A/N: Ok, I admit it. I've been on Youtube and watching these videos' of soldiers coming home, and I think it's really sweet. This popped into my head and had to be written down, so here it is. Flame as much as you like
John left the airport stretching and mentally thanking Mycroft profusely for organising this for him. Making a mental note to send him and his PA both a nice gift, he dumped his bags in the boot and slid into the back of the taxi, giving the driver his directions.
The ride was nice, with the cabbie chatting to him about his son, once he saw John's uniform and regiment.
Paying the driver, John hopped out of the cab and collected his bags, walking down the street towards 221B Baker Street. Smiling gently to himself, be unlocked the door and crept upstairs to dump his bags in his room, making sure to listen for Mrs Hudson. He didn't want to startle her with his hands full; as he knew she had a tendency to Mother Hen spectacularly. Creeping back downstairs he walked to her apartment and knocked on the door, bracing himself for a hug.
Mrs Hudson's resulting squeal of surprise echoed through the empty house, and her hug would have rivalled even that of a full-grown Boa Constrictor. Hugging her gently back, John proceeded to kiss her on both cheeks and follow her into her apartment.
After being liberally plied with fresh scones (some of the best he'd ever tasted and he said as much) and a hot cup of tea, he answered her rapid questions and asked some of his own. In answer to her query as to how he was here, he told her about being shot in the shoulder and braced himself for her Mother Henning. She did not disappoint, fussing over his shoulder and giving him some Panadol.
He explained his plan to surprise Sherlock, and Mrs Hudson explained that he was out on a case at the moment, something about serial suicides that might have been murders.
"I don't understand it, dear, but you know how his mind works. Once he starts on something he really gets going, and he's been fussing lately. Something about Mycroft and bringing everyone home from Afghanistan. He hasn't slept in days."
They spent the next few hours eating and generally catching up, until there was the sound of multiple footsteps on the stairs, and the voice of an older man lecturing Sherlock about 'stealing evidence' and saying their investigation of the flat was a drugs bust."
Mrs Hudson told John that it was DI Lestrade, and while he could have sworn she blushed lightly, he only waggled his eyebrows comically at her.
"Shut up, Three Continents Watson," she muttered, slapping his arm gently. He in turn blushed lightly, waiting until there was the sound of people sitting down and clomping around the flat.
Saluting Mrs Hudson and giving her a trouble-makers grin, he walked stealthily up the stairs, sticking close to the walls and dodging the creaky step. Pausing at the top of the stairs, he listened to check that everyone was distracted before assuming an 'at ease' position in the doorway, hands clasped by his sides. Raising an eyebrow and looking very disapproving, he called sternly "what's this about a drugs bust? Sherlock, you told me you were clean!"
Sherlock had been flopped on the couch looking bored, but he sat up so fast he nearly smashed heads with a silver-haired officer. Looking as though he couldn't quite believe his eyes he leapt off the couch, stepped straight over the top of the coffee table (a female officer looked down her nose at that), and raced over to him, rolling his sleeves past his elbows as he went. Quickly showing John his elbows, he wrapped his arms around the shorter man (avoiding his bad shoulder) and hugged him hard. Pulling back, he tugged John's hat off his head and kissed him.
There was the sound of something shattering from the kitchen and they pulled apart, giggling hysterically.