Today would be especially difficult for John. The anniversary of Sherlock's death was fast approaching and John was definitely and visibly depressed. Even Mrs Hudson offered to procure the groceries herself. But like a gentleman, John insisted on pulling his weight. After all, she had already done enough by lightening the rent. Which of course, John was very thankful. Soon enough, John returned to 221B Baker street. With a heavy heart, John entered the building and dropped off the groceries. Not a day went by did he not shed tears as he climbed those steps up to the apartment. On the bright side, he now lived alone so there was no one to see him crying. But today was worse than others. He could practically smell Sherlock's shampoo and cologne... Sherlock;s shampoo and cologne...? No, it couldn't be. Not after a year had gone by. John figured it was just his imagination. But it didn't stop him from racing up the stairs and throwing the door open. At first glance, John saw nothing. 'Of course... Its wishful thinking' he thought. With another heavy sigh, John went to the body part free fridge and grabbed a beer. He'll shuffle his way to the couch and sit down.
With one swift movement, John opened the can of beer and took a long swig, nearly emptying the can. The slightly bitter taste was enough to make him shiver. Upon finishing the beer, John set it down on the coffee table and pick up the newspaper. By the time he finished, it was time for supper. His stomach grumbling, John figured it was probably best to cook something to eat. He slowly made his way to the kitchen and popped something in the microwave. With the buzzing in the background, John didn't notice a certain someone coming out of the bedroom. Putting his food on a plate(leftover pizza) John turned around to walk back into the main room.
Looking up, John froze. He had "seen" things before. He'd seen Sherlock a number of times of the past year, but each time it turned out to be nothing more than wishful thinking or a mistaken identity. But it still caught him offguard enough to drop the plate, which broke into about a dozen pieces. His breath caught in his throat, John looked away, then back. He closed his eyes and reopened them. Still, the vision of his best friend remained. With each shallow breath, John inched his way over to the other. Slowly and shakily, John reached out to touch the individual before him. to his surprise, John felt the warmth of flesh and bone. He then reached up to touch the cheek he had once punched. Real. Everything about the person sitting in front of him was real. Backing up a foot, John collapsed to his knees. As he stared in disbelief, John felt tears beginning to form in the corners of his eyes. It was Sherlock. Here, in the flesh and blood. He wasn't dead. No... Sherlock was here and sitting in his favorite chair like always. A shaky hand reached out to grab the other man's sleeve as the tears began to fall. "S-Sherlock... You... You're alive... You're bloody alive..." John choked out as he clung to the other man's arm, burying his face in the other's knee as he wept