A/N: I saw this- the cover picture- on Facebook and couldn't resist. I wanted to write an Easter fic but couldn't find time, so now we have an April Fools fic!

. . .

Sherlock had been very patient. It had been three years since he had jumped from St. Bart's. It had been three years since he had became a disgrace(though, the recorded conversation on his phone had changed all that.) It had been three years since he had seen his friends.

Three years since he had last seen John.

He hadn't meant it to take this long. Sherlock spent every hour taking down Moriarty's web, spend endless hours searching, just so his friends could be safe. So he could come back.

And today was the day.

Today was the day that he could finally- for the lack of a better term- come back from the dead.

Sherlock had heard from his sources that John was making one last trip to 221B- to pick up all of his things apparently. He smirked, wondering what the blogger's reaction would be.

The smirk fell when he remembered how John was while visiting his grave. He would be happy to see him, right?

The man shook his head, banishing the doubt from his head. Of course he would be happy! Sherlock was alive! They would get back to their usual routine, solve crimes, live in 221B, all the things they had done before.

Suddenly, the man picked up his pace slightly, planning to be there before John got there. A quick glance to his phone, well, the phone Mycroft had given him, told Sherlock that John was almost there, having gotten a text from his sources. He broke into a run, making it to the familiar door and leaning against it, waiting for the taxi to pull up.

Sherlock smirked slightly, watching John get out, seeing the shock on his face when he finally realized that it was Sherlock that he was looking that. A smile appeared on the consulting detective's face for a moment before clearing his throat.

"Happy April Fool's day John. I'm not actually dead."

Sherlock watched as John tried to regain his voice, seeming to think that this was all to good to be true. The few seconds it took John to talk were the longest of Sherlock's life. What if John didn't want to see him? What if he hated him? His heart fell slightly. He was going to lose the one person that didn't see him as a freak. . .

". . .What?"

"Didn't you hear me?" Sherlock asked. What came next was something he did not expect.

John lunged at him. The taller man stumbled back as the doctor had punched him. Before he could recover from the shock, John had him in a headlock.

"Bastard, bastard, bastard. . .!" John muttered, slowly getting louder. Finally, after ten minutes of hitting- mostly on John's part, Sherlock had stopped dodging- John had calmed down slightly.

"How. . .why. . .Goddamn it Sherlock!"

Sherlock took a look at John. It looked as if the man was about to faint. He promptly turned around and opened the door to the flat, motioning for John to follow him as he walked up familiar steps to their flat.

Once he stepped inside, he noticed that all of his belongings were where he had left them three years ago. The only thing that had really changed was that all his experiments were gone. Sherlock turned to John while the soldier sat down and began to notice things. For one, John's limp had returned. He had lost quite a lot of weight and sleep in the past few years, but was starting to get better.

John cleared his throat, breaking Sherlock away from his thoughts. "How are you alive Sherlock? Why. . .three years Sherlock. Three. Years. Why now?" Sherlock sighed and began pacing before sitting down in his armchair, only to jump back up. Stormy blue-grey eyes bore into the doctor.

"I faked my suicide. I had a feeling that Moriarty would pull something. Molly helped of course, as well as Mycroft. As for why I chose now to make my reappearance, that is quite simple. I have finally destroyed the last of Moriarty's crime web. It was safe for me to return," Sherlock said, waiting for a response from his friend. John sighed.

"I should've known. But still, couldn't there have been a way-"

"To talk to you? To tell you I wasn't dead? I wished there was, but it would've put your life at risk. I couldn't let that happen." The two looked at each other in silence, unsure of what to say.

"I saw you visit my grave. The first time," The consulting detective finally said. John raised an eyebrow before looking away, slightly embarrassed. "Oh," was his reply. Sherlock chuckled. "I'm touched that even after all that, you still didn't give up on me." "How could I give up on you? You're my friend Sherlock," John said, looking at the man.

A small smile appeared on Sherlock's face. "Thank you," He said simply, still not very good at saying what he felt. He was thankful for John being so loyal, and relieved that John still wanted to be his friend. "So, do I still have a flatmate?" Sherlock asked. John grinned.

"Welcome home Sherlock."

With that, Sherlock finally relaxed and sat down. Things had a chance of returning to normal. There was still so much to take care of, so much to explain. But for now, he would enjoy some time with his best friend. The two talked and laughed for hours, swapping stories. A small, yet comfortable silence fell between them before John broke it.

"So, when will we tell the others?"

. . .

What do you think?