There was an icy chill to the air tonight, John Watson was just making his way back into the flat where he and Sherlock would usually reside together. Each time he opened the door he half-expected the tall, beautiful, cunning, man to be sitting in his chair sipping tea. Unfortunately that was no longer the case, inasmuch as Watson wished the oppisite—Sherlock Holmes was no longer alive.

John opened the door to the flat and entered, his arms full of packages. He read the label on a few of them, shifting through a few envelopes without much concern. The past year that Sherlock had been gone, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, Molly, and even Mycroft had been acting especially gracious to him.

"Happy Valentine's Day, John. —Molly xox" was scripted on the anterior of one of the pacakages. He sighed, not bothering to open any of them and laid them on the table. It was a just past 9:30 at night and John wasn't particularly in the mood to be greeted by romantic cards. Especially if the person he cared about most, wasn't there to celebrate it with him.

Noises that sounded much like beeps were coming from on top of the fireplace and John quirked an eyebrow, looking over to it. What he saw on the mantel was a pink heart, tied ever-so-elegantly with a black bow.

"Bomb...?" John thought, little beads of sweat forming on his temples.

John stepped closer and lifted the box into his hand, sliding the lid off and looking inside. What he found inside was surprising. Inside, lay a pink phone and a message saying "You've got 10 messages".

"Pink?!" John grunted, rolling his eyes. This was obviously a joke played by one of his acquaintances (John no longer has friends, lonely is what he has. Lonely keeps him safe.)

"Honestly, again? Who would send me a pink phone?" he looked at it as it once again beeped, another message coming through.

John slid the lock on the screen open, looking at the notifications on the phone.

His eyes widened and he nearly choked.

"I saw you at the bus stop. —SH"

no.

"Lonely dinner? —SH"

this isn't real.

"That brand is not good, don't buy it.—SH"

I'm dreaming.

"I miss your coffee.—SH"
"Did Mrs. Hudson clean my room? —SH"
"Still nothing updated on your blog. —SH"

Tears began to spill from his eyes and down his flushed cheeks, onto the screen of the phone. This couldn't be real, he was just having a very, horrible, awful, real, nightmare.
His hands were trembling and he glanced at the phone to see another text come in.

"Did you miss me? —SH"

John covered his forehead and eyes, scared to leave this dream that seemed so real. He didn't want to leave Sherlock—his Sherlock.

"Happy Valentine's day, John. Open the door for me. —SH"

Sherlock stood outside the door with a bouquet of roses, his heart beating as fast a drum.

He was finally home.