Hello. This is my first attempt at Johnlock FanFiction. I don't usually write stories this lengthy, however, I couldn't stop writing once I'd started. I don't know. Sherlock and John captivate me. Their relationship entrances and allows for emotion. Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman have both inspired me to write and act once more on stage. I owe them a lot, you see. If what I read is true and Benedict and Martin sometimes read FanFiction I hope they stumble upon this. Thank you, really. Your commitment to acting is breathtaking. For all who read this, I thank you too. It really means a lot. I know I'm not the best at what I do, so it's delightful when people take notice. I apologize in advance for all misspellings. Please privet message me if you find any and would like to report them to me.

Review if convenient. Review if not convenient.

I'm Home

John Watson walked the stairs of 221B, unlocked the door to his flat, and eased through the entrance. Once he was inside he closed the door behind himself and locked it, making sure to note and to thank Ms. Hudson for tidying up his flat. Surly she'd done so, seeing as the handle of the door had shifted an excess of two degrees while he'd been away at work.

Blinking, John came to the realization that he still hadn't turned on the hallway lights and that it was pitch dark aside from the small shimmers of evening sunlight that filtered through the drawn open curtains of the living room. John shrugged and shuffled off his coat, as well as his boots, not bothering to flip on the hallway lights, and easily placed both items inside the hallway closet.

He'd come home so often after sunset once he'd accepted the position of Head Doctor at the clinic that he knew every turn, bump, and curve of the hallway.

John also knew that the third step of the staircase that led up creaked if you stepped on it. That the old water heater of 221B supplied ten minutes of hot water in the morning and if he wanted to assure Ms. Hudson hot water, he needed to be in at 0545 and out by 0600, as she showered at 0730.

The early wakeup, for "normal" people anyways, (John was naturally an early riser; he'd always been ever since he was a child. He never slept for great lengths of time like his sister Harriet, though given she was an alcoholic even as a teenager, and most often slept do to hangovers. Added to naturally being an early riser John had been in the army. Usually he'd been woken up at 0400 each morning, showed and dressed by 0430, and working by 0500. If you'd slept in nothing good came out of it anyway. All the food was picked over and his drill sergeant, Mr. Rossmoor, added 100 pushups to the mandatory 500.), meant John needed to finish his office paperwork by 1700, clean his section of the lab by 1730, and leave the office by 1800to catch the 1830 tram and get home by 1900.

This allowed him an hour to himself before Ms. Hudson came home, which was usually filled up watching crap telly, cleaning up the flat and vacuuming, or reading, and left him with 15 minutes to get ready for bed and 45 to fall asleep.

This meant John would acquire exactly 9 hours of solid sleep. The extra 45 minutes in the morning he either spent stretching and doing 50 sit-ups and 100 pushups, or lazily walking down into the kitchen and making himself some toast with jam. Added to this already massive amount of intimate knowledge John knew that if you didn't turn the knob to the first door that led into 221B, the hinge that Ms. Ms. Hudson kept reminding herself to call somebody to fix but always forget, would scrape against the woodwork carve out small files of wood from the molding around the door and fall to the door.

However, the most privet of knowledge John knew of was that at exactly ten past twelve Ms. Hudson would unlock the door to his flat and check up on him. Most times she would crack open his bedroom door just enough to see him, however, others she would wander pasts it frame and shuffle to his bedside and pull his cheap iron blue comforter around his body, tucking it in at his sides, before kissing him on top of his head and praying for him. Pray for, as she called them, "her boys" to reunite and flood the empty house with life once more.

John shook his head. If there was a time he'd allowed himself, his thoughts more precisely, to wander off into the wrong direction it had to be on his birthday. Yes, today was John Watson's 40th birthday. He'd spent it working too. Not to say he didn't receive plenty of birthday wishes from the staff, as well as a few of his patients.

In fact he'd even received a few cards, His favorite card, however, had been given to his by five year old Lucy Thatcher. She was a cute little girl with middle length yellowish-brown hair, usually braided down the middle, and stunningly wide blue doe eyes. Today, however, Lucy's hair had been drawn up in ill formed bun. Once the Lucy's mother walked in, obviously proud of her child, John's assumption that she'd done her hair herself was confirmed.

"Hm, well doesn't someone look beautiful today." John had said bending down to the child's height, smiling at his well welcomed patient.

The small girl giggled coyly and beamed a smile at John, her light pink dress swaying around her frame and the yellow ribbon attached to her bun bouncing. John went to look up at Lucy's mother but stopped when he noticed the child had kept both her hands hidden behind her back, which was odd. Most often John found himself suffocated by the young child's iron grip around his neck. Yes, you could say Lucy had a small crush on Dr. Watson.

John lent forward on the balls of his heels and pointed towards Lucy's back. "What's behind your back?" he asked puzzled. The girl giggled some more before pulling from behind her a small card.

