Walking to the door at 221 B Baker Street Watson's hands shook. He clenched them tightly and took a deep breath. It had been weeks since he had seen Sherlock and god only knew what he would be faced with. As unpredictable and insane Sherlock could be, Watson missed him; although he wouldn't admit as much. There was a gaping hole that weighed down his chest, the separation was prolific and the emptiness made merely existing impossible for Watson.

As he made his way down the street Watson tried to busy his mind on thoughts of what he could possibly say when he laid eyes on Sherlock again. It had been three months since they fought. But to John it felt like a lifetime. He never admitted his feelings, not at first but it was hard to deny; let alone fight the chemistry that burned like ignited fireworks between the two friends.

When he finally reached the apartment; John felt his face drain of all colour. Trying to steady his shaking legs he took a deep breath and focused on the doorway ahead. 'It's only Sherlock, you can do this…' his mind screamed. Yet John found his feet firmly planted on the ground. His heart was racing now, much like a hummingbird trapped in a small cage and he wondered if perhaps this was a bad idea.

With a spark of determination and a mountain of dread he walked towards the door, taking his key out of his pocket John stared at it. Light from the sun glimmered on the silver key and he smiled, the thought of seeing Sherlock was intoxicating.

When he opened the door John was greeted with the sweet melody of Sherlock playing the violin. There was no turning back, shutting the door he shook his limbs hoping to rid himself of the nerves. It did him no good. Walking slowly up the stairs the music grew louder and it was a symphony to his ears, to simply be close to Sherlock again was something John had held onto for a very long time.

He opened the door and stood there, simply listening. The music did not stop but Watson knew Sherlock was aware of his presence. Each step grew heavier but he continued forward, with only one destination in mind.

Smiling he saw the back of Sherlock's head. He was standing straight as an arrow at the window, his body slightly swayed with every rhythmic move of his hands in accordance to playing the violin.

"Why are you here?"

Sherlock's deep voice took John by surprise and he froze, "Sherlock I-"

"You said you were never coming back."

John sighed, "You know I didn't mean it."

"Do I?" Sherlock snapped.

"I'm sorry I left it's just-"

"Don't say another word!" Sherlock cut him off, throwing the violin to the ground. It hit the floorboards and sent an eerie 'clang' through the room. The tension could be cut with a knife and John didn't dare take another step forward.

"Sherlock, it's been so long."

"Yes three months to be exact. But you see I have been so busy I didn't even notice your absence," he replied bitterly.

John flinched at his words and felt a wave of nausea flow through him, "I missed you," he mumbled under his breath.

"You wanted to leave, so go. You know where the door is … or has your smaller then average brain forgotten the location of the exit?" Sherlock hissed.

"Sherlock please," Watson sighed, walking slowly towards his friend.

"Get out."

"No."

Sherlock turned now, to face John and for the first time in months their eyes met. Neither said anything but they both stood as still as statues. Sherlock swayed a little as he locked eyes with John. "Will you leave me again?"

The question caught John off guard and a small smile crept upon his lips, "No."

"How can I be sure?" Sherlock asked.

"You will just have to trust me, I suppose."

With that Sherlock chortled in amusement, "Oh please trust is merely an idea it's not real. Besides trust can be so easily broken, I should know …" he trailed off staring at John.

Watson took another hesitant step forward, "I missed you," he bashfully admitted.

"Well, I …" for the first time Sherlock was speechless and John was shocked.

He laughed, it rippled through the room and the tension seemed to dissipate, "Can I come closer or will you hurt me?"

Sherlock paused and smiled, "You'll just have to trust me."

John stepped forward and Sherlock appeared to relax with every breath. All that had happened seemed to wash away and just like the tide always returning to kiss the shore. Sherlock and Watson were reunited.

Sherlock stepped forward and reached a hand for Watson's face, John was speechless. Everything he had ever felt and hoped was coming true, he was filled with anticipation and nerves. Sherlock was to John like a ghost or a dream and he prayed with every aching second that this was real, that everything he had ever wanted would not slip through his hands like water.

"Are you really here?" John asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"Are you?" Sherlock replied.

John said nothing and placed both of his hands on Sherlock's face. He studied every inch of Sherlock, his perfect face full of rough angular lines and a light dusting of stubble that was prickly under his fingers.

Sherlock pressed his forehead to Watson and on every exhale John would inhale. They shared oxygen, there was no space between them and finally like two puzzle pieces they fit perfectly together.

John ran a hand through Sherlock's dark and unruly hair, "I'll never leave again, not unless you want me to," he whispered.

"Never," Sherlock replied.

With that John lent in and pressed his lips to Sherlock's, a buzzing weightlessness filled his body like a thousand bee's in flight. Sherlock gasped and kissed Watson back harder now, with more passion.

The two became instantaneously enveloped in a fiery passion that filled them both with a sense of uncontrollable joy and anticipation.

Perhaps things would work out for the pair after all…