John Watson stared blankly at the marble stone in front of him, bright white letters emblazoning themselves onto his retinas. It had been a year. One whole year and no miracle. He stood facing the grave of his best friend, tears prickling behind his eyes. He refused to let them fall.
"You know something Sherlock" he began, his voice quivering with emotion and unshed tears. "I never truly believed you had died. I was always just waiting for you to burst through the door. I never-" Johns voice caught. Taking a shuddery breath, he continued.
"I never let myself think about the possibility of it being real. I knew that if I went down that road, I would ever come back. But now- Now the inevitable has come and I'm standing at your grave wishing and praying that you would just come back to me. If you were alive, why would you have stayed away for so long? I don't want to believe it Sherlock. I'm so- so fucking broken without you and I can't-"
John's voice disappeared as the tears he'd been fighting so hard against, began to fall. They coursed down his cheeks, leaving trails as they slid down. John screwed up his fists and pressed them against his mouth in a bid to prevent the wail of grief that was threatening to escape. He stood like that for ten minutes, simply crying. At last he let his arms fall to his sides.
"You never realised did you?" he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I guess you were right. Human emotions weren't really your area. But now- Well, since-" he took another shuddery breath.
"Now I've had to accept that you're ever coming back to me. And I never thought I would have to do that."
John knelt on the ground in front of the marble stone and placed a hand on it.
"I love you" he whispered, "So fucking much. I did before you died and I always will. Just and truly you."
John stood up and stifled a yawn. Crying always did make him sleepy.
"I'll see you later Sherlock."
~Later~
John closed the door behind him and headed straight for the sofa. He collapsed onto it and lifted his hand to his head so the crook of his elbow covered his eyes. The flat hadn't really changed much in the year Sherlock had been gone. All of his things, bar the science equipment (which had been donated to a local school) had been left alone. The only thing that John had touched was Sherlocks Violin which he cleaned regularly. The only major difference was that John now slept in Sherlocks room. It might have been a year since Sherlock had left, but his room still smelled like him. His blue robe still hung from a hook on the back of the door, and his possessions still cluttered the bedside table. John simply felt closer to his deceased flatmate there. He could pretend for a while that Sherlock was still around and would come bursting through the door to wake him with a cry of 'Case, John!'
A beeping from his pocket made John groan. Who would text him, today of all days? He fumbled in his pocket for his phone and clicked the display button.
Case. Will you come? GL
Sighing, John tapped out a reply.
You know what day it is Greg, can it wait till tomorrow? JW
Groaning as he sat up, John placed his phone on the table and went to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. His phone beeped again but he didn't hurry. He made his tea and slowly walked back towards the sofa, where he picked up his phone again.
You know I wouldn't have asked if it wasn't important. GL
Fine. I'll be 20 minutes. JW
Wishing that he could just spend the rest of the day moping around the flat in his depression, John made himself leave the flat, grabbing his coat on the way out. Once on the street, he flagged down a taxi and told the cabbie to take him to Scotland Yard.
John walked through the double doors to Scotland Yard with a heavy heart. He didn't acknowledge anyone, and didn't notice the looks of sympathy that followed him as he made his way to Lestrade's office. Steeling himself, John pushed open the door.
"Ok, can we make this quick please, it's probably the worst-" John cut himself off as he noticed who was stood in front of him. Mycroft Holmes. He looked around for Greg and found him sitting at his desk, a look of confusion etched across his features.
"John? What are you doing here?" Greg asked, standing up and walking around his desk.
"You- you texted me about a case and asked me to come over" replied John, completely baffled.
"Erm, no I didn't" said Greg, leaning against his desk and crossing his arms. "I know what day it is and I figured you'd just want to be left alone."
John stared at Lestrade, wondering what the hell was going on, when he was brought out of his reverie by Mycroft.
"John, how wonderful to see you" Mycroft held out his hand. John's confusion boiled up into anger within a second.
"Don't talk to me" he hissed. "You know I never want anything to do with you again after what you did to Sherlock."
Mycroft withdrew his hand, his features rearranging themselves to cool indifference.
"Be that as it may, there's a reason I called you here."
"You called me here?!" exclaimed John. "Why? And why did you use Greg's phone?!"
"You used my phone?!"
"I told you, the reason I'm here is because I got a text from you asking me to come in"
Silence reigned for a few seconds while John and Lestrade looked from each other to Mycroft who in turn, looked calmly at John.