"It's for you Dr. Watson! I made it for you! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" she proclaimed pressing the card into his chest.

John made a small sound of astonishment before taking the card from Lucy. On it she'd drawn an image of her and him hold hands. He was dressed in his medical uniform, she a blue dress and purple ribbons. Her favorite outfit if John recalled correctly. Inside the card and written in child gibberish was the message "Thank you Dr. Watson for making me pheel beter! Happy Birfthday!" Below the text was a picture of what John presumed was a birthday cake and a patch of presents.

John closed the card and hugged the girl for brief moment and then said "Thank you Lucy! This is the best birthday card I've ever gotten!"

"Yay! Mama, Mama Dr. Watson likes my card!" Lucy's mother laughed at her daughter's behavior, amused.

"Yes. I see that Lucy." she said to her daughter. "I think we should let Dr. Watson work though."

Lucy pouted. "Aw, okay." she drawled. John looked up at the mother and gave her an odd look.

"She isn't ill?" he asked.

"Nope, she's perfectly healthy. She found out your birthday was this month last time we were her and demanded we come by and give you this the day of."

"Oh!" exclaimed John. "Thank you for the trouble then! I'm sor-"

"There's nothing to be sorry about Dr. Watson. My daughter doesn't throw a fuss when she comes to the doctors and I'm thankful for that. You've kept her asthma under control as well, so it's the least I can do, really." interrupted Lucy's mother.

"Oh, well…I'm happy to help any time."

John rose from his crouched position, his knees cracking. He patted Lucy on the head before walking over to his cupboard and pulling out a child-safe sucker and handing it to Lucy. "Here you go Lucy, your favorite flavor." Lucy took the sucker and cheerily said "Thank you!" before John turned her towards he mother and said "I think your mama needs to get some stuff done today. Thank you very much for the birthday wish. I'll see you in a month for your next checkup."

"Okay Dr. Watson!" Lucy said bouncing out the doorway, her mother following after her, however, not before nodding towards John.

The small memory faded and John Watson found himself still standing inside the hallway. He'd decided that he wanted to pull out the card Lucy had made for him and place it above the fireplace mantle. It would look absolutely delightful settled their.

Taking a step John opened the closet and pulled out Lucy's card. It wasn't hard to find, as he'd remembered placing it in his side pocket before he'd left work. With his card in hand John began to walk into his living room when he heard a faint creek of a floorboard.

Impossible his mind screamed. There wasn't a loose floorboard inside the hallway of the flat. In fact the only floorboard was the in between the conjoined living room and kitchen.

John Watson froze. The skin around his lips and attentive nocturne eyes drew up tight in self-defense and his posture changed from relaxed and lame to taught and reflexive. John's right hand came up and pulled from his holster, which he carried everywhere aside from inside the office, his handgun.

He crept forward and into the flat, his back sliding against the wall and his white shirt lift from his abdomen slightly. The muscles in his pointer finger subconsciously twitched, the pain in his leg stopped, and his grip on the safety switch lessoned.

John rounded the hallway corner and leapt across the distance between him and opposing wall where the flat's light switch lay. His fingers ran across it and flipped it on, enveloping the room in a veil of light and causing John's pupils to shrink and for him to draw his gun.

"SURPRISE, HAPPY BIRTHDAY JOHN!" came a thunderous roar of voices.

Multicolored streamers flew above his head like rockets and confetti fell from the ceiling appearing from nowhere and sparkling as it cascaded through the air and landed on the floor. Snaps went off as small party poppers were released and arrays of balloons swayed back and forth across all four walls. There was a small banner that hung across the wall facing John and it read HAPPY BIRTHDAY in bright bold letters. The most prominent feature in the living room was, and the one that captured Johns attention the most, was not the excess of party material. It was, however, the small cluster of people in the middle of the room that now, due to John looked very frightened.

John quickly picked through the crowd and soon recognized their faces. Ms. Hudson, Lestrade, Mycroft, Molly, Anderson, and Donavan all stood in a small semi-circle with small party hats on their heads and trembling wine glasses in a few of their hands. Oh, right the gun. John turned away from the still yet quiet crowd and holstered his handgun. There was an audible sigh amongst the crowd. John turned to look back at his friends and when he did his friends burst into laughter.

"Can you believe it? He pulls a gun on us! Pft!" bellowed Lestrade as he strayed from the circle and over to John. Lestrade circled his left arm around John's shoulders and with the other hand presented the crowd who once more yelled "Surprise! Happy Birthday."

John was at a loss of words. His friends had thrown him a surprise birthday party and he hadn't suspected a thing! John's shoulders began to bounce as he broke down into a fit of laughter, his friends joining in. "I can't believe you guys!" he managed to chime out. "I thought someone had broken into the flat!"

