Welcome Home
It was a cold winter's day at 221B and John sat alone reading the morning paper as he would every morning since Sherlock had died. He would always go straight to the biggest story - be it a murder or something important stolen. He was in high hopes that one day, he might be able to catch a glimpse of his beloved Sherlock helping to solve said crime. Be it the tail of his coat in a poorly taken photo or words speaking of a man which no one came to know. John often spent his days working with Inspector Lestrade to help ease his mind and just to get by, even if it was just a little bit. He would then come home to a warm meal which Mrs. Hudson would prepare. He knew she wasn't his house keeper as she so often reminded him but, she always insisted he eat at least one good meal a day. Since Sherlock died, John lived a somewhat simple life. All that all changed the day he got a text that simply read "Open the door. -SH". John couldn't believe what he was reading. He just couldn't fathom what was happening. Without hesitation, he leapt from his chair and dashed down the flight of stairs. He saw in the window the silhouette of a tall, lanky man. He caught his breath and opened the door to see Sherlock standing there with a solemn look that took over his entire body. John watched as a single tear slip from Sherlock's eye. John grabbed him, holding him tighter then he had ever held anyone or anything in his entire life. He whispered over and over into Sherlock's ear through choked back tears, "It's okay. You're home now. Everything is okay." Sherlock began to weep while resting his head on John's shoulder. After a few moments, both men still in disbelief began their silent accent up the stairs.