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A black taxi cab sped down the quiet street, sloshing the light drizzle of rain onto the solitary figure pacing down the sidewalk. Sherlock Holmes pulled his coat collar ever so slightly higher around his sharp cheekbones, trying to block out the aching cold. Tears brimmed on the edge of his deep blue eyes, freezing before they could fall over. I’m so sorry, John. I’m so, so sorry, were the only thoughts that ran through his normally over-stimulated brain. One tear managed to ease over and land on his blue scarf. He stopped short. Another step would land him on Baker Street. John was so close. How was he going to explain everything to him? How do you tell your best friend that you aren’t actually dead, that the whole thing was a set up to protect him?
Sherlock found himself fidgeting in front of 221B. He never fidgeted. Butterflies were going insane in his stomach, he was nervous and vulnerable. All of his life Sherlock had pushed away normal emotions. Alone he was safe from hurt, this he had learned at an early age. When his parents scolded him he had not cared. He had never loved anyone at university, and most everyone he knew assumed he was asexual. He was not happy nor was he sad, he did not feel love and he did not feel hate.
Until he met John Watson. From the moment John had entered the lab at St. Bart’s Hospital Sherlock had felt something new. In the beginning he blew it out like a spark, but the longer he was around his new flat mate the bigger the flame grew. He was euphoric around John Watson. Everything about John put him in a frenzy, and eventually he knew he was in love.
“Hello, John!” Mrs. Hudson sang from her room when he opened the front door. Sherlock ignored her, which broke his heart, but he had to see John first. Long fingers grazed the wall and steadied Sherlock as he stumbled up the stairs. He couldn’t think straight, tears threatened to spill over again. He swung the door open quietly.
“Hullo John. . .”
John turned around violently in his arm chair. His mouth dropped open and his grey eyes filled with silver tears. “Oh God,” he breathed and standing up stepped closer to his friend.
Sherlock offered a small, sad, smile, and then he felt a shocking pain. He reeled backwards, catching himself on the door and standing back up. “I deserved that,” he said.
John Watson found himself screaming before he realized it, cursing his friend. His head throbbed furiously and when the sobs started he didn’t even try to stop them. In a moment Sherlock closed the gap between them and enveloped John.
“I’m so sorry, John. I’m extremely sorry.” Sherlock’s perfect, rumbling voice murmured into John’s tan hair, “Can you ever forgive me?” John was extremely thin, thinner than Sherlock remembered and his hair was lighter, more gray than brown. His eyes were sadder, but Sherlock only had himself to blame for that. Hopefully he could make those grey eyes bright again.
John’s sobs were intense. His whole body shook, one hand clasped over his mouth, the other wrapped around Sherlock’s back gripping his coat fiercely. Sherlock wrapped his arms tighter around John’s quivering body. John eventually released his grip on Sherlock’s overcoat. Puffy red-rimmed eyes stared into Sherlock’s tear filled ones. Everything is going to be alright. Sherlock thought as he stared into John Watson’s tear streaked face. His eyelids fluttered shut. Warmth covered his pink cupids bow lips; blinking open his eyes saw John and only John.
"Never leave again." John commanded.
"Never." Sherlock replied as he leaned into the soft, wet kiss.