"Oh, John you nearly scared me half to death when I saw you'd draw your gun!" cried Ms. Hudson breaking the awkwardness. "Come here dearie." she said inching her way out of the crowd and towards John. John stepped away from Lestrade and into her open arms and embraced her in thanks. "Thank you Ms. Hudson." "Oh no don't thank me! Lestrade," she said pointing to the man "came up with the entire idea! I just helped decorate!"

"Yeah, and it wasn't easy!" Anderson harped moving forward towards John and brining Donavan along. "We couldn't find any tack to hand the banner up with, and then when we did find some we couldn't get the damned thing to stay centered and-"

Donavan cut in and sharply nudged Anderson with her elbow. "What Anderson means to say is Happy Birthday."

John laughed at the awkwardness of the two. "Thanks Anderson. Thanks Donavan. Really means a lot, ya know?"

"Hmph. It better mean a lot seeing as we-" another, much more painful nudge was given to Anderson's side by Donavan. She smiled at John and pulled Anderson away to sit on the couch.

John was just about to speak when Molly came bounding towards him and crashed into his chest. "Happy Birthday John!" she squeaked and released him. "I hope you like it! Ms. Hudson and I baked-"Molly looked over at Ms. Hudson. "Can I tell him?" she said even though John already had a pretty good idea of what she was going to say. Ms. Hudson nodded towards Molly. "Oh, well John we baked you a cake! We didn't know your favorite flavor so we made marble cake! Is that okay? I hope it is. If now we can always-"

"Molly," John started. "Of course it's fine! Why wouldn't it be? Thank you for the cake. I'm sure sine you and Ms. Hudson made it it'll be wonderful."

"Oh, well that's...that's good to know! Oh and John we've gotten you presents, and John your-"

Ms. Hudson quickly interrupted Molly and shuffled her into the kitchen while Lestrade laughed lightly. Odd John thought. Before John had any more chance to think Mycroft strolled over towards him, black umbrella and all, before awkwardly embracing the shorter man. "Happy Birthday." Mycroft said pulling away. "You're 40, is that so? Hm." Mycroft pursed his lips and leaned on his umbrella. "I very much hope you enjoy yourself. We've bought wine and many more alcoholic beverages. You can indulge yourself if you'd like and I'm sure Ms. Hudson won't mind. She doesn't seem bot-"

"Thanks for your help Mycroft." John interrupted. Mycroft looked a bit taken back. John hadn't talked to him, let alone said a kind work to him ever since...

"You're welcome." came the robotic reply. It was obvious that Mycroft wasn't used personal social gatherings. John assumed, however, that this was normal seeing as he was a Holmes child.

Shortly after the short and awkward conversation between Mycroft and himself Ms. Hudson and Molly came out with, what John deduced, was his cake. It had three layers, each smaller than the last going from bottom to top. The frosting was a deep shade of purple and on the side of the cake was written the words 'Happy Birthday John' in white. Then neatly centered on the top of the cake were three candles. Three…well it'd have to suffice for forty.

Lestrade came over and ushered John over towards the table where the cake now sat, eager for the man to take his seat. Lestrade seemed tense, in a rush. He was fidgety and he kept rubbing his thumb over his left knuckle. He also kept throwing glances over towards Mycroft and Molly.

"Come now everybody, gather around so we can light the cake for John." chirped Ms. Hudson as she dimmed the lights, pulled out a lighter and lit the cake.

The small group of people all drew in towards John and leant against one another, their faces lit with the small light of the candles. Somehow, John thought to himself, they all looked strangely…nostalgic. As if there was something they knew by John didn't. John shrugged the idea off, his mind coming down from the clouds just as his birthday song was finished.

"Make a wish John." Molly said with a smile. She was looking at John, yet not looking at him. Her eyes stared through him, past his existence, and went out behind him and out the window. John sucked in a gulp of air and was just about to blow out the candles when Ms. Hudson stopped him and said "Now John, make sure to wish for something wonderful, a miracle! Don't waste it asking for money or something silly like that!"

John simply nodded and eased himself away from the cake a bit. He brought his hands to his temples and rubbed them, thinking, before quickly making his decision on what to wish for.

"Something wonderful, a miracle eh?" he mumbled lowly to himself.

Miracle, yes John would wish for a miracle just as he had done three years ago.

"I wish…" he said drawling off and drawing in a breath.

The flams of the candles swayed and the smell of wax lingered in the air. In the center of those three candles that burn orange rest three small ice cold blue flickering's. They were small, yet still manageable to see. They were fierce as they snapped and snarled at the larger, more dominant flames.

John drew close to the flames.

Three… he smiled.

Three years, three candles.

Blue and as cold as ice, yet fierce and as hot as hell.

John sucked in a breath and slowly exhaled, knocking out the candles flams.

'I wish for Sherlock Holmes to come home.'

