John's sleep was interrupted by the sound of a bullet in the walls. Without hesitation, he swung himself out of bed and down the stairs, and found himself glaring at the consulting detective on the couch. "It's four in the morning. You've only been alive two days and you're already driving me insane." John was still upset about the faked suicide, and though Sherlock was trying his hardest to gain John's forgiveness, old habits do die hard.
Sherlock stumbled on his words. This was the first time John had directly spoken to him since he rose from the dead. "I was just-"
John held up a silencing hand. Somewhere between being ripped from sleep and interrupting his flatmate, he realized just how much he needed this. The shots rang as a clear reminder of times past, and suddenly, the memories flooded John's mind once more. The cases, the laughter, pale fingers wound into his, the unconditional trust between them, the heartbreak, and the silence of the last two years. It was enough to overwhelm him and tears fell freely for the first time since his boyfriend pitched himself from a rooftop all those years ago. Sherlock stood helpless, afraid of harsh rejection.
The soldier strode forward and pulled his genius into a forgiving kiss. "It's so good to have you back."