Author's note: This is short, because I am trying to realize that Sherlock is indeed coming back today. But I wanted to publish something to celebrate that fact, so here is my story to the prompt "Lazying About". Please accept my apology. In truth I can never predict how long my stories are going to be.

I don't own anything, please review.

Today of all days had to be the day John Watson decided he deserved to take a break and force Sherlock Holmes to stay at home and rest as well.

Lazy bastards, both of them, and I can stand here in the cold and do their legwork. Why did the body have to turn up outside anyway, and not in a nice flat?

Okay, now I'm starting to complain like a certain someone, and that's probably not a good idea. But I am cold.

It's not like I don't appreciate John making Sherlock take a break. God knows he needs it now and then. I remember it was almost impossible before he came along. How many times did I have to carry him to my car because he had collapsed in the middle of an experiment or a chase?

As if I didn't know. Four times. As if I didn't remember every single moment of these four times.

Sometimes I wonder why I put up with Sherlock Holmes.

Then I remember the time he was gone, and I stop wondering.

Because the truth is that I need him, and sometimes I hope he needs me too.

Finally the forensic tech is done with the evidence. I can't help but miss Anderson, sometimes. Maybe I should ask Sherlock is he couldn't convince him to take his job back – they do seem to get on better, these days, and I know for a fact they speak on the phone now and then.

Not that he'd admit it. John told me he woke up one night to hear Sherlock speak in the other room and heard him address the person on the phone as "Anderson". John told me too that Sherlock has spoken with something like respect about the former forensic tech.

Oh well. I guess it will have to wait until Sherlock and John are done with their break.

I can't even imagine what they're doing. I mean, John, sure, but Sherlock? I'm certain that the doctor forbid him doing experiments because he wouldn't consider it relaxing, and it would be too much to hope that Sherlock might sleep for once.

I think he's slept even less since he returned.

There's a haunted look in his eyes. Not always. Sometimes. When he thinks no one's looking.

John has noticed it as well.

He must know that we have noticed, but he doesn't say anything.

He hasn't talked much about the years he spent dead. I think, if he could simply have come back and wouldn't have had to explain anything, he would happily have done so.

He should talk. He knows he should, we know he should.

Maybe he thinks we don't want to hear what he has to say.

I know I don't. But I would listen. Because he has suffered, and he shouldn't carry it around with him.

Then again, he's a Holmes and Mycroft barely talked about him when we thought he was dead. It must run in the family.

That reminds me – I should give Mycroft a call. I haven't seen him in almost a week, and he's sure toe enjoy hearing about John ordering Sherlock to take a break.

And Sherlock obeying, no less.

I should probably worry, but John is his best friend, and he's certainly been easier to handle since he returned from the dead. Not much, but still.

Finally. I thought they'd never be done. At least I can go to Baker Street and drop the evidence. Sherlock has been resting the whole day. That must be enough for John.

Mrs. Hudson isn't coming out to greet me – oh, right, she's visiting her sister. This is probably a good thing because otherwise she would have stuffed them full of tea and biscuits.

In Sherlock's case, maybe that's not that bad an idea. He should gain a little more weight –

Now that's something I didn't expect to see today.

"Sherlock, are you – are you watching telly with John?"

"What does it look like, Greg? He forced me to."

He can play miserable all he want, but I know someone content when I see him. I should probably wipe that grin off my face before he realizes what it means to me that he remembers my first name. He'd probably delete it again just to make a point.

Not that I could be angry at him, not when he granted us all a miracle.

"John's dressed, at least. Sherlock, here's the evidence – "

John can frown, I don't care. Alright, maybe I do, but I've known Sherlock longer than he has, if not better, and our friend needs a case to keep his mind from stagnation. I can almost see the boredom rolling off him –

Well, not exactly boredom. More like –

No, he's content to be here, with John. But there's this underlying itch. The itch that is always there, the itch I can understand so well because I feel it too.

Maybe that's why we clicked.

"Excellent".

"John – "

"It's alright, Greg. But you might as well sit down. This could take a while."

Why not? Everyone has the right to be a little lazy now and then.

Author's note: Happy Sherlock Day. Let us all rejoice, for the long wait is over.

This wasn't supposed to turn out the way it did, but my stories rarely do. I've grown used to it.