John opened his eyes to find everyone staring at him, yet even so they weren't what captured his attention the most. What did capture his attention, however, was the slight blue flicker of flame that leapt from the dead wick.

The flame was still alive. What mattered, what kept the outer shell of things going, was still alive.

He was still alive as John was alive.

He was alive as Ms. Hudson, Lestrade, Mycroft, Molly, Anderson, and Donavan were alive.

Molly strayed from the crowd and hurried over towards the fireplace, turning it on and keeping the lights off. She then exclaimed while walking over to the crowd "It's late, so I think we should have John open his presents!" Her voice was shaky. Had John done something to upset her, to upset everybody?

"Everyo-" he began but was interrupted by Mycroft.

"Wonderful idea Molly. Come on John, come sit here on the couch and open your gifts." To emphasize his point Mycroft dramatically jostled his umbrella towards the couch.

"I suppose." said John walking towards the chest he kept at the edge of the room, pulling out four blankets, and heading towards the couch. Once everybody was drawn up around he handed them out. There was one for Donavan and Anderson, one for Ms. Hudson, one for Lestrade and Molly, and one for Mycroft.

Donavan and Anderson were the first to hand John his gift. "I hope it's to your liking" said Donavan. "It better be considering we spen-" once more Anderson was nailed in the side by Donavan. He coughed.

"Yes, I hope you like it." He corrected himself.

John accepted the small box from the two, unwrapped it and opened the box. Inside there was small purple envelope. John slid open the opening of the letter revealing a gift card for a fancy restaurant up Baker Street.

"Thank you. I'll put it to good use." John beamed.

"You're welcome." was the synchronized reply of Anderson and Donavan.

The process of receiving, opening, and thanking people for gifts continued on for another half hour until John had unwrapped his final gift. In total he'd received a gift card for Eddie's from Anderson and Donavan, three new jumpers from Ms. Hudson (One a cream yellow, another black, and the last a deep purple.), new cologne from Molly (Name Brand), an accessory for his handgun from Lestrade, and finally a full paid expense trip for two to America.

"Thanks for the gifts everybody. I'll make sure to put them to good use. And thank you for the party, really I had no idea it was coming!"

John yawned.

"Oh, now John you can't get tired quite yet." Ms. Hudson said.

"There's still one more gift." she continued and everybody nodded.

"What?" John said baffled.

"Really guys you've already given me so much an-"

"Accept it." Mycroft said rather forcefully.

John didn't say a word; instead he nodded and waited for the gift to be brought to him.

"Here you are." said Molly handing John a small velvet box. It was about five inches in width and seven in length, on top of it placed a silver bow. John's nervous eyes flickered towards his friends. They'd all seemed to have moved away from him. John shook it off and snapped open the box.

His hands trembled as he pulled out the cream colored letter with his name 'John' scrawled out in the most elegant penmanship—Sherlock's penmanship. John felt his bottom lip begin to quiver. He turned the letter over and onto its belly and released a small whimper as peeled open the envelope, making sure not to tear the cherished paper.

Pausing for a minute John ran his fingers over the folded paper that was in his hands. Whatever may be written here, good or bad, John was going to except it.

"Here goes." John said to himself unfolding the slip of paper and reading it.

He gaped at it, his large blue eyes flashing towards his guests, and then back again to his letter. He was so nervous that his entire frame was shaking. He couldn't think strait. He was nauseous, his vision was blurry, and his head thudded in time with his anxiety as he rose from his seat and let the letter fall from his hand.

Then something quite odd happened, you see, as John wove a path around the couch, stood in front of it, and opened his arms. There was the unmistakable click of Molly's heels as turned to Lestrade, the hushed cry of Ms. Hudson, the smirk on Donavan and Anderson's faces, and the small, unmistakable rumble of Mycroft's laughter.

John moved one his forearms to cover over his tear streaked face, his whole form trembling as he hid behind himself.

His sobbing grew louder and the tremors that racked his whole body, his entire being, his soul, grew larger and more frequent.

"Sherlock!" he said giving one last frantic wail, his knees threatening to fail him and send him crashing to the floor.

Then suddenly, and as fierce as the blue flames, John was taken into a crushing embrace. His heart rose from his toes and lept into his chest and he felt all the life that had left him three years ago return. His lungs expanded and he could again breathe. The tears that fell freely from his eyes washed away the veil of anguish that obscured his vision and once more he could see.

"Sherlock." he coked out.

John's hand moved from his face and settled into the mop of tangled curls nestled into the crook of his neck.

"Sherlock."

The taller man began to shake as well now, his bony structure rattling inside the iron hold of John as he rest his head on the shorter man's shoulder.

"I'm home, John."

"I'm home."

I might continue. Please tell me your opinion. I could turn this into a story and develop a more romantic plot between the two. I hope to hear from you.