AN: Greetings! My second Johnlock story and I think I'm becoming complete trash for this particular fandom!

Disclaimer: I may be British but I do not work for BBC, no matter how much I wish to.

"I'm leaving."

Greg's head snapped up as he looked at the taller man. "Sorry, what?" Greg said dumbly. Sherlock rolled his eyes and repeated himself to the detective inspector. "I'm leaving."

Greg couldn't help but feel like he was missing something. Sherlock had just came back from the dead a month ago and now he was leaving again? What was he thinking? Was he insane? What did John think of this?

"Why? What about John?" Greg asked and Sherlock suddenly found his polished shoes to be very interesting.

"John has been acting differently ever since I came back. He seems to be like this because I left him. Of course I can't blame him but I thought he would be glad that I was back. I'm just a constant reminder that I left him for three years and I don't
know if I can forgive myself."

Greg sighed as he watched Sherlock blame himself for John's actions. He had noticed that whenever the pair came to the Yard, that John would stand behind Sherlock and try not to let him out of his sight. He never commented on Sherlock's deductions anymore
but instead zoned-out. It seemed that John was worried that Sherlock was going to pull another stunt and leave him.

And Greg was not going to let that happen to John ever again. He knew what would happen if it did.

"Don't you dare try and leave him." He whispered dangerously. Greg stood up from his desk and glared at Sherlock. "Don't you bloody dare do that shite to him again. Never again do I want to see him like that. I swear to god if you even try, you'll get
what's coming to you."

Sherlock looked up at Greg and said softly, "He detests me."

This made Greg lose his temper.

"You dare and say that?! Even if he does hate you, he has to plenty of reasons to! You left him for three bloody years and I have never seen a man reach that low! He walked around like he was dead and he barely ate or slept. You don't know how many nightsIgot
drunk phone calls. How many nightsIhad to drive him home. How many nightsIhad to stop him from doing something idiotic. How may timesIhad to take him to the hospital because he cut himself and
was bleeding too much. How many timesIdrove to that blasted graveyard and found John, with a gun in his hand, ready to end it all just to be with you! How many nightsIwas sure we're going to be his last. Your
the only reason he even lasted a year, you bloody prick!"

The last sentence was what caught Sherlock's attention the most. "What do you mean?"

"What I mean is that when John was on his way home before meeting you, he was going to end it. Before he ran into Mike, he was going to go home and put a bullet in his head. His life had no meaning and meeting you gave it one. You gave him the thrill
of the chase and the rush he needed to feel alive again. You got him to feel and remember what it was like to be human. Sherlock, don't take that away from him. Just don't."

Sherlock sunk in the chair, attempting to process all the things Lestrade was saying. He couldn't be serious? John, beautiful and amazing John, would never try to do something so incompetent as killing himself. The thought of John's lifeless body and
empty eyes made his heart constrict and brain halt for a split second. He was snapped out of his daze by Greg's voice.

"Go home to him. Tell him how youfeelbecause if you don't, I'll never forgive you."

Sherlock looked at Greg and then his eyes flooded with a type of panic that was very uncharacteristic of the man.

"Fuck! I left him a note and it said that I was leaving! If he's back from the store then he probably read it already. What if he's done something? What if he's dead?!" The genius' head was spinning with thoughts. The fear was too much and causing to
not think logically.

"Damnit Sherlock! Get a hold of yourself! Get in the damn car before we lose him!" Greg yelled as he grabbed his keys. For once Sherlock didn't complain about riding in the vehicle and instead ran out the door with the Detective Inspector.
style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 21px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.301961);"

Within seven minutes they were at Baker Street. Sherlock didn't even wait for the car to come to a complete stop before jumping out and running up the 17 steps to his flat. Greg, with a sad smile, decided that his work was done and left without a
word. He could only hope that John was okay and that they would add it their feelings to one another.

As Sherlock entered the small flat he instantly spotted John siting in his red armchair. John, who was crying and holding a gun in one had and a crumpled letter in the other. He hadn't noticed Sherlock yet as he raised the gun to his left temple
and let out a breath.

BANG

Sherlock jumped and knocked the gun out of John's hand, causing it to fire into the wall. John let out a surprised yelp and looked at Sherlock with glassy eyes.

"Sherlock? What are you-!" John was cut off as Sherlock launched himself at the shorter man and held him tightly in his lithe arms.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I'm such an arse. I shouldn't have left you alone. I'm not going anywhere, I'm sorry!" Sherlock's voice trembled as he apologized over and over like a mantra. For the first time in years Sherlock cried and his tears fell
onto tousled, sandy blond hair.

John let the crumpled letter fall to the floor and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's neck. He sobbed softly into the taller man's neck. After ten minutes of this, John pulled away from the other. Sherlock gazed into John's red and puffy eyes with
his sorrowful ones. Sherlock couldn't help but lean in closer to his flatmate and didn't realize till John sucked in a small breath.

John was staring at Sherlock's face as it got closer and closer till his lips were only a hairs breath away from his own. John's eyes closed softly and he felt safe as Sherlock's lips closed over his own.

It felt perfect and warm. John had never felt such emotion in a kiss while he was with any of his exes. They had all lacked the thrill that he had been wanting, that Sherlock had given him. It felt right to be held in those lanky arms and kissed by
those Cupid-bow lips. It all felt so right and honestly, he didn't want to let go.

When the kiss ended a few moments latter, John released the breath he had been holding and looked at Sherlock's face. The raw emotions were not hidden as they usually were and the man was in a daze. John smiled softly at the sight of the man he had
fallen for a long time ago but only realized those feelings, when he had feared that he had lost him completely, only minutes ago.

Sherlock seemed to snap out of his daze and instead of releasing him, he tightened his grip and rested his head on John's chest. He could feel the tear stains the tan jumper. John, his John, was safe and sound.

John looked at the lanky man that had curled around himself. This experience had awakened something inside himself and he found that he didn't Sherlock to ever leave. With resolve and determination on his face, he uttered the three words that would
change their whole relationship.

"I love you"

AN: I was thinking about giving this a sequel but if you want me to work on something else, I can probably produce a fic before I go on vacation to the states.