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John was headed to the restauraunt. His thoughts revolved around Mary alone. Was proposing to her the right choice? Should he go through with it? John was so anxious he almost overlooked the man standing in the middle of the sidewalk. Well, almost.
"John!", Sherlock exclaimed. His face split into a grin. John's entire body froze. And then he moved, his right arm pulling up, reaching out and striking. Sherlock stumbled back, the punch sitting quite well. But John pulled him back again by the collar of his stupid coat and smashed his face into a kiss. Sherlock was too stunned to react at first. But slowly, he came back to himself and reciprocated. Eyebrows furrowed and hands carefully reaching out to touch John's face, when John pulled away and slapped him with his left hand. Sherlock looked utterly dumbfounded when John's right hand carresed the now red cheek and tilted his head down. They were kissing again. So Sherlock closed his eyes and leant into it. Again, he was surprised by the headbutt John now gave him. Instinctively, his hand went to his bleeding nose. Sherlock looked up to the sky and John embraced him tightly, head resting upon his shoulder. John moved to kiss Sherlock on the cheek and abruptly kneed him in the balls. Sherlock collapsed and John kept his distance this time.
"You bastard!", John shouted. "I-", Sherlock started but he was too baffled to form a coherent sentence. "Do you have any idea how much I missed you?", he yelled. Sherlock tried to form an answer, but John continued. "Two fucking years! How could you?" He started pacing now. "John.... I-" "Why didn't you tell me?" He now glared at Sherlock accusingly. "One word. That's all I would've needed. ONE WORD TO LET ME KNOW YOU WERE ALIVE!" Sherlock gulped. Passers-by eyed them warily. "The last two years were hell! Absolute fucking hell!" Sherlock nodded, his vision clouded by tears. "I'm sorry..." "Sorry doesn't cut it! You pretended to be dead and didn't even let me know." Tears were now openly streaming down Sherlock's face. "I couldn't." John was much quieter now. "Why?" His tone portrayed only sadness. "Too dangerous. Didn't dare risking it." "Risking what?" Sherlock's eyes met his. "Your life."
John's face twitched between furious and devastated. "My life?" Sherlock nodded, eyes to the ground. "The assasins. I had to jump. They would've-" Sherlock choked up, crying again. "Hey now", John said softly, carefully stroking the cheek he had punched only minutes ago. "Shhhh" "Moriarty gave me the ultimatum. My life or yours. And Mrs Hudson's. And Lestrade's. The snipers. If I hadn't jumped-" Sherlock was sobbing again. John hugged him. "But why didn't you tell me after?" Sherlock huffed out air. "I had to take down his network. Oh, John." John stepped away. "You could've told me. You should have told me." "I'm sorry." John started walking away but immediately asked himself: 'What are you doing?' So he turned around after about seven steps to fling himself at Sherlock again. This caught Sherlock by surprise and John's momentum made him lose his balance.
They landed on the sidewalk, Sherlocks injured back first. He let out a hiss of pain but revelled in John's warmth above him. Sherlock was still in a state of disbelief after John's kisses. "Sherlock? Are you hurt?" Sherlock shook his head but winced when he moved. John helped him up and very carefully slipped his hand behind Sherlocks back to hold him gently. "You're at 221b?" Sherlock nodded. So John summoned a taxi and told the driver to get them to Baker Street. "What about your date?", Sherlock asked. John shrugged it off.
Sherlock opened the door to 221 and the two of them went into up into their old flat. "Dusty", Sherlock murmured. John couldn't help but chuckle at that. Sherlock stood up straighter when he heard the sound escape John's throat and for a blessed moment, the two shared a look of happiness and understanding, just like they always had. And John realised just how easy slipping back into this life was going to be. But he averted his gaze and the moment was gone.
