This is set at the end of the mini-episode 'Many Happy returns', and it is before John is with Mary, so he isn't over Sherlock yet. Written as a gift-fic for bluebellglowinginthedark (on Tumblr), to fill the prompt- '...after many happy returns, it was Sherlock ringing that doorbell, happy end please'.

At the sound of his door-bell, John put the telly on pause, and sat still for a moment, just staring into those gorgeous eyes. It was strange to watch; Sherlock was there on the screen, right there, looking so…so…

So alive.

Which, of course, wasn't the case anymore.

John took a last swig of his drink as he squeezed his eyes, trying to stop any tears from leaking out.

The door-bell rang again in an impatient manner.

John stood up and walked out of the room, doing so looking over his shoulder at the screen. He just couldn't seem to take his eyes off of the man he still loved.

After a brief walk John was at the door. He took a single deep breath in an attempt to compose himself, not wanting whoever was behind it to see that he was on the verge of tears.

John opened the door.

'Hello-'

Slam.

John leaned against the door, panting exceedingly, pupils wide in fright and disbelief.

That couldn't have been…John thought, but, just as he thought this, he heard Sherlock's voice again, muffled by the barrier John had put between them-

'John? John?' Sherlock was saying, not quite understanding the situation.

John pulled out his phone, just about to dial his therapist's number and tell her that he had finally lost it, when…

John hesitated.

What if he wasn't going mad?

Well, perhaps if he opened the door again he could find out. Besides, he couldn't hear Sherlock's voice anymore.

John opened the door.

Sherlock was still standing there.

'John,' he breathed, more gently this time, eyes full of emotion- eyes that had realised the situation was not quite what he had initially thought, eyes full of sympathy, eyes that wanted to say sorry.

If this wasn't real, John truly must have gone crazy.

The tears he had been holding back began to run down his cheeks.

'What…' John muttered, dangerously low, between sobs. '…is….going on…?'

'Oh John, I'm so sorry, I can explain-'

'Explain later,'

And, with these words, John rushed into Sherlock's arms, beginning to sob into the crook of the taller man's neck-just inhaling Sherlock's scent, feeling Sherlock there, solidly, in his tight grasp, wishing to never let go.

'Sssh, it's O.K,' Sherlock began to sooth, as he adjusted into the sudden embrace; running his hands through John's soft blonde hair, over his tense neck, and down to stroke calming, regular circles on the shorter man's back. 'I'm so sorry John, I'm so sorry.'