I am well aware that I do not own Sherlock Holmes, Dr. John Watson or anything pertaining to their world. This is just me, having some fun:)

John sat quietly, looking from his computer to Sherlock, from Sherlock to his computer. The opening page of his once defunct blog spreads across the screen in front of him reading: "Sherlock Holmes, the return." It isn't his best title, he knows that, but it's better than what he'd wanted to start with, which was "Inconsiderate prat detective returns"...and that was the most polite of a few he'd written out on a loose sheet of paper.
The problem stemmed from the fact that, to Sherlock everything was normal once again. He was back in the routine, taking meetings, seeing if Lestrade would show up asking about the latest murder at Regent's Park. To Sherlock, it was as if faking his death meant nothing. He could not understand why John couldn't get over the whole scenario.

Sherlock left to save John's life. John knew this, but still when he thought of what he went through in Sherlock's absence, it made his blood boil. And yet, here he sat, writing a blog post for the first time in three years about the return of his...of his...what? His friend? Partner? Confidant? Companion? Was there a word that described their inherently complex relationship?

Of course this was just another aspect of life that seemed to wax on John's psyche lately. He wasn't Sherlock, who had everything wrapped in boxes, placed neatly inside his brain attic. To add anything like feelings into the mix would mess up Sherlock's system. And yet, he'd allowed another person into his life, lived with him, solved cases with him-didn't John deserve a space in that damn attic?

But, John Watson, MD knew it wouldn't do any good. Sherlock would say the exact same thing he'd been saying for three weeks, "John, I had to do it to save your life. Now get up, there's been another murder."

And really, who could argue with logic like that?

"Why are you staring?"

John's eyes finally batted for the first time in several minutes, the moisture allowing his eyes to refocus on his surroundings. It seemed his gaze had traveled from his bland blog entry to the back of Sherlock's head.

"Sorry, just got lost in thought," John explained.

"Busy coming up with witticisms such as Consulting Crack-Pot's Homecoming?"

John's face turned a dark shade of red, "Sherlock, I'm-"

"No, no John. Such great use of the thesaurus should not be hidden. I think my favorite was Murderers Beware, That bloody git is back. It has a nice ring to it."

"Finished?"

Sherlock finally turned to Watson, his normally cold eyes seemed to gleam for a moment with what could have been a tear, but John knew better than to hope for more than glare from the overhead light.

"I could go on, but I suppose there isn't much use." Sherlock lifted himself from the floor and made his way over to his violin.

"I realize you don't understand my issues with your sudden return, Sherlock, but you have to realize that showing up at our flat without as much as a warning was shocking to me."

"John, I-"

"No, let me finish," John shouted a bit too loudly. He was getting a chance to get at least a little bit of drama off his chest, and the fact that Mrs. Hudson could probably hear their every word, and was most likely enjoying it immensely wasn't going to stop him. He put his laptop on the ottoman, and leaned forward towards Sherlock, who stood tuning his instrument. "What you did hurt me. I can't tell you the amount of time I spent at your grave just talking to it like a widow-"

He stopped for a moment, realizing his words, though truthful were not going to do him any good. He knew Sherlock had noted his word choice, and spied a slight smirk come across his face before he drew his bow across the violin, starting in on one of his compositions. John took in a breath, and continued as calmly as he could. "And you came breezing into the flat, like a moment hadn't passed. Like I should have assumed it all along that you'd be returning one day instead of leaving me alone forever."

John could tell Sherlock was uncomfortable. Feelings, yes those damnable feelings that Sherlock so wanted to ignore. The sound of the violin filled the room. John had heard nothing so beautiful in Sherlock's absence. He waited for him to finish before he continued, "I know feelings aren't your area of expertise Sherlock, but you can't expect me to just turn mine off because you decide to return from the dead. It was either that list or beating you senseless while you slept." Sherlock put down the violin and jotted notes upon the page that rested on the music stand. "I chose the less violent option," John added.

"I knew you'd be upset," Sherlock admitted. "I just assumed after all that yelling at my headstone, week after week, month after month, that you might have rid the anger from your system. The things you said were quite revealing. In the end, I thought you'd feel better knowing I was around."
John hung his head. "I do," he began. "I do feel better-Wait. How do you know what I said at your gravestone?"

Sherlock stood where he was for a moment, pondering in the manner he seemed to have trademarked at birth.

John stood, forgetting the package of crisps in his lap. They crunched under his feet as he walked over to the detective. Barely above a whisper he said, "You knew about me going to your grave?"

