"…and so it was necessary to keep you in the dark about my location until now John," explained Sherlock in the most gentle and caring voice he could muster. John stared back at him with wide, slightly tear glazed eyes, as though there was a phantom standing before him. Sherlock understood; anyone would be shocked to see someone who had been dead for three years standing before them, clear as day. Or night, as it happened to be at this time. The moon was full and bright, bathing them and the rooftop in its celestial pearly glow, making everything seem ethereal and ghostly to John.
"Sherlock, tell me now, is this real? Are you actually not dead?" John finally managed to whisper in a low and hushed voice, as though anything louder might break the spell and Sherlock would disappear forever again. Sherlock took a step towards the trembling man.
"Yes, I am alive and quite real. Now if you're going to punch me in the face, I'd rather get this over with qui-" he began to say as John approached him rapidly. What he didn't expect was the collision with him, not in the form of a fist connecting with his jaw, but arms flung around his torso, chest up against chest and a warm face tucked into the crook of his neck, breathing heavily and the feeling of wetness dripping onto his shirt and seeping through the cotton onto his bare skin. Instinctively, Sherlock snaked his arms around the smaller man and hugged him tightly, whispering soothing promises in his ear whilst observing his best friend in detail. He had seen John properly for the first time in three years. It was hard not to notice such drastic changes and wonder about the reasons behind them.
Stubble, along with longer hair than usual – no need to keep up appearances. Thinner, not in a healthy way, lost about ten kilograms. Face is sharp and cheekbones stick out, hollowed eyes with dark circles. Weak, can barely stand up, hasn't slept properly in days, or eaten. Hands and body trembling – cold? No. Not in control. Last time I saw him, the intermittent tremors were all but gone, now they're back. Could be due to stress. No, anxiety. Psychosomatic limp has also returned. More trauma? Or reliving old trauma. Yes, that would explain the lack of sleep and weight loss – night terrors, or debilitating nightmares. About what? The war? Can't just be that…must be more recent. Must be…Oh John…what have I done to you?