Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters; they all belong to their original owners.

It's been about three weeks since Sherlock jumped to his death and still John's heart had refused to believe he truly was dead. It was impossible, the very idea of Sherlock dead, no, he refused the thought, no matter how much his brain screamed it, John Watson refused to believe that Sherlock Holmes was dead.

Each and every day since then has been a blur of passing days, a serious lack of excitement and random events. John missed Sherlock, his antics, his wit, hell, even his insults. John just missed his friend, even though they were turning into more than just friends, still in the stages of wanting to start something new but aware of each others feelings. Their relationship had a slow start due to John being hesitant about having a romantic relationship with another male, but he was getting courageous about holding hands and sitting close to Sherlock, no kissing yet, except for the occasional forehead or cheek kisses, nothing on the lips yet.

So, here lies John Watson, war vet, doctor, lying in gray misery on Sherlock's bed, basking in the genius' scent wanting to forever remember how he smelled and wishing with all of his heart and being that Sherlock would return to him. Every night he fell a sleep in Sherlock's bed, he wished so desperately that he cried silently, with a few tears falling from his eyes onto the pillow and every night he fell asleep crying, only to wake up the next morning haunted with the fact that Sherlock wasn't coming back, allowing misery to seep through him.

However, there was something different tonight, something was going to happen, but John had no idea what it was. He fell a sleep as usual, which were deep sleeps now because he felt tired all the time.

Around one in the morning, the flat was silent, not a sound was heard, save for the occasional car passing by on the street. Sherlock, who was very much alive, was standing over the bed where John slept, just watching him with despondent eyes. Quietly, he maneuvered around the bed to join the sleeping man on the bed, to spoon right behind him, just watching him and holding him. Sherlock leaned in quietly so that his mouth was near John's ear, as he gathered his thoughts, he whispered.

"John, I..I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for all this, for lying to you, for making you feel this way. It doesn't take a genius to figure out you were crying, although the fact that you've been sleeping in my bed for the past three weeks was quite the pleasant discovery, although I wish the circumstances of getting you in my bed were better."

Watson snorted a bit in his sleep and smiled at the warmth he felt, what a nice dream, Sherlock smiled a bit too.

"John, somewhere in that funny little sleeping brain of yours, I know you can hear me and I want you the hear this, no matter how much I want to wake you up and tell you I'm alive and ok, I can't, not now, but soon, I will. There are small matters that I, personally, have to take care of, with out having all that attention. I can only wish that you don't stop believing because your faith in me is all I have now. Please don't let your grief on my behalf judge your behavior, I'll be back, I promise that I'll be back and in your arms soon. Just, please don't do something stupid. I'm sorry for keeping things from you and so much more but for the time being, I must. I love you John Watson, and you will see me again, I promise you. Be safe, John. My John." Sherlock gave his sleeping beloved a few small kisses on the cheek, the forehead and at the corner of John's lips.

As much as Sherlock wanted to stay there, so near his dear doctor, he knew he had to go because if he stayed any longer, John's military training would have kicked in and spoiled everything. As silent as Sherlock came in the flat, he left it just as silent.

Sherlock was right about John hearing him, because the doctor did, indeed, he heard and wanted just so badly to wake up to see if he truly was there, near him, talking to him. Watson did wake up ad looked around, bright eyed and heart racing in hope, only to realize that Sherlock's voice was a horribly beautiful dream, he began to tear up. The small man tried to remember what the dream Sherlock told him, but he could only remember small pieces here and there like, 'ok, your faith in me, I'm sorry, I promise, I love you and my John.' He cried him self to sleep again, openly sobbing into his pillow, wishing that he had the chance to truly show Sherlock how much he loved him and for that miracle that he wasn't dead.

Morning came far too soon for John and he resented it, waking up, alone in the flat, knowing he would have to face another day with out Sherlock. Another week slowly went back for John since that dream and his misery has double. Lately, he began to wonder what was the point of living any more, but quickly brushed that idea aside because he knew that he needed to live for Sherlock.

It was an early Saturday morning where John felt pleasantly warm and cozy in bed (Sherlock's, of course), of all the other times he slept since Sherlock's passing, he has never felt as relaxed and at ease, he relished the feeling. Mind still sleep fogged and what not, John felt the warmth behind him and turned over to embrace it and the warmth embraced him as well. John was slowly waking up, mind still not all there because it was on auto pilot, in a way. The doctor slowly opened his sleepy brown eyes and saw the pale neck of man lying beside him, enveloping him in his arms. He thought nothing of it, closed his eyes again and cuddled further in those arms, wanting to sleep still. Soon, John's mind caught up with what he saw and immediately sat straight up in bed, looking, truly looking at who was in the bed with him. He saw Sherlock, sleeping beside him, looking ever so peaceful. Watson was a bundle of emotions but before he could express them he had to know one thing, was Sherlock really alive? His heart said yes but his mind wasn't so sure. He shook him,

"Sherlock? Sherlock?!" He called out to the man and continued shaking him and quickly his patience ran out, John slapped him, and Sherlock reacted.

"Ow! What to hell was that…for?"

John's face was a mess of emotions and tears, in happiness, anger, frustration, sadness and overall happiness, he embraced Sherlock. The smaller man was crying in his arms and holding him tight, so tight that knew this wasn't a dream, it was real, he, Sherlock, was real and in his arms. The small man kissed him, deep with all of his passion and soul, basically telling Sherlock his true feelings and how much he missed him.

"I've missed you too, John."

Watson drew back a little, trying to calm himself.

"I knew it, I knew it! I knew you weren't dead, I just knew it. They all called me crazy for still believing that you were alive, but look who's crazy now? Please tell me you're here and I'm not crazy for seeing you?"

Holmes smiled, very much happy to see his love.

"John, I'm very much alive, so you're not crazy, slightly unsettled, yes, but not crazy."

John kissed him a gain, still crying tears of happiness and feeling some much better, the weight of misery from the past few weeks, now thrown off of his shoulders, gone. He settled himself to lie down near Sherlock, held him close and asked what had to be asked.

"What happened? How did you do it, I saw you fall, I felt no pulse, I don't understand. How?"

Sherlock sighed, he getting ready to tell a really long story, he turn himself so that he was facing John and said,

"Molly."

Author's note: Sherlock is alive! Yes, I know what I'm implying, that some how Molly helped out Sherlock with the jump. I'm also implying that if Molly helped out Sherlock, she also would have let him live with her for the time being, while he tried to find ways and people to clear his name of fraud. I'm pretty sure her crush on Sherlock would have died after three days of living with him and all of his experiments, his antics and results of boredom, which is why Sherlock is better off with John. My first Sherlock/John fic, reviews would be nice.