John was lonely. No better word than that. Sherlock had just up and left one day while John was at work, leaving nothing but a two word note. "I'm sorry." John had immediately called him. His phone was disconnected. At first, he was in a panic. Something must have happened, surely Sherlock wouldn't just up and walk out of his life. Not without saying goodbye.
The fact that precious little of his belongings were packed seemed to support John's theory. He went to Lestrade, but they barely had time to discuss possibilities before Mycroft showed up, telling them not to bother looking. Sherlock was safe, but that was all he could share. John almost broke the nose of the British Government when he said that.
And now, two months later, he was sitting in his chair, staring at the wall. The silence, the emptiness of the place was going to drive him mad. Bloody hell, he thought. Why did he leave? He had asked this question many times, to himself and anyone else, with no answer. Sherlock was gone, no goodbye, just a note. I'm sorry. "You should be sorry, you wanker." John muttered. He felt a stab of loneliness hit him again when there was no sarcastic response. Was it him? Was it Moriarty? What had happened?
He had stopped sleeping, food had lost his appetite, life had lost its luster. Without Sherlock Holmes, it was like life without the sun. Cold, and meaningless. "God damn it." He said aloud to the empty flat, "I don't care why you left, just come home."
The only response was the sound of the door opening. It was probably Mrs. Hudson, coming to check on him. She had started doing that more lately. "I don't want any company right now, Mrs. Hudson."
"Should I leave then?" A familiar deep voice said with a hint of amusement. John jumped out of the chair and turned to face the tall detective who was standing in the doorway, smirking. "Wha…?"
"Close your mouth, John." Sherlock's smirk fell away as he took in the doctor. He crossed the room in three strides, and stood in front of John. "Well?"
John didn't say anything, just threw his arms around the detective. Sherlock stiffed at first, then wrapped his arms around the smaller man. He rested his chin on John's head and sighed. "It is rather good to be home."