"I called you here because I have something I wish you to know. I knew you would not come if I called, however, so deemed it necessary to use the inspector's phone."
John simply looked at Mycroft, stunned. All the pent up emotions that John had hidden away this past year, bubbled to the surface all at once. Trying to control his voice, John began to speak.
"What, pray tell, is so important that you couldn't grant my one wish from you to leave me alone?"
"It's about Sherlock" Mycroft replied simply.
John felt as though his heart had plummeted to the floor. He felt the tears prickle behind his eyes again and he pushed them back. He'd be damned if he let Mycroft bloody Holmes see him cry.
"What about Sherlock?" said Lestrade, and John sent him a thankful look. He wasn't sure he could have controlled his voice if he had had to speak.
"He... may not be as dead as you previously thought."
John sucked in a breath as his world fell from beneath his feet. He glared at Mycroft and was suitably glad to see the older Holmes shrink away from his glare.
"How DARE you?" he spat. "How dare you say something like that? Is this some kind of sick joke?! You know how much I wanted it to not be real, how often I wished for one last miracle. What, did you think I'd actually believe this? Coming from you?!"
"How about coming from me?"
John's breath caught. He knew that voice. But it couldn't be... Could it? No definitely not. This was just some mind trick constructed by Mycroft to get him to fall over the edge so he could have him sectioned. He couldn't be here.
"John, please turn around" the voice spoke again. John couldn't help himself. He slowly turned to face the newcomer and his face paled. Stood in front of him was a tall man with dark curly hair and piercingly blue eyes.
"No" said John, rounding on Mycroft. "NO! This is not fair! Why are you doing this to me?! He is NOT here! He's NOT alive! I know that, I saw it happen! Why do you want me to break even more?!"
With that, John bolted for the door, ignoring the group behind him, calling his name. He ran through the building and out to the street, flagged down a cab and climbed in. It took a mere 10 minutes to get back to 221B and that was when John let himself break down. He felt his way to Sherlocks room, blinded by the tears that wouldn't stop falling. He grabbed the blue robe from behind the door and pulled it around himself before collapsing onto the bed. John Watson cried. He wailed with grief and threw his phone at the wall when it rang. He simply couldn't cope. He cried and cried until he couldn't cry anymore. He lay on the bed, whimpering with sadness until exhaustion washed over him and he fell into a fitful sleep.
~Later~
John awoke in the small hours of the morning with a sore throat. He recalled, with a pain in his heart, what had happened the day before and how much he had cried. Sitting up, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and swung his legs off the side of the bed. He sat there for a few moments, taking in shaky breaths. He never wanted to see Mycroft again. The bastard. How could he possibly think it would be ok to do this? It was obviously a look alike. It MUST have been. There was no other explanation. John eventually stood and walked through to the living room. He stiffened. Something wasn't right. Something was wrong. He could feel it. He had been alone in this flat for a year, so why did it suddenly feel full? The light flicked on and John whipped around to face the intruder and immediately wished he hadn't. Framed by the window, wearing the black coat he always wore was Sherlock Holmes.
"NO!" screamed John, "THIS ISN'T FAIR!" he fisted his hair, pulling at it, hoping and praying that the apparition in front of him would fade.
"You can tell Mycroft that it won't work!" he shouted, pointing at the intruder. "He will NOT break me! I know Sherlock is dead, I saw him fall, I felt for his pulse! I don't know what kind of sick game he's playing, hiring you, but you can just fuck off out my flat! Leave now, before I do something you'll really regret."
"John" said the voice. The voice that could always command John's attention and could never be replicated. "Please, listen to me-"
"You cannot be here! It's simply not possible!" You are not Sherlock Holmes"
"The first time we met I asked you Afghanistan or Iraq" said the man. "I borrowed your phone to send a text to Lestrade and then proceeded to tell you about your alcoholic sibling and your psychosomatic limp. I told you this address, 221B Baker street and left, going via the morgue where I had left my riding crop."
John gaped, his mouth open. He snapped it shut only when he remembered to breathe. Tentatively he took a step forward.
"Sher- Sherlock?" he asked, reaching out a hand. Sherlock smiled, relief evident in his features, and reached out his own hand towards Johns.
John's hand fisted and he punched out at Sherlock.
