It had been four long and painful months since John watched Sherlock jump off the roof of St. Bart's. Since that day, John had been seeing a therapist every week, hoping for some kind of emotional release but it never came. John still woke up with a gasp, covered in sweat every night from terrible nightmares of the same mangled body. He simply could not believe that Sherlock was gone. It seemed like such a unpretentious way for the great Sherlock Holmes to die. There had to be more to the story, because it didn't make any sense that he was so easily defeated. It was Sherlock, after all.
On this rainy night however, John awoke from something other than his bad dreams. A loud noise came from down stairs, starling him. He quickly stood and snatched up the gun off of his bedside table. Stuffing it into the waistband of his pajama bottoms, he quietly walked downstairs into the living room, only to find Sherlock looking thoughtfully out of the window with his hands behind his back, in his trademark coat and scarf.
John stopped in his tracks. That couldn't be… could it? "Sherlock?" he said, his shaky voice barely audible. Sherlock turned to face the doctor. "Hello John," he said in his same baritone drawl. John turned his head to the side, keeping his eyes on Sherlock. "What- What are you doing here? Alive?" "You sound almost disappointed. After much thought and consideration, I decided to come back from the dead," he replied sarcastically.
John could feel his temper rising. "Four months. Four bloody horrible months did I believe you to be dead. And you stand here now, like nothing happened. What the hell is wrong with you?" He started yelling. "You have no idea what I've been through! The pain I've suffered!" He walked up to Sherlock briskly, taking a hard swing at him and hitting him square in the nose. Sherlock nearly toppled over at the impact. "You selfish bastard!" John raged, punching Sherlock in the jaw. "Four months! Give me a reason why I shouldn't actually kill you!"
Sherlock backed up, holding his nose and said simply, "because I came back." John froze. "That's it? You're not going to offer an explanation for your absence? Don't you think you owe me that?" "Honestly John, I thought you would be happy to see me. And you know I hate pointing out the obvious." "Happy? Happy?! I'm unbelievably thrilled to see you! But you can't do those things to people who love you!" John cried out. Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?" John blushed. He hadn't meant to say those words out loud. "What did you just say to me?" Sherlock asked.
John looked him straight in the eyes and declared, "I love you, you bloody idiot, I love you." Something of a smile played on Sherlock's lips as he took a few steps toward John to where they weren't but inches apart. John was ready for the worst of it, so he stood up straighter to hold his ground. "Say what you will, but know it won't change how I feel about you." Sherlock eyed him. "I didn't know we had the same feelings for each other. I thought it was one-sided. I've never been happier to be wrong," he whispered.
John was about to say something, but suddenly, so quickly that John didn't see him move, Sherlock closed the gap between them and kissed John deeply on the lips. After Sherlock pulled back, he put his forehead on John's and linked their fingers together. "I hope you don't think this changes anything," John whispered, "I'm still mad at you, you stupid git." They both broke out in grins.
The End