John woke up to the familiar sound of Sherlock breathing quietly in his sleep. A calm, slow, and steady routine of inhales and exhales. He lazily rolled over to face him. Sherlock was wrapped up in his blanket, almost up to his prominent cheekbones. His eyes were closed but John could still see the faint flutters of his dark lashes as his eyes rolled inside his head. His eyebrow twitched as though he was quirking it up in his dream.
John was certain that, in this moment right now, he could not be happier. Fueled by his love for Sherlock, John had been able to let himself indulge in life. Sherlock led him on many adventures, from chasing criminals through the streets of London to…
Just then John's mind wandered to a dark corner of his past. A part of his life that John preferred to never revisit. But, of course, he couldn't act like it never happened because it did and it still lingered over him every day of his life. John felt a horrible spark of pain in his stomach. The feelings and memories of sadness and mourning all came flooding back into his mind, chasing one another around restlessly.
Reichenbach.
The only word he could coherently think of right now. He cringed at the word. He loathed that word. The word that left him alone. The word that took his only friend away from him. The word that killed Sherlock, he believed.
He sat up in his bed, trying to be as gentle as possible as to not wake up Sherlock, but he failed, as Sherlock wearily opened his eyes and looked up at John, obviously confused. He sat up.
"What's the matter, John?" He asked, obviously concerned.
After a few long moments of silence Sherlock wrapped his long arms comfortably around John's waist and gently pulled both of them down to the welcoming bed. Sherlock let his arms remain where they were and snuggled up to John, his head resting on his shoulder.
John let out a heavy sigh.
"I know it's been two years since you left me, Sherlock, but I can't stop thinking about it. You stole what was left of the good in me and you ran off with it, and left me broken. I don't think you can even begin to understand what I went through."
Sherlock looked up at him with a truly concerned look on his face. His mouth fell open just slightly. His eyes grew wider and paler. John knew it was a face of pure guilt.
With that Sherlock propped himself up and pulled John in for a tight, loving, long embrace. This time, John's arms were wrapped around Sherlock, and Sherlock's arms tightly around his shoulders. John was pulled in so close that he was able to wriggle his nose into the hollow of Sherlock's neck. Sherlock was crushing him a bit, but John had no intentions of stopping it. He quite liked it, actually. His and Sherlock's bodies had always fit so perfectly together, like puzzle pieces, you could say.
John was certain that he could hear soft, painful sobs coming from Sherlock, but he didn't dare look up at him. John could feel Sherlock's chin resting lightly on his head, every few minutes he felt Sherlock's lips brush against his head softly. John could hear Sherlock's sharp inhale every so often as he craned his neck slightly to breathe all of John in, smelling his hair, his musk, his scent. John knew that Sherlock was crying, but Sherlock didn't need to know that John knew. Sherlock was obviously trying to hide it. All John did was tighten his grip on Sherlock, and Sherlock did the same to him. They stayed like that for 20 minutes before Sherlock was sure he could say something without sounding like he was in pain.
"John, you have to know," he said in his usual deep voice, "that I had no intentions of hurting you when I left. I never have had intentions of hurting you. All I ever wanted was to protect you, brilliant, clever, beautiful John Watson. The only person who has ever truly loved me and the only person I have ever truly loved. And that's exactly why I left. I was protecting you. Moriarty said that if I didn't kill myself then my three friends would die. Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and you. I really only did it for you. I really only do anything for you."
John could hear the honesty in his voice. He looked up at Sherlock and kissed him. It was the most meaningful kiss he has ever shared with anyone. Their tongues and lips danced around each other so naturally and fluently. Everything about it was perfectly synced, and pristinely in tune. When they pulled away from each other reluctantly, they both had a look of astonishment in their eyes.
"Wow" John said, eyes locked on Sherlock's.
"Yeah" He replied, John noting that his brilliant blue eyes were ever deeper and slightly darker than normal.
That day they didn't leave their bed. They stayed covered in each other's warm embrace, just talking and laughing and cuddling and kissing.
John never had to worry about Sherlock leaving ever again.