"How dare you fucking leave me all alone?!" he shouted, each word punctuated with a punch. "What the fuck were you thinking?!"
"Ouch! Jesus John, calm down!" said Sherlock, blocking each blow as best he could. "I had to do it, to save you. I didn't think it would bother you as much as it did, I'm sorry"
John's punches stopped suddenly. Tears were in his eyes as he stared into the bright blue of Sherlocks.
"How could you possibly think it wouldn't bother me? You're my best friend Sherlock, of course I was going to be heart broken. Are you that inept with emotions that you couldn't think for one Goddamn minute that it might have killed me?"
"I'm sorry John, I really truly am." Desperation was etched onto Sherlocks face, willing John to listen, to understand. John groaned in frustration and made to turn, but was caught by Sherlocks hands on his wrists. "I had to jump. I had to die. If I didn't, you and Mrs Hudson and Lestrade would all have been killed. If Moriarty's men didn't see me die, they would have shot all three of you. I couldn't let that happen John, I just couldn't!"
John began to fight his way out of his grasp, Sherlock fighting to keep John from hitting him again. Eventually John was free and Sherlock flinched, bracing himself for the coming onslaught of fist. He was pleasantly surprised. John threw himself at Sherlock, wrapping his arms around the taller man's torso and latching on for dear life.
"If you even think of leaving me again, I promise, I will kill you myself" he growled into his chest. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John and held tight.
"Never again, John. Never"
John and Sherlock stood in the glow of the overhead light, connected through their hug. Sherlock gently rubbed circles on the shorter mans back, while John laced his fingers together behind Sherlock. After a while, John reluctantly released himself from Sherlocks grasp, standing back and simply observing.
"Where have you been Sherlock?" asked John quietly, pain evident in his voice. Sherlock flinched.
"I'm so sorry John. I wish I could have told you I was ok. But I couldn't risk it. If Moriartys men found out, you would have been killed. I've been tracing Moriartys web. I didn't expect it to take as long as it did, but I couldn't reveal myself until I had finished the job. I couldn't risk you getting hurt. But now-" said Sherlock, taking a step towards John, "now it's finished. It's done. The last remnants of his web were destroyed last night and I wasted no time in coming back to London. I- I needed to see you again."
Sherlocks weight shifted and his head turned slightly, breaking the eye contact. John took a step forwards, closing the distance between the two and placed a hand over Sherlocks heart. He felt the thump-thump of a live, beating heart. He was real. His best friend was standing in front of him, alive, after seemingly being dead for a year. Just this morning John had- Oh God! This morning! Memories flooded Johns mind as he recalled the one sided conversation he had at Sherlocks grave this morning. John stifled a groan. God, why couldn't things just be normal for once? Admit your feelings to your dead best friend, only to have him come back to life the very same day. Of course, John was ecstatic that Sherlock was alive, albeit majorly pissed off. But it complicated things.
"John?" asked Sherlock quietly. "You've been silent for a few minutes now. Is there anything wrong?" John couldn't help but snort in laughter.
"You tell me. My best friend who I thought was dead, comes back to life on the anniversary of his apparent suicide and tells me that he only did it to save me from a hired hitman. So, is there anything at all wrong with that statement?"
Sherlocks face fell and John mentally kicked himself for being such a dick.
"Shit no, Sherlock I didn't-" he took a deep breath. "It's just been a long day and to be honest, when I woke up this morning I was just expecting to be alone and quite possibly be depressed and miserable all day. Then this happens and my emotions are all over the place... I'm really happy you're not, you know, dead, Sherlock. It's just... a lot to take in"
John lowered his hand to clasp hold of Sherlocks, taking comfort in the feel of solidity. John saw Sherlocks face visibly relax and he smiled.
"I know you haven't been back long but I'm seriously tired after all this excitement" he chuckled. "So, erm, I'm going to go to bed and we can talk about this some more in the morning ok?"
Sherlock merely nodded and John stepped in to give him another swift hug before leaving the room and going back to bed.
~Later~
John woke up to a soft pressure on his stomach. Opening his eyes and looking down he saw a shock of curly black hair. Eyes widening in disbelief, John tried to think. The events of the night before came tumbling through his mind like a tidal wave. Sherlock was back, alive. Ok, he remembered that much. It didn't explain why he was suddenly pinned to the bed by Sherlock. He remembered going to bed alone. He must have come in at some point during the night. John looked down at the mess of hair on his stomach, itching to reach out a hand and stroke it. He was asleep right? What the hell, he thought. Hesitantly lifting a hand, John softly began to run it through Sherlocks hair. Sherlock made a groaning sound and threw his arm over John, nestling his face further into his stomach. John's hand froze mid action.
