The threat of rain was evident in the smell of the air and the clouds in the sky. This always seemed to happen. Every time John went to Sherlock's grave, it would always start to rain; as if the weather knew how John felt. Of course John knew that wasn't true. He chuckled half-heartedly to himself as he sat on the ground, in front of the stone that marked his dear friend. Sherlock would deem him an idiot for the umpteenth time if he knew he was thinking that. It was obviously impossible. Still, John found it rather gloomy that he had to bring an umbrella with him every time. Once he didn't bring it with him even though it was obvious it could pour any second. He left it at home in hope that it would start to poor, and John would be left sitting there, soaking wet in the rain. That's when it would suddenly become dry where he was and he would look up. And there would be his best friend, giving him a look that said, I never believed you could be that stupid; yet here you are. John shook his head.

"No matter how much you wish it, it can't happen you bloody idiot. He's…" John still couldn't bring himself to say the word. That would mean he would have to except the truth. Even after so long he couldn't believe that. Not after all they had been through. Not after all Sherlock given him. He just couldn't except that their friendship, anything that had to do with Sherlock, was over.

John started when his phone went off. It was a text. Which was odd; the people he knew didn't really text him. John opened the message.

221B

-SH

His eyes got wider and wider. So wide it felt like they would pop out of his head. He had to be dreaming. It couldn't be possible. But who was John to deny what was obviously right in front of his face. This is what he had wanted, the miracle he asked for. He couldn't just deny it now. Finally his brain started functioning and he shot up and bolted for the street. As soon as he saw a cab at the end of the road, he started waving about like a mad man. Before the car had even stopped he opened the door and jumped in, practically shouting the address at the driver.

"221B Baker Street!" John couldn't sit still as the cabby drove to his former flat. His foot would not still and his fingers would not stop. Every position was uncomfortable. The driver kept looking back at him through the rear view mirror.

"Got someone important to meet?"

"I'm seeing my best friend for the first time in a long while." He answered absently. "I still can't believe this is even happening." After what seemed like ages they finally pulled up to the curb and came to a stop in front of the door. Suddenly John felt nervous. He couldn't seem to make himself move, and as he sat there, the doubt started settling in.

What if it's not him? What if someone's just trying to get my attention and knew this would be the best way. I could be walking into a trap. But then again, when has that ever stopped me from going to Sherlock?

"This is something you've been looking forward to right?" John looked up.

"I'm sorry?"

"You've been waiting for this haven't you?" He nodded.

"For a very long time; I've been earnestly wishing for this day."

"And it's your best friend, correct?" John nodded again. "Then there's no need to worry. He'll be just as happy to see you as you are to see him. Maybe even more so." The driver smiled at him. "Now you go in there." John smiled back and handed him the cash.

Standing in front of the door, his stomach was in knots. As he reached to ring the bell, John noticed the door slightly ajar and let himself in, closing the door softly behind him. Slowly he walked up the steps, listening to their familiar creak. Now he found himself standing in front of another door. Their door. With shaky hands he reached under his shirt and pulled out a chain. John took the key and after a couple tries was able to slide it into the lock. Hearing a click he withdrew it and let it fall back against his chest. John could feel his heart pounding and hear it reverberating in his ears. Trying to calm himself he took a deep breath and slowly turned the knob. He looked up and froze in the doorway at the sight of a man with brown curly hair facing the fireplace. Sherlock turned and gave John a smile.

"Why hello John, fancy meeting you here." John still couldn't move. Sherlock walked over and stood in front of him. "Is something the matter? You're acting quite strange." He couldn't even think. All John could do was raise his hand and poke Sherlock on the chest. As if in a trance he moved his hand so it rested palm flat on his chest as he stared at his hand covering his friend's heart. His friends beating heart; which actually seemed to be racing just as fast as his was. Finally John slowly lifted his head up with tears in his eyes to look at Sherlock's face. He gazed into his friend's eyes that looked to be a little moist as well. His breath hitched, and in a faint voice that one could only hear in such close proximity, he whispered.

"Sherlock?" And in the second after his name was spoken with a soft quiver, Sherlocked roughly and swiftly pulled John into a hug. His voice was also soft, and trembled as he spoke.

"Yes, John. My dear best friend I am here. I'm here."