Hi, this is my first Sherlock fanfiction. I hope you like it.

Three years later

It wasn't easy for John to learn how to live without Sherlock. He had to look for a new flat mate every month just because none off the one that started to live with him was able to stand the depression that was over him since the afternoon he lost THE Man. This month's flat mate was called George and according to Mrs. Hudson was very nice man, but he hadn't nothing to do with the one Sherlock was.

Since the scene happened Watson wasn't the same. Even after a few months after it there were people that still sent him their cases or puzzles and for him was hard to stand the thought that the detective was gone. Of course he denied all of them; he wasn't able to solve them himself. The pain in his leg started to alarm him again and the walking cane came into action.

Today it was the day that it happened. The day the Sherlock … killed himself. Even if it was three years ago, it hurt. And still whenever the papers or the journalists, or all the televisions said John never believed that Sherlock had told him a single lie. It was impossible to know all the things that he said about him when they first met. He couldn't have the time to search him for the simple reason that he couldn't know that he was coming to the morgue. Sherlock was a genius even if in the last minutes of his live he denied it all. It was impossible to know all this things if he wasn't a genius. And the magic tricks story was crap. He had no advantages of telling a lie. So three years that it much time. So many things could happen in three years. For example if Sherlock was alive he could solve the president's case. Oh yes he could. A year ago the president's daughter was killed but a mysterious man the still was out. Before a year and a half John closed his blog. He hadn't written in it since the last case they had. The Fall. It was hard for him to live but he did it. He had to fill the time with something so he found a job it wasn't something hard or well paid. He worked as a shop-assistant it an antique shop.

Tonight John was doing something as a ceremony for Sherlock. He reread the stories about the cases he had published on the Internet. Study in Pink. The first case they solved together. Or most likely Sherlock solved, and John was more like starring not believing his eyes. The reread the description of Sherlock he had written. It wasn't the way he has seeing him in his memory. But he liked it. It made him smile to think of the all good times.

Suddenly a noise broke the silence. His mobile was ringing. It rang so rarely lately that he jumped. The phone wasn't ringing for a call, but a text message. It was from a blocked number. It said "Look through the window. The book is AZ London." John was surprised when he was this message what could mean that the book was AZ London. Wasn't that the book that had helped Sherlock to solve The Blink Banker case? There he found the answer of the code. The thought it was some kind of joke but he stood up and went to the window without even wanting it. On the electric box, near the lamp were two signs one under another. It first was a line and the other was like an eight but without the first circle. They were painted in red like a rose. Watson recognized the symbol from the box, The Blind Banker's case. He searched for them in the dictionary. The words he found was 'bedroom' and 'look'. His mind was on fire. He the first time since ages his adrenaline was up. And his heart was beating so fast. There was something new and in the same time old in this text message. The window in his bedroom wasn't available for anyone to go or write there, so that could be George's room. Sherlock's room. It was good that he was out with his girlfriend tonight. The entered the room and saw on the wall, written with the same red color another three symbols. He searched them in the book he held in his hands. The first one was only two letters. SH. End the second one … was ALIVE. His phone rang again. Another text message. It was an address 222 Baker Street. Already taking his jacket John was exiting the flat. The address was just in two steps so it took a minute to go there. On the pavement there were the same kind symbols. At was good that John cared the book with him. These times the words were – 'thirty' 'meter' 'right'. John ran and there he saw… another message on the wall of the building. It was old storehouse. There was only one word – 'three'.

There on the third floor on the building there were two things. A door and a chair. On the chair there was a man he wore suit, a scarf and long jacket. His hair was curly and there was no beard on his face. His eyes were bright and his skin so white. Not a single wrinkle on his face. This was dead for three minutes before three years but that's all. This man was Sherlock Holmes. It was good idea to get blocked number so John couldn't recognize him. Was he going to come? Did he guess what he should do? It was easy. Three years. God! How did he resisted three years without giving a single sigh that he was alive. It wasn't easy not to see John. It wasn't easy at all. He always thought that feeling was a sigh of softening, but John was… different.

John was up stairs on the third floor. He opened the door the place looked empty. It was cold so he could see his breath. His adrenaline was up, his heart race was up and he didn't want more symbols. He wanted to know do was the man who stood behind this and to hit him. In this moment he saw a chair near the window. It looked like someone was in the chair. He had crossed his legs. The place was dark so he could see the face of the man.

'Who are you?' – He asked - 'tell me who are you and what am I doing here?'

'It's… ah.' – The voice answered. "God this voice sounded like… was it possible. No… he was dead. How… that wasn't possible. Sherlock?" John thought but he couldn't say it because his voice was down. – 'It's me… John. It's me.' – "Yes. He got it" Sherlock thought and smile in the darkness.

'What the hell? You can't be you. You, you - son of a bitch. You – son of a bitch.' – John ran through the place. Sherlock already stood up. He was waiting for a hug eventually may be a punch in the face. John came and punched him in the face. – 'You. Idiot!' and he punched him again.

'Ouch. You broke my nose.' – Sherlock complained licking the blood from his mouth.

'No I didn't. What the hell are you thinking? You idiot! Don't you know that I have heart? Don't you know that I want it beating?' – John shouted. – 'How? How the bloody hell are you alive? Explain? Now!' – John kept shouting and it was good that they were alone in the building.

'Please, John. Stop yelling like an idiot.' Sherlock said and put his hands around John and his voice cracked down at this second. To breathe John scent was the thing that Sherlock was dreaming about since he 'died'. To feel him to know that he is there. The same John as ever. Always overreacting and open and emotional. All these things Sherlock missed since the moment he was away from him. All these things were what he dreamed about.

John wrapped his hands around Sherlock. Longing for the hug for so many times. 'Oh, God I missed him so much. Oh God I can't believe that he is alive. He is really alive.' John thought pressing Sherlock closer to him. To feel him, a dream, the smell him to embrace him and to know that he is still alive. But where was he all these years. Was he always in the city or he was somewhere in the world. He was looking for him everywhere could at first he couldn't believe that he was dead.

'I missed you so much Sherlock.' Watson said quietly. He looked the pale man in the eyes. The same eyes that he longed to see. And that half smile what came on his face when he head John's words.

When they finally separated they both didn't want it. It looked like they stood embraced for ages but they didn't care. Sherlock was alive. John was near him everything looked prefect.

'I'm sorry… 'bout the punch. But you needed it.' – Watson said but before Sherlock could answer John leaned forward, pressing his lips to Sherlock's, not thinking about anything. Just for a little while he couldn't breathe. 'What the hell am I doing? Why did I kiss him? I have to back up' John though and at this moment Sherlock returned to the kiss. He kissed him harder loving the feeling of how soft John's lips were. With one hand on Sherlock's back and the other in his hair John thought that everything is perfect.

Sherlock was alive. He was in his hands. He was kissing with more that obvious passion. So this moment was pictured in their minds forever. And everything was perfect.

FOR NOW.

Thanks for the attention. Hope you liked it. I'd love to know what you think of the story, so leave me a review Please.

Love from me! ^^