"Sherlock?" asked John. "Are you awake?"
"No" came the reply and John chuckled. "I'm comfortable. I haven't been comfortable in months so I'll be damned if I'm moving now"
"Well, erm, you're lying on me and I kind of need to use the bathroom"
Sherlock cursed.
"Son of a... Fine" he said, and rolled away from John and settled on his stomach, arm under the pillow, leg hitched. John couldn't help but chuckle as he made his way from the room.
When John entered the room again, Sherlock was curled into a ball and John felt a pang of affection rush through him. He quelled the feeling quickly. Going back to his bed, he sat cross legged on the side he had woken up. He simply sat there and stared at his newly returned best friend. Sherlock rolled over so he was looking up at John.
"What?" he asked. John cursed as he felt his face heating up.
"Just looking. I mean-" he stuttered. "I mean, I missed you. And I haven't seen you for a year. So I was just looking. Because I can." He finished his explanation and turned his face away, praying for the reddening of his cheeks to stop. He felt a shifting on the bed and he felt a hand tug his head around to face Sherlock once more. John stared into the bright eyes of his consulting detective.
"I missed you too, John. You have no idea. But-" he paused. "At least I knew you were alive. And for that, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for putting you through that pain and I should have known better than to think you wouldn't have been bothered." This time it was Sherlock who looked away.
"I forgive you"
Sherlocks head snapped back around and if this wasn't such a serious conversation, John would have laughed at the look of bewilderment on his face.
"But- How can you? I don't deserve your forgiveness. I left for a whole year, then I come back and-" Sherlock was cut off in his tirade by Johns hand covering his mouth.
"Please, stop reminding me that you were gone" he winced. He removed his hand and continued. "God knows I was so angry at you Sherlock. Angry for leaving me, angry for coming back after making me believe you were dead. But, in all honesty, I forgave you the moment I realised you were real. I don't want to spend the rest of my life angry with you. I just want to get back to normal. I want to spend as much time as I can with you to make up for the last year. I want you to never leave again. I would die if you did because I-" John cut himself off. Shit, shit, SHIT! He said too much. He went to leave, to get himself away from Sherlock before he could mess it up before it had even begun again. He felt a cool hand around his wrist that prevented him from leaving.
"Finish the sentence John" said Sherlock quietly. John simply shook his head.
"I can't" he whispered.
"Please?" there was almost a kind of begging sound to Sherlocks voice and John slowly looked into Sherlocks eyes once more. He found himself far too close to him, faces barely a hands length apart.
"Please..."
John came to the conclusion of 'what the hell?' before answering.
"Because I... Love you" he whispered.
"Good" growled Sherlock before he closed the gap between them and their lips met in the sweetest, most caring kiss John had ever experienced.
~Later~
John's eyes instinctively closed as his lips moved rhythmically against Sherlocks. He felt a tug from the hand on his wrist and he fell back on to the bed, never breaking the contact between them. Sherlocks hand trailed its way up John's arm, across his shoulder and to the base of his neck, tilting his head slightly. John's hands grasped the front of Sherlocks purple shirt, pulling him in closer. After a few moments, Sherlock broke the kiss and John had to refrain from letting out a soft moan. Sherlock leant his forehead against Johns, both of them breathing fast.
"I was there you know" whispered Sherlock, pressing a kiss to Johns forehead before leaning back and looking at him. "When you said you loved me. In the graveyard. I knew then I had to come back. Because I needed you to know that I- I love you too. More than you can ever know John." Sherlock reached out a hand and brushed away a tear that had escaped from John's eye. "Since I first met you, you're everything I've ever wanted and to have to leave you... It broke my heart John" Sherlock lifted Johns hand to his lips and kissed his palm.
"It broke my heart to watch you jump Sherlock" John whispered, tears falling freely down his face.
