John was pacing slowly, trying to enjoy the dim rays of light that still lasted on that day. It had indeed been a tiring one. He passed Scotland Yard, considering paying a visit to Lestrade, with whom he hadn't spoken in a long time. His phone buzzed on his pocket, a message. The blood drained from his face as he read the words on the screen. "Come at once if convenient. If inconvenient come anyway. SH." John took a deep breath, trying to even the pace of his now racing heart. Looking again at the words Scotland Yard he entered the building. Whoever was texting him – he refused to let himself believe it was Sherlock – could be dangerous. John explained the situation to Lestrade and showed him the message. The two men left together a few minutes later, barely talking and entering 221B Baker Street at fast pace.
John opened the door of the flat and stopped on his feet, the expression on his face the same as Lestrade as they saw him. Sherlock.
John looked at Sherlock, the same grin on his face, same hair, same nonchalant look. He hadn't changed a bit. He was just sitting there, on his usual chair, one leg crossed over the other, holding the arms of the chair with both his hands. The light from the street was entering through the window, making the dust in the air dance and giving him an ethereal shine. He was looking at them, John and Lestrade, with the same expression he would save for a particularly interesting case.
John, still convinced his mind was playing tricks on him, gazed upon the man on the chair for a long time, trying to understand how could he look so much like his older self. John had gotten old; not a drastic change, that was certain, but the worries of the loss he had suffered and the nights when only tears would embrace him. had carved into him, leaving scars.
As Sherlock sat there unnerved, a new feeling started to run through John's veins. Before he could access it, he sprang forward and grabbed Sherlock's collar, the strength he had applied making the chair balance backward and throwing both men on the floor. Sensing John's intention, Sherlock managed to release his hand and avoid the fist that came towards his face.
"I had to pretend!" Sherlock shouted, before John could regain power. "It was to protect you!"
John didn't soften his grip. Standing on top of Sherlock with his face so close to his he asked:
"Why? Why would you protect me?" Sherlock had disappeared for three whole years. How was that protecting someone?
"Because I love you, you idiot!" Sherlock said.
And taking advantage of the position they were in, he released his other hand and grabbed John by his neck, kissing him gently.
Inspector Lestrade left, closing the door behind him, a grin on his face. Sherlock had a lot of explaining to do but now was just not the time.
