"I hate you, Sherlock! How could you?!"
Sherlock didn't say anything; just reached for John. The smaller man pushed him off, the anger in his eyes no trick. He swung at Sherlock. The pain meant little to Sherlock; it could not compare to the pain of John's words.
"Bloody hell, Sherlock, you were dead! I was at your funeral! I stood at your grave!"
Sherlock stayed silent, simply gazing at his only friend in the world. The years of grief showed on his face. Sherlock's heart hurt so bad he wasn't sure if he could stand. He could not. His knees buckled; body betraying him. John grabbed him as he fell, holding him steady. The anger was still there, but tempered by another emotion. John's eyes searched Sherlock's, and Sherlock knew his own emotions were easy to see. The pain he felt at leaving John. The disgust of having to leave. The fear of John's rejection. The years of secrecy, of injuries, of mental abuse, of no one who understood.
John's gaze softened, his anger melting away. "Sherlock..."
"John—please." Sherlock threw his arms around John and clung to him, not caring that he was acting like a child. He was tired of being strong. He was tired of acting like he didn't care to his only friend. Tears chased each other down his cheeks and his body heaved with sobs. He was almost surprised at his body's reaction before pushing the thought away. He had John now. He could let it all out.
John's arms gently wrapped around Sherlock's shoulders and pulled him tight to his chest. John's own tears joined Sherlock's.
To Sherlock, each tear was a day of the past three years. One was the hunting of Moriarty's network. Another was his capture by spies. A third was his torture. A fourth was his rescue by Irene. Another was his dedication to protecting John, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, Molly, and even Mycroft. The lonely nights, the conversations with no answer, the half dialed phone numbers, the empty rooms. The loss of his best friend. The analyzing of John's feelings towards him. The acceptance that John would move on, forget about 221B, find a girlfriend, and get married. John would have no room for him anymore. Or, he'd accept Sherlock back, but it wouldn't be the same. There would be an unclosable distance until John finally left. Considering the situation now, this last option was the most likely option. The thought of John pretending for him, until John finally left was too much on top of the other emotions raging through Sherlock's body.
His body gave up the fight to hold itself upright and he collapsed into John's lap.
"Sherlock? Sherlock what's wrong?!"
Sherlock could not answer. He simply gasped, unable to get the sobs out. He felt like he was drowning. He wanted to scream.
"Sherlock? Sherlock! Don't you dare leave me again, you hear? I don't want you back just to have you leave me again. I don't hate you, alright? I'm sorry I said that. I was just so surprised. Sherlock? Can you hear me?" John was babbling. His words ran together in Sherlock's mind, meaningless.
"John..." he whispered. "I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry. Please, just go. Don't pretend for me." He reached up and touched John's cheek with one finger before closing his eyes. He couldn't keep the tears from leaking out.
"Sherlock? What are you talking about? I'm not leaving you!"
"Just...go." Sherlock's heart cracked.
John's voice changed. "You...want me to leave? I see." It grew cold and Sherlock opened his eyes. Hard steel looked back at him. "It's alright Sherlock. I understand." John took a deep breath and stood up, gently pushing Sherlock onto the floor.
"John?" Sherlock's worried eyes searched his and he sat up. What did John mean?
"It's been three years. A lot has changed. I understand, Sherlock, I do. I'm sorry I punched you." John's eyes grew cold and more distant. Sherlock's heart fell. Both their emotions were running high and neither was in their right mind. Had John misunderstood? Did he think Sherlock didn't want him around? This was never in any of the situations Sherlock had played out in his mind.
"Goodbye, Sherlock." John's voice broke on the last word and he turned to leave. Sherlock felt anger rip through his grief; anger at the thought of John leaving him.
"JOHN!" Sherlock threw himself against John's back and wrapped his arms around John tightly. John stood, stiff as wood. "I love you, John! I love you. We are more than friends; we are two parts of a whole. I don't care if you get married, or never want to see me again; I will never stop caring for you. You aren't my best friend...I don't know how to describe how special you are to me. And I don't care what people say, although I mean that in a purely platonic way. But I love you, and I'm not giving you up again." Sherlock's voice felt raw and tears coursed down his high cheekbones.
John turned around, tears welling in his own eyes. "Oh Sherlock...I could care less what people say. I love you, too. You are my best friend, but you're right, you're more than that. I don't think anyone else would understand. Sherlock, I can't lose you again either. When I thought you fell..." his voice cracked. "When I thought you were gone..."
Now it was Sherlock's turn to pull John to him, dark head bent to blonde one. Their tears mingled and fell, but these were tears of joy.
Now Sherlock knows what it's like to have a friend, a family, a soul mate. And in that moment, Sherlock decided that all he needed in life was John's friendship in return.