"You're injured", John said, stating the obvious as ever. Sherlock didn't respond. "Where?" "It's really not that bad." John sighed. "As your doctor I'd like to take a look." Sherlock grumbled but couldn't back away now. He pulled off his suit jacket and laid it on the couch. Then he started unbuttoning his shirt, pulled it out of his trousers and slipped it off as well. Sherlock took a deep breath and turned around. He could practically feel John hold his breath. John stepped toward him and took a closer look at the fresh scars. Some of the wounds have reopened. So he brushed Sherlocks clothes off the sofa and gestured for him to lay there. "You need stitches." Sherlock complied.
Sherlock's skin burned where John's hands touched his back. The pain of the needle wasn't even that prominent but the skin contact with John made him shiver. God, how he had missed him. And because he felt he owed John something, he told him. "I missed you. Being apart from you was awful." He heard John huff. "I'm sorry that I hurt you. I just saw no other way." John stayed silent for a while and Sherlock almost started talking again, but John asked: "What happened on that rooftop?"
So Sherlock explained Moriartys scheme. "He gave me an incentive. That's what he said at least. My life or the lives of my friends. So I had to die. Do you want to know how?" John considered. "Not now." So Sherlock continued: "He wanted to ruin my image. Have me die a hypocrite. Only then I figured out there was no computer key code. So I was ready to jump. But before I texted Mycroft, I tried to negotiate. He would be able to stop the snipers. So Moriarty killed himself. No way out for me. So I did what had to be done. Jumped. Went undercover." John cleared his throat. "And spent the next two years taking down a criminal network." Sherlock didn't react. "John... I am only now realising the extent of my actions. And I can't begin to understand the pain I must have caused you. If you were to die, I'm not sure if I...." John only sighed. "And I'm sorry for punching you." "I deserve it." "Don't say that." John finished stitching him back together. Sherlock sat up again. Their eyes met and Sherlock voiced what his heart told him. "I'm sorry. I missed you. I... I love you." John swallowed. Then he nodded and stood up. Sherlock looked after him as he left.
He left. John walked out. Sherlock felt his heart break apart. And so did his emotional dams. He started crying again. He slumped on the sofa, head buried in his hands and wept. When no more tears were left, he leant back into the sofa and took in his surroundings. A layer of dust coated everything. The skull, the chairs, the violin. The violin! Sherlock rushed towards it. He sook it out of its encasing. It was exactly as he remembered. It still fit smoothly against his chin. So Sherlock started playing. A dreadfully sad, yet beautiful melody escaped. Tchaikovsky. He must've understood Sherlock's pain. Sherlock was interrupted by the sound of something dropping onto the floor behind him. It was a suitcase.
"John?" John smiled at him. But his smile faded into worry soon enough. "Have you been crying?" "No", Sherlock lied, on the verge of tears again. "Oh god, I didn't say anything, did I?" Sherlock shook his head. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" John hugged him carefully, aware of Sherlocks injuries. "Packed some of my stuff. I'm moving back in. If you'll have me, that is." Sherlock sobbed into his shoulder. "Of course." John let out air he didn't realise he'd been holding in. "Please don't scare me like that again", Sherlock whispered. "I won't. I love you too." That made Sherlock cry even harder. "Are you okay?", John asked. Sherlock nodded, his chin digging into the muscle of John's shoulder. "Just very emotional." John smiled and loosened the embrace to see Sherlock's face properly. "Me too", John laughed, joining Sherlock in his tears.
They were standing in the living room, laughing and crying as Mrs Hudson came up the stairs, stick in hand, ready to strike any burglar. "Sherlock!" The stick fell to the ground and she hugged the two. "Ah, I just knew you weren't dead!" Sherlock kissed her on the cheek. "I've missed you." She patted his cheek. "Oh and I've missed you. Seeing you two here together again, ah it's wonderful." John let out a strangled laugh and wiped some tears off his face. "We're home."
Sherlock followed John's instructions and went to bed. They promised to explain everything to Mrs hudson the next day. Only John remained in the living room, texting his almost-fiancée. He felt sorry about ending it. He liked her humor and was eternally grateful for her help during the last few months. But when Sherlock came back into the kitchen and coyly asked if they could share the bed, John knew he made the right choice.