My first Crossover fic, so please be merciful in you comments, though constructive critisism is welcome. This is a oneshot. Enjoy!

BP

Title: Forbearance
Author: BlackPepper3964
Time and Date: 00.07 02nd July 2013

Summary: Reunion fic with one addition. 'Sherlock returns, but gets a surprise when he goes to visit John. Just who is this strange woman telling him off after slapping him? Mycroft didn't tell him about this!'

Sherlock wanted to grin. In fact he was grinning, but on the inside - after all, it wouldn't do to loose his composure in a public place. He was finally able to go home, get punched by John, explain why he had to go, and why he had to go alone, and have a nice cup of tea in front of the telly. Three years is too long, he thought, almost whistling in excitement.

Mycroft met him in the airport with his inconspicuous *cough* very conspicuous *cough* car. He nodded to his older brother and got in, immediately asking about John. Mycroft got a strange light in his eye.

"He's fine, missing you, but fine all the same." Unfortunately, he was so happy to go home that he simply dismissed Mycroft's odd behaviour. In two days, he will call his brother, half angry, half content to find out exactly what Mycroft knew before he went home.

He fidgeted in the car, just wanting the journey to be over, wanting Moriarty to finally disappear from his life.

"Anthea, send the message." Mycroft smirked at his brother's confusion, which melted into a smile as he seemed to dismiss it almost immediately in favour of watching London go past, eagerly awaiting the reunion with John. Anthea nodded, typing out something and sending it. Mrs Hudson had been informed four hours ago of Sherlock's return, giving her enough time to be over it and be composed enough to not faint as soon as she saw him. Mycroft scanned his brother. He looked just as he did three years ago, if a bit skinnier and with stress lines around his eyes and mouth. He was even wearing his trademark Belstaff and scarf.

Sherlock sent Mycroft a curious look when they stopped in front of 221b instead of wherever John was living last time he'd heard about him, three months ago.

"Why are we here?" Mycroft smiled.

"Because John lives here." He frowned.

"But I thought he moved out after…" He stopped, not for lack of words, but of guilt at the pain he must have caused his one and only best friend.

"He moved back here two months ago at the behest of Mrs Hudson, who was unable to let anyone else rent out the rooms." And because of someone else. He added silently, his stomach curling in anticipation. The TV in the car was hooked up to the cameras he had installed into the flat after John had moved back in. Sherlock didn't notice the lack of detail, just nodded and got out of the car. Mycroft gave a small wave and then was gone.

Sherlock stood in front of the door, took a deep breath, and knocked carefully. The door opened and Mrs Hudson stood in the door way, ushering him in. Once he was inside, he found himself looking down the length of a very threatening rolling pin.

"If you do that ever again, I will murder you, Sherlock." His eyes widened and his mouth fell slack before he swallowed heavily, knowing by now that Mrs Hudson was not to be messed with. At all.

"I'm sorry, Mrs Hudson. I didn't want it to happen like that, but he had snipers ready to kill you, John and Lestrade and -" He was cut off with a hug, luckily, as a knot had formed in his throat. He had no idea it would be so hard to explain what happened. After a moment, she pulled away and started ushering him up the stairs.

"Go on then, go and see who's upstairs." There was a twinkle to her eye as she said it, but once again, it passed him by. He did wonder at the wording though. He ignored it and went up the stairs, opening the door to reveal the living room. He shut the door behind him and walked further into the room, wondering why it was so empty. No one was sitting in the armchair, or on the couch. The room did show signs of being lived in though - more specifically, John living in it. The tea mug still half full, paper in the corner, laptop on the desk, no dust anywhere.

So where was John?

"He's gone out." Sherlock nearly jumped a foot in the air as a female voice resonated through the air suddenly, answering his thought. He turned to find a woman standing in the entrance to the kitchen, arms crossed and shoulders set. A furious scowl sat on her face, her obviously usually blue eyes a stormy grey colour. She had shoulder length black hair that shined blue in the light.