"I might have seen you once or twice… I was afraid you were in danger."

"No, you left so I wouldn't be in danger," he began, beginning to lose the calm he'd just settled into moments ago. "Are you telling me you were spying on me?"

Sherlock didn't say anything, but nodded slowly.

For a moment John thought he was going to punch Sherlock in the face, and by the look in Sherlock's eyes it is what he expected, as he was now flush against the wall and John did not appear to be stepping back. In fact, he moved closer still, speaking inches from Sherlock's face. Plainly, John said, "You missed me?"

"I didn't understand my compulsions at first," Sherlock explained, speaking quickly in order to keep John interested in his words instead of the idea of his fist in Sherlock's face. "I needed to see you. It was difficult to work without you, so I followed you from time to time."

Sherlock's voice was now higher than John had ever heard it. He was enjoying the little power he had, and wanted to use it for a little while longer. He took a half step back, but continued to look Sherlock directly into the eye. "Sherlock will you just say it?" John demanded. The look of exasperation on his face told of the havoc the situation had, had upon him. "For once in your life, admit that you felt something you've never felt before."

Sherlock nodded and slowly said, "I, I guess I…..I missed you."

John chuckled to himself slightly. "Congratulations Sherlock, you've just admitted to feeling something." John walked up to his friend, yes he was his friend after all, and hugged him. Sherlock fell into the hug in a way that surprised the doctor. Sherlock had never been the hugging kind.

"I was there on numerous occasions John," Sherlock admitted. John shook his head, his mind heavy with the fact that he'd been able to wrap his arms around Sherlock, an action he'd dreamed of doing before, but never had the nerve to hope.

"Sherlock, it's over now. Don't- "I was there on the first Christmas."

John stopped his retreat back to his laptop and instead turned to the detective, once again red-faced, this time his heart pumping faster than it had since the day Sherlock walked back into his life. "You heard everything?" he asked.

Sherlock nodded. "You were upset, I understand if you didn't actually mean anything you said." John coughed into his hands, not knowing exactly what to say in response. He could only find the strength to say, "I don't really remember-

It was Sherlock's turn to advance now. He dropped the violin onto his chair, and used his bow to point at John as he came ever closer. "Don't, John. I was there, which means I know every word you said," Sherlock stopped a moment to put his bow down next to the violin. He began speaking in the manner which he used to sum up a case.

"I miss you Sherlock. It's been almost a year, and I can't stop the constant pain shooting from my heart to my brain. I realize now that without knowing it, I fell in love with you. The stupidest thing I could have done. I should have taken Donovan's advice on that first day and fled. If I had, I wouldn't have lived in a one-sided relationship. I have no doubt you cared, in your own way, but I could never expect you to love me. You were married to your work, and I could never have-

"Sherlock stop. Please," John protested, his hands covering his face as the tears ran down his cheeks. "Don't you understand that I know you don't love me. You don't have to explain it to me-

Sherlock began shaking his head and muttering under his breath. "No, no. This is not how this is supposed to go. It's not how I imagined it."

"Imagined what?" Sherlock closed the few steps that stood between them in one quick moment. He took his thumb and brushed away the tears rolling down John's face.

"I've never done this before, John" he whispered, drawing his face closer to Watson's."So, I'm sorry if I muck it up."

Their lips met. Anything that John had previously perceived as cold and unyielding in Sherlock before relented in that moment. The warmth of his touch against his cheek, the feel of him trying to get ever closer to John, pressing his free hand against the small of his back. John's hands found their way into Sherlock's hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss. Neither wanted to stop, but fresh air was eventually needed. John buried his head into the nape of Sherlock's neck, who held onto him tightly.

"Are you sure you've never done that before?" John inquired, looking up at Sherlock.

The detective's face, while already flushed seemed to brighten further at Watson's question.

" I may have read up on the subject," he began. "A few hundred times."

They both laughed awkwardly, but only for a moment as the full magnitude of the last few minutes fell upon them.

"I have a feeling, Sherlock that everything is about to change."

Sherlock nodded in agreement, smiling broader than Watson had ever seen before.

"I'm game if you are, dear Watson," he said idly brushing his fingers along John's, finally grasping it and pulling him onto the cluttered `couch. Book, papers and a few science experiments rolled onto the floor.

"People will talk," John stated.

"They already do," Sherlock answered, brushing his lips against John's. "Might as well make it interesting."

John allowed Sherlock's weight to rest against his own body as the couple kissed for the second time, each sighing contentedly as they forgot the world around them and enveloped themselves in each other.