"I despise myself for letting you believe I was dead this year, I honestly do" Sherlock lifted his hands so they were cupping Johns face. "But if I could do it again, I'd do it the same because it kept you safe John. I needed you safe." Sherlock leant in slowly to kiss John and he felt himself melt into Sherlocks touch. He wrapped his arms around the taller man and buried his head into Sherlocks throat. "I don't know what I'd do without you John. You're my blogger."
John giggled as Sherlock wrapped his long arms around his torso and lifted his head to look at Sherlock.
"Does this mean you belong to me now?"
"Only if you belong to me as well"
"With pleasure" whispered John, before leaning forward to kiss Sherlock. A breathless few moments later and John was sat on Sherlocks lap on the bed, their foreheads together panting softly.
"I've waited so long for this" said Sherlock. "I'll never get tired of it."
"Good, because I'm never letting you go again" said John, his voice low and husky with need. He dipped his head and began to kiss a path from Sherlocks face and to his neck, slowly undoing the buttons of his purple shirt. Once the shirt was open, he began to trail kisses down Sherlocks pale chest, touching every part of him he could reach. He marvelled at the feel and taste of Sherlock beneath him. He paused briefly to look up and was rewarded with a delicious mewling sound from Sherlock. Chuckling slightly, John continued his worship of Sherlocks body. Pausing just above the waistband of his trousers, John glanced at Sherlock, who nodded quickly. Undoing the buttons, John placed little kisses at the top of the waistband before Sherlock raised his thighs and allowed him to remove trousers and pants together. Johns breath hitched as he drank in the glorious sight of a naked Sherlock Holmes beneath him. He tilted his head and experimentally wrapped his fingers around Sherlocks impressive length. Sherlock hissed and bucked into Johns hand.
"Jesus, John" moaned Sherlock as he bit down on his knuckle. His hand never leaving Sherlocks prick, John snaked his way across his body to his lips and placed a deep kiss.
"I don't think this is fair" mumbled Sherlock against Johns lips. "You're wearing far too many clothes." John grinned.
"And what are you gonna do about that?" Sherlock suddenly flipped them over so he was lying on top of John and began pulling the blue robe off and tugging at his t-shirt. It was quickly discarded to the floor and Sherlock began to kiss and feel his way down Johns chest to the hardness in his trousers. Using one hand to unbuckle the belt, Sherlock used the other to rub Johns cock through the fabric, eliciting a soft whimpering from the man beneath him. Lifting Johns thighs, Sherlock pulled off his trousers and pants and threw them to floor with his top.
"That's much better" he whispered and he slowly lowered his mouth onto Johns aching cock. Johns head snapped backwards and he let lose a loud groan. The hot wetness of Sherlocks mouth engulfed him and he felt the heat spreading through him. He squirmed beneath Sherlocks oh so talented mouth, trying not to buck his hips. That mouth. God, he had had dreams about that mouth doing this exact thing but the reality was so much better. He moaned again. A small pop signalled Sherlocks release of John and he felt the bed shift as he crawled his way upwards. Sherlocks lips found Johns once more and his tongue began probing the inside of Johns mouth. He gently rocked forward and John gasped at the delightful friction of skin on skin. He couldn't help himself, and he bucked into Sherlock. Sherlocks rocking became faster and John matched his rhythm. Sherlocks lips left Johns and latched themselves to his neck, sucking expertly, leaving John reeling from the sensuality.
"Sher- Sherlock! Fuck!" John reached a hand between them and grabbed hold of both cocks, rubbing along with the rhythm of the thrusting. Sherlocks mouth left Johns neck and John could hear his ragged breathing in his ear.
"John- I'm going to-" panted Sherlock, and a few seconds later he came hard and fast, letting out a deep moaning and burying his head in Johns neck. John followed a few seconds later, sent over the edge by Sherlocks moaning and quivering atop him. Warm white come was quickly spreading over Johns hand and both their stomachs as Sherlock rolled off of John. John reached over to the bedside cabinet and pulled out a pack of baby wipes to clean himself up with and passed one to Sherlock. They were both still breathing heavily when Sherlock curled up to John and slung his arm around his torso and buried his face in Johns chest.
"I think that effectively ruined our relationship" he murmured, feeling the vibrations as John chuckled.
"Maybe" he replied. "But it's set the path for something much more." He bent his head and kissed the top of Sherlocks head and heard Sherlocks contented sigh. He pulled back and began to stroke his fingers through the dark curls. The last thing he thought before he fell into a serene sleep was that he could definitely get used to this.