Sherlock stepped out of his house into the brisk London breeze that made his nose and the tips of his ears blush red to match his cheeks. He needed to get home to John so they could make it to the appointment on time. The sidewalk seemed more cracked than usual, he thought trying to focus on the sound his shoes made as they hit the concrete instead of the pressing fear of their later destination. He took his steps carefully, one at a time. Feeling the cool breeze blow at his curls the way it blew colorful leaves in the tree in an attempt to shake them loose. He smiled at a few strangers, carefully trying to reduce their reasons to share his place on the side walk. The girl that passed on the left was a smoker on her way to but another pack. The boy two steps behind her was her boyfriend. The man sitting on his porch steps was crying over his sick wife, it took a moment to figure out what she had come down with... Cancer. He sped up, walking faster to his own home without looking back.
He fumbled with his key to the front door, opening it slowly and being sure he locked it again he took to the stairs leading up. Brushing his hands along the wall he remembered the first time they had kissed. John had pressed him against the wall leaving the handrail to dig into his back. Despite being uncomfortable it had been perfect. Soft and slow as if questioning if it was okay. Just two days later had been the day they had here kissed again, blowing off a case to have sex the first time. It had been two years since then. And he smiled at the memory continuing the walk up the stairs to their own door. He thought of the day he had come home finally after John had thought he was dead. John had cried and hugged him telling him how much he had missed home. It was the first time John had told him he loved him. It was later that same day that they had kissed the first time. So many perfect memories. He remembered all of it. Every kiss shared secretly in between visits and calls. Every fuck between investigations where they would have to show up hoping no one would notice the glow or the awkward walk. He missed every single moment like that. He dreaded opening that door every time. He wanted the old John back. He wanted him to remember. He opened the door slowly letting out a heavy breath as the door creaked open and he looked to see John sitting in his chair sipping a cup of tea. He looked so normal that he almost thought that everything was normal. That all his prayers had been answered. And then John looked at him and spoke.
"Excuse me but who are you?"