It was a rainy day on Baker Street, as was typical for London. John sat and read the morning paper, cup of coffee in hand.
Mrs. Hudson appeared in the doorway of the flat. "You have a visitor, deary."
"You know I don't take visitors, Mrs. Hudson. I've allowed none since…the accident." He was referring, of course, to Sherlock's jump from the hospital roof. John hadn't exactly been the same since he last saw his friend hit the pavement right in front of his eyes.
"I know, deary, but I think you should see this one."
"For the last bloody time, Mrs. Huds—" John turned around to address his not-housekeeper and froze in his tracks. What met his eyes was not Mrs. Hudson's stout, elderly form, but that of another: one of thinness, height, beautiful black hair—and most of all, the sharpest cheekbones to ever grace a man's face. John nearly collapsed.
The man in the doorway cleared his throat. "Um, you needed milk, so I took up the liberty of stopping by the market…" He held up the plastic shopping bag as proof.
John simply stared. The room went silent for several long moments, until:
"Milk."
"Yes, you haven't got any and I know how cranky you get when—"
"You've been gone for a year and you come back with milk? I thought you were dead!"
"Ah, yes, well, that is an understandable assumption to ma—"
"'An understandable assumption'? I saw you fall from a roof. Your blood covered the pavement! I THINK THAT IS A BIT MORE THAN A BLOODY UNDERSTANDABLE ASSUMPTION."
Sherlock stared. "John, I'm…I'm sorry. I did it for you, you know. They would have killed you if I hadn't."
"For me? You put me through a year of misery and hopelessness and months of therapy visits, and it was all for my benefit?"
The very-much-alive-Sherlock just gazed at him. "Well…I'm alive, as you can plainly see."
John stared back, his face a mask of anger. Slowly, though, the anger began to fade away, until John was laughing to himself, almost insanely. "You're alive. You're actually bloody alive."
"Yes, John, I'm—" He was cut off when suddenly a pair of lips cascaded onto his own. He dropped the bag containing the milk and stepped back, but John didn't release his hold. After regaining his thoughts, Sherlock wound his arms around John, kissing him back with all the intensity he was being kissed with. They backed onto the couch and sat down, never letting go of one another, both still shocked at what was happening. Eventually they came apart, because one can only not breathe for so long.
Sherlock let out a laugh. "I missed you too."
John grinned at him. "If you die again, I'll kill you."
"I never plan on it. Being dead is quite dull." He then pulled John back to him and sealed the promise with a kiss.