John was at his kitchen table filling out some final paper work from the Surgery. Just as John about to take another sip of his tea, the doorbell rang. John stood up, tea still in hand, and walked through the spacious apartment to the front door. He was not expecting company today. He strongly hoped that it was not a door-to-door salesman; he was always too kind to them and they took up a great deal of his time when they came around.
John pulled open the door to reveal not a salesman, but a rather familiar, and very dead, Sherlock Holmes standing on his front stoop. "Hello, John. Time's been good to you. How 'bout a cup'a tea?"
John heard a smash and looked down. He had dropped his tea cup which had shattered on the floor beside him, tea everywhere. Sherlock looked from the broken cup back up to John's face, looking amused.
"I guess you'll have to make us both a cup then." Sherlock said, pushing past John and the mess on the floor to walk farther into the apartment.
John closed the door and spun on his heel to stare blankly at the man invading his home. John watched as Sherlock looked quickly around the living room and adjoining kitchen, obviously deducing, before seating himself in John's favourite chair. The blonde gaped at the dark haired man sitting in his chair. "That cup, John?" Sherlock said, steepling his fingers under his chin and cocking an eyebrow.
John worked on auto pilot as he forgets the spilled drink on the floor and goes into the kitchen to make a new pot of tea. He hears the other man humming quietly under his breath and can see him inspecting the skull on the bookshelf. The skull John had taken from 221B. The only thing John had taken from 221B.
John watched Sherlock watch him and as the kettle begins to sound, it hits John: Sherlock is alive. He is alive and sitting in my chair. John's knees gave way beneath him and the topped to the floor. Sherlock lunged across the room and turned the kettle off before kneeling beside the other man. He placed a hand on his lower back and another on his elbow to haul him up and into a kitchen chair.
"You okay, John?" Sherlock retreated to the stove top and pored the still warm kettle into a nearby teapot.
"I-I you-you're alive. Ho-how?" John looked lost as he raised his eyes to look at Sherlock again.
"Is now a really good time, John? You're in shock." The man placed a steaming cup in front of the army doctor.
John shock his head and looked into his tea. The men sit in silence, sipping quietly.
That night, when Sherlock goes to leave, everything has been explained. As the man steps out the door, John grabs his coat sleeve, "You'll come back, right? I'm still not positive you're real."
Sherlock turned back to the shorter man, grabbing his hand and invading his personal space, "Do I feel real?" he says as he brings his mouth to cover John's.
They break apart, "Yes." John gasps before Sherlock's mouth is back on his.
XXX
As John's wife walks up the block she sees her husband locked around another man. She may never have met Mr. Holmes, but John has told her enough about the man to know it is him. She does not question how the seemingly dead man is currently standing on her front stoop, kissing her husband. The woman watches as the men retreat back into the house; door closing behind them. She hails a cab and texts John.
Spending the night at my mother'.s I'll come round tomorrow and we can discuss what I just witnessed happening on our porch.
