His hair was lighter when he came back to John. Ginger. A change of look to throw off the men after him for so long. His face more sunken in as well, accenting those dangerous cheekbones. Still as impeccably dressed as ever though, John noted. The clothes may not fit him as well as they had once did three years ago, but they remained still. Worse for wear maybe by now. The great trademark coat of Sherlock's seemed like it had been put in for a few miles over the last few years.
He still was as lovely as John remembered him though. Brilliant. Lovely. Idiotic.
They were both tired. They had both been fighting their own personal battles during their separation.
So many things needed to be talked about, but no words were spoken that first night. They simply lay together under the blankets of John's warm bed, recalling the nights before when the two men seeking each other's warmth was all but a familiar song played over and over each night. Fingers interlaced and recycling one another's breaths.
The most achingly familiar thing