"And you are?" She ignored the question, instead stalking forward and landing a slap on his face. His body turned with the force of it and he looked, shocked at her. She was only five foot three - how in hell did she manage to give a slap that hard? A smirk replaced the frown momentarily.

"Practice." The scowl came back to her reddened lips. "How dare you think you can just come back and think he'll just forgive you?" Sherlock flinched. Who the hell was this woman? She walked even closer and he backed away accordingly. He's spent the last three years hunting down the most dangerous criminals and assassins related to Moriarty, but he backs away from Mrs Hudson - with good reason - and a woman whom he doesn't even know? But by God, that feeling she's giving off… that is scary.

"I… uh…" Yes, well done Sherlock. That is by far the most intelligent thing you could say right now, he berated himself. Her expression abruptly changed, her eyes turning light blue and sadness evident in them.

"How could you do that to him? After all he did -" She cut off, turning away, straight-backed, like she couldn't even bare to look at him anymore. "That you just came back here… I'm glad Mycroft sent me that text in advance so I could send John away for a few hours…." She turned back, angry again. "Just giving me long enough to make sure it never happens again." Her voice lowered to a hiss. "If you would be so kind as to tell me exactly what happened that day, I'll see if I spare your life." When her eyes seemed to glow with a purple-ish light he worried for both his sanity and his life.

So he told her everything. She never interrupted, only started silently crying when he explained how he knew he would have to put measures in place to fake his death if something went wrong and closed her eyes as he describe the last phone call. He imagined that she had already heard John's side of it, but he was concussed soon afterwards, so his recall wouldn't have been perfect. They meandered to the couch during the explanation and Sherlock had just finished with explaining, so there was a quiet moment as they both thought about it. As a result, both were able to hear footsteps steadily climbing the steps.

The woman got up, made sure there was no evidence of tears and went to meet him in the hallway, giving a 'stay-put' stare as she went past him.

"Kagome! I couldn't find what you asked for, but I did find some strawberries, so we could have those for desert tonight." John said as she appeared at the top of the stairs.

"Oh thank you! Umm… how are you? What is it like outside?" Though he shot her a bemused look, he answered the questions as he made his way to her.

"It is cool, as it is autumn and you know exactly how I am. You can see it, no doubt." A smile crossed her lips.

"Indeed I can." Then she put out her arms to block his way to the living room. He sighed.

"What are you up to?" She gave a nervous smile and decided the best way to approach the subject was to be blunt.

"You know Sherlock?" John sighed in partial annoyance.

"Yes, of course I know Sherlock."

"Well, what if I told you that I couldn't find him anywhere?" Sherlock, in the other room, heard a strange emphasis on the word 'anywhere' and had a feeling it was some kind of code. John narrowed his eyes.

"What are you trying to say?" Kagome cringed.

"What if I told you he was alive?" John winced and then sighed, raising a hand to run through his short hair.

"I would tell you to not tease me, Kagome. Stop. You know what I saw." Once again, there was a strange undertone to the words they spoke and Sherlock wondered what they were talking about.

"Yes, yes I do. But you also know that I wouldn't tease you about something like this - it's important to you. And I can't find him anywhere. Not to mention, he's in the living room." John's eyes widened and Kagome immediately stopped him from going in there before he could even try.

"Kagome." He growled.

"John." She warned. "I have already dealt with him. Let him enjoy what should be a happy occasion. He did it to protect you, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade. Do I not do the same?" She arched an eyebrow at him, daring him to protest. He stopped trying to get past her and slumped, sighing heavily and nodding. She beamed. "Good. Now, you will go in there and welcome him back properly. Oh, and be careful to avoid the right cheek - I fear I may have been a bit rough with him." Then she ushered him into the room, to find Sherlock sitting there, a pout on his face, aimed right at her.

John couldn't help himself, seeing Sherlock acting like a child made it seem like he never left.

He laughed, everyone else soon joining in.

Meanwhile, the British government watched the reunion and smiled. "Nicely played, Kagome."

Slightly undecided about doing a kind of prequel to this, about how John and Kagome met, but let me know and I'll do my best. Reviews would most certainly be welcome.

BP