It had become almost too hard for John to return to 221b Baker Street. It reminded him of Sherlock too much. The stains in the refrigerator from his countless experiments, the smell on the sofa where the two usually sat, the marks on furniture that John never asked about.
It all screamed "Sherlock".
For the first time since Sherlock died, John opened his laptop to actually write on his blog again. He went up to his bedroom to find his laptop had been moved to his pillow. A post it note on it read, "you have a new password-SH".
The sight of it almost made John cry, but he thought it was just someone's cruel prank. He didn't have the slightest idea who could've put the post it there, but it definitely wasn't Sherlock.
He walked back to the couch slowly and opened his computer. He typed in "221b", his password, but it was denied. John clicked the hint button, to see that it read "who I love most in the world". John closed his eyes, incredibly annoyed and hurt that someone had actually put him through this.
Couldn't be Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock hated Mycroft. He wouldn't have loved Lestrade.
Irene Adler? John typed it in, to no avail.
It could only be one person. "John," he whispered.
His familiar wallpaper popped up instantly.
John spent the rest of his day in bed crying. 221b had become empty, and quiet, and ghost of what it should be. Sherlock should be in the middle of an experiment, or being annoying, and waiting for another case. John cried and cried, for his only friend wasn't there anymore.
His phone rang after an hour or two of weeping. It was Lestrade. John answered it still sniffling.
"What do you want, Lestrade?" he asked croakily.
"Christ, man, are you all right?"
"Do I sound fine? Just- what is it that you want?"
Lestrade sighed and let out a little wimper. "I just wanted to say, that I'm sorry about him."
"If you were really sorry, you would believe that he was an amazing man and was not a fake!" John barked over the phone. John hung up the phone fiercely and went back to bed.
At around sunset, John felt a hand touch his shoulder gently.
"Go away, Mrs. Hudson," he mumbled with his face buried in a pillow.
"I thought you would recognize me when I came back," said a familiar voice in disappointment.
John jumped up almost instantly. Sherlock was standing next to the bed with a small smile on his lips. "Hello, John," he said.
John assumed he was hallucinating and reached his hand out. He felt Sherlock's rumpled shirt underneath his fingers. "It really is you," he whispered. "How-how-how did you survive? I felt your pulse. You were dead!"
Sherlock turned with his hands in his pockets. "Oh it was quite simple really. Only an idiot wouldn't know how I lived."
"Well, enlighten me then," John said exasperated and annoyed that Sherlock was being his normal conceited self.
Sherlock turned back around. "I'd rather talk about it later," he whispered leaning closer and closer to John.
Sherlock gingerly touched John's neck and slowly pulled them closer. John grabbed the sides of Sherlock's face and moved him closer and closer until their lips were an inch apart. "God, I've missed you so much," Sherlock mumbled.
Sherlock pressed his lips up against John's, making the two fall back onto the bed in a passionate frenzy. Sherlock fumbled at his coat buttons and took off his coat, throwing it aside.
As usual when alone with John, Sherlock's shirt was unbuttoned at the top. John quickly unbuttoned even more of his shirt until he could slip it off. Once Sherlock had no shirt on, he returned the favor, and slipped off John's.
Sherlock moved down to John's neck and then to his collar bone. "Oh, god I love you," John said breathily.
"Just shut up and kiss me already," said Sherlock.
They maneuvered themselves, under the covers, where it was warm and cozy. John climbed on top of Sherlock, hunched over kissing him. Sherlock's hands rested on John's back, pushing John into him. One of Sherlock's hands slid down to the back of John's knee. John parted for a second and laughed. "Is that really where you want to put your hand?" he asked quietly.
"No." Sherlock slid his hand up to just the right place. "Better?"
"Oh yeah."
John slammed back into Sherlock's lips. His hands ran over every part of Sherlock. He started at the cheek bones, then made his way down to the neck, then to the hip, and then all the way down to his crotch. "Ooh," Sherlock said. "Where is this going?"
John laughed and began kissing him again. Sherlock, getting the hints, took his hand from John's back, and to the same place John had his hand. "I think I know where this is going," John whispered in Sherlock's ear.
John stayed by Sherlock's ear, and nibbled on his earlobe. "I love you," he whispered.
"I love you too."
Sherlock put both of his hands back on John's back, and rolled him to his side. He scooted over to John and buried his lips in his neck. John held Sherlock's bare back with both his hands.
As Sherlock moved so that he was facing John, his hand moved to John's crotch. "I think it's going to be a fun night," he whispered.