John Clung to the sides of Sherlock's open shirt, each kiss messy, clumsy; Teeth clashing, mouths mashing, and nothing could be more perfect.
They were pressed together, the wall joining from both sides periodically as they fumbled with petty frustrating things. Such as belts, and buttons.
It was manic and desperate, the sheer magnitude of it all threatening to overwhelm John.
There was no lust involved in all the fevered movements, only need.
John needed nothing more than to be pressed up against the man he thought he had lost, pressed so close they threatened to become one person.
And suddenly, it rushed all out, John resting his forehead against Sherlock's bare chest, breathing and barely holding on to it all, sobs fighting out of his throat like savage animals.
He buried his face into the clasped folds of his shirt, pressing the cloth closed as if it would hold Sherlock in- and therefore keep him there, and clinging like a desperate child.
Sherlock pet his head silently, said silence only broken oh his part by soft shushing.
John looked up, into his eyes and burst into laughter, his nerves frayed, and mind whirling as it was all just so much. He hugged His friend, arms engulfing the thin man, warmth between the two of them soothing his haggard mind.
"I missed you Sherlock." -
- John awoke, a single tear slipping from his watery eyes. As suddenly as it had all become perfect again, the peace was gone.
And so still, was Sherlock.
"It was a dream... You're still dead." John began sobbing, his hands covering his face as he brought his knees up, the cool sheets bunching around his bare waist.
"Please… One last Miracle. Don't be dead."