could ever convince him that Sherlock had lied. John had asked him for a miracle “Don't be dead”. Sherlock wanted to make that miracle happen. He just didn't know if John would still wanted that.
There were so many things that had never been said and he still wouldn't say any of them if they might embarrass or upset John. Sherlock needed a certain Retired Army Doctor to bring him back to life but he would settle for whatever was possible.
Sherlock pulled out his phone and flipped through his contacts for Mycroft's number
He texted “Are you certain that John is at work and my violin and bow were delivered to Baker Street?” -SH
A minute later he received a text alert.
The text read “Of course.” -MH
Sherlock, carrying a sealed cardboard box of his own clothes to change into, stepped outside the cafe to hail a cab. Sherlock raised his arm and waved at a taxi. The cab pulled up and as he instructed the driver “221B Baker Street, please” a small lopsided smile momentarily twitched on his lips.
(Mrs Hudson if you are here please open the front door when the bell rings, if the bell works