"John?" He knocked on the door again. "John, it's me, answer the door."

"Why won't it stop...?" John moaned to himself. "I know you're not really there, I mean, how can you be? I saw you..." His heart jumped to his throat, the memory was too much for anyone to bear.

"Fine, if you won't believe me." John heard his footsteps walk away, much like the other times, at first; he believed he had come back. Like his death never happened, but after a while, he realised he was going mad. He would hear him, walking beside him, down the street, in their home. He couldn't even call it a home anymore, his heart wasn't in it anymore. A loud thud, hit the door, again and again, after the fourth time, the door flew off of one hinge, held ajar because of it.

There he was, as plain as day, his eyes glossy, his hair was exactly as it always was, little curls that framed his face in that handsome way. A tear came to his eye, his heart skipped a beat and it felt like the world leapt on his shoulders and back off again, he fell to his knees, unable to find words. He wore new clothes, but his scarf, the same scarf.

"Sher... Sher..." His face flooded with tears; "What kind of demon befalls me now? Have I not suffered enough...?" A cool hand touched his face;

"My dear Watson, you suffered more than anyone. I'm so sorry-"

He threw Sherlock's hand away, suddenly, rage came over him.

"YOU BASTARD!" John screamed, "YOU LEFT ME! YOU MADE ME WATCH YOU DIE! I SAW YOUR... YOUR..." He lost his voice, the rage subsided, how could he be angry? Holmes had returned. "Please, please... Tell me this isn't some sort of dream? Or at least tell me that I've finally reached my own grave."

"Watson. My dear, sweet Watson, forgive me, but I had to. I had become too famous, I couldn't continue that way, it interrupted everything... It put you at risk."

In that moment, John looked at Sherlock in the eyes, the same eyes he had longed for, for so long. Now but a hair's breadth away.

"For me? For me how...?" Confusion overcame him. "What could've possibly gone wrong with your sudden fame...?"

Sherlock looked him in the eyes, filled with sorrow and regret. "My enemies, Watson. You don't get to be where I am without upsetting some people-"

Watson swung for him, hitting him in the Jaw; the rage came back with a burning pyre. "What would you know about 'Upsetting' someone!?" Tears again, fell from his face; "I had to examine you, check for a God damn pulse! Nothing... I can still feel the coldness of your..." He stared at his hand, the same had that checked his pulse, had just knocked him to the floor. He stood up.

Sherlock wiped a drop of blood from the corner of his mouth; he looked away from John, filled with shame. John held his hand out to him; "Just... Next time... Let me in on your little ruse... Please? Then maybe I won't hit you as hard."

Holmes looked startled at John, this was not what he had expected, he had expected to be beaten, the 'Authorities' called and then thrown out of their home. It was always Sherlock's home. For as long as Watson lived there.

"Watson, I-"

"Save it, you can make it up to me by having a cup of tea with me." He pulled Holmes up, onto his feet and hugged him. He had never felt so relieved about anything in his life, Sherlock didn't feel awkward about this hug and he welcomed it as much as John. He missed his Doctor.

As they stood in the kitchen, Sherlock had explained to Watson, precisely why he had done such an audacious task.

"Elementary, dear Watson." He said with a grin on his face, he hadn't smiled like that for a while. John stared at him, he missed him so much, and now, it seemed like he had never left, 221b, suddenly seemed full of life. Full of Vigour. Full of... Sherlock. He smiled at the thought. Then he realised something.

He loved Sherlock. The thought never crossed his mind until now, every possible feeling, emotion, even action, pointed to this. It was true. He knew it was. "Holmes, I have a bit of a confession."

"Really?"

"Yes, you see..." His heart seemed to be running a marathon today. "I think... That... Well, after everything that we've been through... That-"

"Watson... I already know."

"What!?" His heart had just performed a Triple Jump.

"I've been paying attention Watson. I never knew how to express it back. I tried, but all my attempts failed. Even worse so when you and women flirted with each other. I loathed it when they attempted with me. Or had you not noticed?"

John then realised everything, why Sherlock never acted on impulse with a woman. Why he never attempted to be with a woman. Why he never seemed interested in them. They weren't a distraction, he had already found someone he loved and John felt the same.

Sherlock took a step closer to John, resting his right hand on John's hip, place the cup down with his left, he had John cornered. John's hands automatically went to Holmes' face, 'This isn't a dream.' He thought, 'This is real.' He moved his hands to the back of Sherlock's head, entwining his hair with his own hands, he felt a scar.

"It doesn't hurt, John, only the heart ache of hurting you..." He felt him sob slightly into his shoulder, he held him tighter. He kissed him upon the neck;

"I forgive you, Sherlock... I... I love you..." He closed his eyes, fearing the madness that would ensue.

"I love you too, John..." He had stopped sobbing, leaning back to look him in the eyes, he could feel the passion from him, his eyes still filled with tears. He moved towards him, his breath rapid, heart racing. Sherlock put his left hand at the back of John's head;

"Oh John..." He bridged the gap between them, kissing with a passion.

How this happened, John wasn't sure, a moment ago they were in the Kitchen, kissing passionately, the next, they were in Sherlock's room, he hadn't been in for a while and Sherlock's scent seemed to drive him further into a lust. They were at each other's buttons and shirts, there trousers falling, they stopped when they realised there was nothing but Sherlock's scarf.

"Watson... Are you sure...?" Nerves had found their way into Holmes' head.

"Here, let me give you the best possible answer." He wrapped his hands around each side of the scarf once. He pulled him close; the heat between them was some of pure ecstasy. Before he knew it, his thighs were around him, accepting him; his deep breaths were simply causing more trouble. Then, Sherlock had accepted the invitation. They were the closest they could be, Watson felt only a minor pain, before it was filled with undiluted pleasure and he did nothing more that kiss Sherlock harder, clutching his head and thigh, pulling him deeper.

"Sherlock-" He was cut short by a gasp for breath.

"I love you, John." Sherlock whispered in his ear.

"I love you too..."

As the hour drew to the early morning, Watson awoke to find himself alone in Sherlock's bed. Had it all been a dream? Had he been fooled by his own mind? Had all the depression finally caught up with him? He sobbed to himself.

"This is it." He said to himself. "I cannot fathom my own mind..."

He got up, walked out of the door and down the stairs. Into the living room, he sat down; he could have sworn he felt a small tinge of pain, but he blamed his imagination. Opening a draw to his right, he pulled out a small, 6-chamber revolver. It was always loaded with one bullet, he promised himself, if he ever went mad from Holmes' absence. He wouldn't allow his mind to control him anymore. He cocked the revolver, and stared for a moment into the kitchen, he swore, only yesterday, he had made tea and told the one person he cared for that he truly loved in there. A tear dropped from his eye as the placed the revolver to the base of his chin, pointing upwards. One clean shot.

"I took the liberty of removing the bullet. Though, finding the gun was a little more... Tedious."

Sherlock stood in the hall, leaning against the frame, with a cup of tea in his hand and a saucer in his hands, wearing his Pyjamas and John's dressing gown. "You may wish to get dressed, Watson. Apparently someone else found out I'm not dead."

"You... Bastard... Will never cease to amaze me..." Over come with happiness, he cried. He wasn't alone anymore. He finally had a home with Holmes.