AN: I don't know about you guys, but I pretty much SAW this happen!
Moriarty, the irritating, limp-wristed bastard, was gone. Gone enough. Sherlock roughly tore off John's coat and the makeshift bomb vest and violently threw it as far away as possible. As the discarded explosives still slid away across the tiles, Sherlock grabbed his shocked, shaking, living, breathing friend by the shoulders, unceremoniously kissed him firmly on the lips, then wrapped him tightly in both arms.
John didn't react to any of this, or any of anything. He stood swaying as Sherlock moved away, held him at arm's length and said 'Not good?'
'Good, fine, perfect, not a problem.' He replied as he staggered to the nearest wall and collapsed against it.