LXXVI • 76

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Your POV:

"Aren't you bored?" You asked with a little smile. You were getting ready to leave for an afternoon shift the day after Sherlock had told you about your relations to Sebastian.
He was stretched out on the sofa, his hands steepled under his chin, the way you'd seen him a thousand times before. "Mmhmm." He agreed with no more than a sound.
"Don't you have a case?" You queried. "Or several?"
"I haven't told Lestrade yet." He sighed. "And no one else knows I'm alive of course, so I have no client inquiries."
You frowned at him. "Why haven't you told Lestrade?"
"He wasn't on the top of my list."
You smiled gently. "Then go tell him." You nodded toward the door.

Sherlock's POV:

You were right. I couldn't stay here forever. I needed to get back out and do what I did best.
I wasn't sure how I would tell Greg, but I knew I couldn't over think it.
I unfolded myself from the couch and headed downstairs. I took my coat and scarf from the hook by the door and put them on. I had to stop hiding out in the flat. People would have to know eventually, so why not sooner rather than later?
Thinking about that reminded me of the photographer I'd encountered before I'd left for Ireland. It seemed strange that there weren't any news articles about my reappearance. Not that I was complaining...
I shook it off. There was no need to stress about it.
I stepped out into the street and hailed a cab. The driver didn't seem to recognise me, or if he did, he didn't mention it, which was good.
It was Lestrade's lunch break when I arrived, and I smiled to myself as an idea popped into my head.
I strode into Scotland Yard with the confidence I'd always used, as though it wouldn't be unusual at all for a dead man of over a year to come right back in.
Most everyone was on their break, so I didn't cause too much of a commotion. A technical analyst who didn't really know me did a double take but didn't say anything. A receptionist from upstairs stared at me as I walked by, but she too said nothing.
This was perfect.
I made my way to Greg's office and checked to make sure he wasn't in. He rarely had been during break, but his habits may have changed since I'd seen him last, there was no telling.
I checked my watch and sat in his chair, spinning the back towards the door.
He was due in four minutes.

It had been six minutes and counting when I finally heard his voice coming up the stairs. He was talking to that obnoxious forensics guy, Anderson. And they were talking about me.
Oh, this would be better than I'd planned it.
"You need to just stop with the theories. He's dead."
"But-"
"He's dead, Philip!"

Theories?

"But Greg, I've fi-"
"Breaks over, Anderson. Back to your office."
I heard him give this command just as he reached the door.
He flipped the light on and muttered to himself. "I didn't leave my chair like that."
"No, you didn't." I turned to face him.
The look on his face was worth every effort. I felt a smirk take over my own face. "I never could resist a touch of the dramatic."
"You bastard!"
"Oh, believe me, I've been informed." I said, nonchalantly.
He stared at me for a long moment until I got up with a roll of my eyes. "I'm not an apparition, Graham."
He seemed to snap out of it. "That's him alright." He shook his head. "And it's Greg."
"Oh, yeah. I forgot." I responded, sarcastically.
"Definitely him." He said again, as though he were trying to convince himself of my presence.
"I'm right here." I said. He looked at me, a dazed expression on his face.
I rolled my eyes again. "Good God, Greg. Do try to keep up. Not. Dead."
Now he grinned. "I never thought you'd actually call me by my first name."
"Mmm. Don't get used to it." I gave a small smirk before leaving the room.
"I'll have something for you before the end of the day." He called behind me.
"Oh, I'll be waiting eagerly." I responded, without any indication of the mentioned emotion.
At this point, all eyes were on me. Blinds went up, curious faces peered around corners, several people stood up from their desks and stared.
I smiled to myself. It was so good to be back.

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