Sherlock after faking his death for 3 goddamn years is like:
Sherlock: My dear Watson, so glad to see you, my boy. Of course you're going to live with me in Baker' Street again. And sell that clinic of yours, I even have a buyer in my family interested due to my sheer pressure. Ah, you don't have to be a doctor, you know you'd rather be my biographer, but of course before writing one of our cases you'll ask for my permission. Oh and leave your checks in my locker if you need it just ask me for the key. Oh, it's 1895, bad time to be in London, let's spend a few days staying in that university town of ours far from here. Oh, pack your bags Watson, we're going to Norway too!! Now (...).
Watson: Okay, Holmes. Everything you want.
Book - The Return Of Sherlock Holmes















