I'm not dead –SH
You could've sent something sooner. -JW
I'm sorry, I couldn't bear to see your reaction in the flesh. I know, emotions don't suit me. -SH
I never could find it in me to really believe you were dead. It just didn't seem like you to go out on the terms of someone else like that. I should strangle you for making me go through this. -JW
I'm truly sorry. I'll make you a coffee -SH
Where are you? Where have you been? How many of those messages I sent to your mobile did you get and choose to ignore? -JW
My mobile... ran into problems. Blame Mycroft. I've been busy... well, not busy, bored. Took up smoking again. I need more crimes. Give me a murder. -SH
I'm going to murder you and have Lestrade and Anderson help me cover it up. I went back to therapy after that jumping incident of yours. -JW
They'd be happy to help you and I'd be intrigued to see you try. You couldn't kill me, you can't even throw away your old jumpers without crying. Sorry, I really am. Are you still at 221b? -SH
It's where I still live, yeah. Haven't spent much time there since you called me and threw yourself off a rooftop. I couldn't even clean up the mess you left in the kitchen. I always expected to hear you come up the steps and start whining about botched samples. -JW
Are you there at the moment? Because if you are, I'll come home. -SH
And if I'm not at Baker Street at the moment? -JW
I'll meet you there in ten. -SH
I'm just down the street. I can be back to the flat in two minutes. This had better not be a trick. -JW
Its not. I've missed you. -SH
There were moments when you were playing your damn violin at two in the morning that I thought I would never find it in me to miss you. But it hasn't been the same with you gone. Flat's too quiet. -JW
I've missed your terrible deduction skills. I've missed the one friend I've ever had. -SH
Are you at the flat yet? Or am I going to get there first and have to find a way to occupy myself until you make a grand entrance? -JW
I'm there already -SH
John slid his mobile shut and pushed it into his pocket, walking a little faster. He could see the building. He couldn't even pretend to know how he would react to seeing Sherlock sitting there in the flat. Likely pretending nothing ever happened. With his feet in the seat of his favorite chair, sitting on the back of it. Or hunched over a forgotten experiment in the kitchen... He pulled the door open and walked up the stairs to 221B. Sherlock was sitting on the chair, gazing into space, calmly smoking a cigarette, the smoke rolling off his lips whilst he pondered John's reaction. He was fully expecting to be punched, or shot. He knew that John was terrible at emotions. He let them overpower him far too easily.
John stood in the doorway for what felt like an eternity. There was the World's Only Consulting Detective, not as dead as the world believed, having a smoke in the sitting room as if he'd only left a few minutes ago for a pack of cigarettes. John's emotions were conflicted. He wanted to hug Sherlock, glad to see he wasn't dead. He wanted to throttle him for making everyone believe he was. He settled for sitting in the familiar old seat he'd claimed as his own in his first trip to the flat. Unsure of what to say, he just watched his not-dead flatmate.
Sherlock sat in the chair for a moment, listening to John's familiar breaths; he knew that John didn't know what to do, it was obvious from his short breaths and his shaking hand, still holding onto the doorframe. John was conflicted, nervous, and all Sherlock wanted to do was hug him and he didn't know why. Emotions were never his strong point but all he knew was that he had missed him. A lot.
"Jim had it wrong, you know. He didn't burn the heart out of you. It was me he used up. I still get calls from Lestrade from time to time. I don't know what he expected me to be able to do. I turned him down. Took up working full time in the surgery and hating every boring second of it," John said eventually. He stood in front of Sherlock and pulled the taller man to his feet, pulling him into a tight hug, not caring that there would be cigarette ash on his clothes or that the smoke was seeping into his jacket. Sherlock Holmes, the man he watched die and come back. The only one in the world.
Sherlock fully embraced him, for once in his life he was happy. He could feel that jolting feeling in his heart, the warmth, the happiness. He let it take him over. A smile grew on his face. He stopped, and cleared his throat, breaking apart the embrace. "Well John, got any cases lined up for us today?" He smirked, knowing how much it would annoy John to completely ignore him.
"There is one that may be of note. An arrogant prat was killed some weeks ago. Looks like the grave is empty now and the people that knew him are reporting seeing someone looking just like him being annoyed as if he'd never died at all." There was a joking edge to his voice, but it still bothered him some that Sherlock could just walk back in as if nothing had happened at all.
"John, I'm sorry, I know it was wrong and I know that you probably hate me but I had to, I had to honour Moriarty. I know it sounds stupid but he gave me the chase of a lifetime and kept me and you entertained for months on end, you've got to hand it to him. He made me doubt myself, no one makes me doubt myself, he won and I respected that. I wanted you to believe I was dead so it caused you less pain then thinking I was out there, just not talking to you. I came back for you John, I couldn't stand it anymore. My coffee was so terrible without you making it and Lestrade wouldn't shut up about how depressed you were without me..." Sherlock meant every word.
Sherlock could see it in John's eyes, he could see the sadness and guilt growing in his eyes, he noticed the usual sparkle go slightly dim as John muttered a quiet "oh.."
Sherlock felt his heart leap, he had never felt worse in his life and the worst part was seeing John Watson, his best friend, his…partner and his only friend, feeling this horrible about something that was his own fault.
John just stood there in disbelief at what he was seeing, he could see the pain in Sherlock's face and all he wanted to do was kiss him, but why? Sherlock was completely a-sexual, as sexually active as a tea cup and about as knowledgeable as one on the subject too. And more to the point John was completely straight. They were just friends, just platonic friends. But why did he feel like this.
Suddenly Sherlock leapt forward, placing his strong hands on the back of John's head and pulling him in. Their soft lips touching for the first time, John reached up to pull Sherlock in further, his hand wrapped in Sherlock's soft dark curls, intertwining his fingers in his soft hair. Sherlock responded suit, wrapping one arm around John's waist, he could feel the warmth of John's mouth on his, soft, passionate kisses perfectly timed with each other, as if they were in harmony, made for each other. They broke the kiss and John slowly moved his arms to Sherlock's waist and rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder, noticing the warmth in his heart. Sherlock could feel John's warm breath on his neck, he felt his hairs stand on end and sighed, this was all he'd wanted and he knew that now, but John couldn't know.
They broke apart, both men looking equally shocked at what had just happened, but there was a certain look of relief on each of their faces, as if they had both wanted that to happen for a long time.
"…what was that for?..." John started, being quickly cut off by Sherlock.
"deduction" replied Sherlock quickly, a little too quickly… "I needed to know the influence of emotions… for future reference in cases"
That was his Sherlock, utterly useless, ridiculously cryptic and hilariously clever, John thought, allowing a smug smile to creep back onto his face.
There was a knock at the door. A case.