The idea for this oneshot - my first fanfiction by the way - came from two songtext lines, in ine hand from Green Day's 'Viva La Gloria' "There is no place like home when you got no place to go" and on the other hand out of ASP's 'The Little Big Man' the line "They say that home is where there's someone waiting, waiting for you" - I wanted just to tell that^^
I'd be glad if you tell me what you think about this - and about grammatical mistakes I might have made (I'm from Germany).
Now I stop talking ;) Hope, you enjoy it :)
"Come on, Sherlock, let's go." John stepped next to his friend. They were standing in front of an old house where Sherlock had just solved a case. It had taken him only a couple of minutes to figure out what had happened. Lestrade was happy - but he himself was kind of depressed. From his point of view the short time it had taken him was no sign of his genius but proofed once more the stupidity of Scotland Yard. They had been forced to call him for something this simple because they were too dumb to solve it on their own.
"Hey, Sherlock, let's go home," John repeated, and Sherlock nodded, still wondering how long it would take Lestrade to learn solving this kind of cases on his own.
They walked in silence. Once or twice the doctor tried to start a conversation, but Sherlock didn't answer.
His thoughts circled around one word. Home. For the first time in his whole life he understood the meaning of this word. Their flat had become a home for him. A home, not just a flat.
He never had such a place, never had something like a home. Not during his childhood and youth when he lived with his parents and Mycroft in a little house. In those times he used to be out as long and as often as possible. He had spent hours sitting in a park or on a bench in the streets watching the people pass by. He'd started to play some kind of game with them. He'd started to observe and to analyze them. That had always been a bit of fun.
Later the places he lived had always been just some rooms where he could eat and sleep - if he did this at all. They had never been homes to him. And he'd been lonely in those times. He had started using cocaine. It had been his only friend, if you can call a drug a friend.
The two men went up the stairs to 221b and when John closed the door behind them and started making tea, Sherlock finally realized that it was not the messy flat itself that made him feel at home, it was John who made the flat a home.
Sherlock turned around. He could see him in the kitchen where he stood near the table waiting for the water to boil. And without really knowing what he was doing Sherlock went over to him and kissed him. The only thing that surprised him more than his own action was John, who just put his arms around the detective's neck and kissed him back.