A/N- This is my first fanfic. Hope you enjoy it and have a great day! Please, R&R, I will give you a cookie.
Disclaimer- I checked. I still don't own Sherlock.
Sherlock.
That was last thing John saw before he collapsed onto the floor. He was back. But this couldn't be! He was dead. John had seen it with his own eyes. This was his mind, playing sad tricks on him. When he opens his eyes, Sherlock won't be there. Because he's dead.
He opens his eyes. Nothing. He knew it, but in the back of his mind, he had a little glimmer of hope, but that was gone now, for he was alone. Then, he hears a loud crash from the kitchen. It's Mrs. Hudson, he thinks to himself, but he knows its not. "Bloody kettle, I thought this was fixed!" That was most definitely not Mrs. Hudson. That was a voice he never thought he'd hear again. The voice that convinced him to come here, to run and never look back, the voice that taught him to live. The voice belonged to Sherlock Holmes.
John stumbled into the kitchen, head throbbing from what he supposed had been a very hard fall. "Oh hello, John, fancy meeting you here! Terribly sorry, Moiarty had a few more friends that I needed to take car-" He sentence was cut off. By John punching him the face. "You arse! You leave me here, while you pretend you are dead, and go off and fight these people, without even telling me! You could have told me, given me a sign, but no, you thought faking your death would be easier than that. Do you know how much I went through? How much Mrs. Hudson went through? Lestrade and Donovan? Hell, even Anderson attended the funeral. And you just waltz on in here, pretending it was nothing. Well, it wasn't nothing. It was hell, Sherlock, it was hell. Hell." By the end of this speech, John's body was shaking, wracking with sobs, while Sherlock looked on from the floor, where he had ended up after being punched.
"John, I, I hadn't known you would take it this hard, I thought you would be okay, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." Sherlock got up. "You thought I would be okay? After seeing my best friend die? After the hell I saw, you thought I would be okay?" Sherlock nodded his head no, of course he knew John wouldn't be okay. But he never knew it would be this bad. He had to do it, because he couldn't let them get his friends. He just didn't know how to tell the still sobbing blonde that.
"John." His head perked up, just a bit, but enough that Sherlock could see tear tracks on his cheeks and more threatening to spill over. "I had too. They were going to get you, and Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade, I had to die. If I died, you would live. So I died. Moriarty had an entire web of helpers, and I had to finish them off, see, so I could come home to you. I'm so sorry, I never met for this to happen, I don't want to hurt you, I love yo-" Sherlock, realizing his mistake, turned around, beet red, muttering something about needing to use the loo. John would have none of that. Now was his chance, if he didn't do it now, he could never do it. He grabbed the taller man's shoulder, and kissed him.
Sherlock's eyes widened at the touch on his shoulder. What was John going to do to him? He didn't want to get punched again. His thoughts raced as John looked him in the eyes, and then suddenly, without warning, kissed him. He moaned into the kiss, slowly at first, before the both of them surfaced for air. "John, I- Love you" John finished for him. Sherlock was amazed. This man, whom he had had feelings about for a while, had just told him he loved him. Granted, he had also punched him in the face, but he had said he loved him! That was worth it. Not just the punch, but everything in the past three years. All the cuts, and bruises, and all the pain, it was all worth it. He could be with John now, and they would be safe. He then realized he was smiling like a five year old.
"Tell me a story." John looked up at Sherlock, whom he had been sitting on the couch cuddling with for the past hour. "What kind of a story do you wish to hear? How you saved me." And so, Sherlock told John how he killed each and every criminal in that web, what he deduced, and every detail in-between.
An hour later, Mrs. Hudson walked up. She had known about Sherlock before John, because he didn't want to scare her, so he sent her a letter before he came home, and she helped him get in. She looked in, and found that they had fallen asleep on the couch, pretty much on top of each other, and were out like lights.
"About time." She said to no one in particular as she left the room. "I thought it would never happen."