It had been 3 years since the fall. 3 years since John had last seen Sherlock in person. But he did often imagine him up, convinced himself that Sherlock hadn't really left, he was just hiding and he would visit John secretly. So it was no surprise when Sherlock came back on the 3rd anniversary of his death. John pretended as if everything was as it had been before Sherlock had left afraid that Sherlock would leave if anything were different.
Sherlock had been keeping an eye on John even when he had been away...or rather Mycroft's men had been since Sherlock had remained hidden away in France. They had been looking for Sebastian Moran and they'd finally found him a week ago, the local Mafia had handed him over for a great sum of money. Sherlock had packed his little belongings and headed for London as soon as he'd heard this news. He'd spent a couple of days in an inn observing John from far away and he'd waited a few torturous more days to make a grander appearance. To John it would seem that Sherlock had come back from the grave 3 years after his death.
He'd first approached John at their home- 221B. John hadn't been startled, no punches had flown, neither had any tears streamed down the doctor's face. He had acted as if it were the time before he'd left. Sherlock had observed John carefully afraid of what his absence might have done to John's mental health. After a week of this Sherlock had finally given in and called Mycroft and Lestrade hoping that they would be of some help in this dire situation.
~~~~~~
Sherlock had said that John had to stay home that Wednesday, a week after Sherlock's 3 year death anniversary and he had obeyed willingly, anything from keeping him from leaving again.
He'd been sipping a cup of tea when Mycroft had come in followed closely by Lestrade came in. John knew that they had been living together since Sherlock's death so that was no surprise. But why were they here, if it were to console him concerning Sherlock's death they'd have come to him a week ago. Whatever the cause was they would explain in their own time.
They sat down in front of him, Sherlock was laying down on the couch and helped themselves to a cup of tea and some scones. "You've been enjoying Sherlock's presence I presume?" asked Mycroft.
John was somewhat confused at this, "What do you mean?" he asked curiously.
"Sherlock's been here with you for a week" stated Lestrade.
Mycroft continued, "He's been worried that you weren't responding to him."
John jumped at this, "You mean you can see him too?" he asked with a bit of hope in his voice, looking back and for from Lestrade, Mycroft and Sherlock whose eyebrows were lifted in amusement.
They nodded.
John got up and walked slowly to the couch Sherlock was laying down in, "This isn't some sick trick of yours?" He asked shuddering as he moved a finger to touch Sherlock.
They shook their heads.
~~~~
"You bloody git" yelled John as he realised that Sherlock wasn't something his mind had conjured up to console him.
"How could you leave me for that long?" He growled menacingly.
"And then you made me think I'd finally gone over the edge. That I was seeing things?" He ridiculed as he threw a punch at those high cheekbones.
He let out a stream of swearing, those bloody cheekbones had hurt his knuckles.
"I want to pummel you, you intelligent bastard." He roared moving back, trying to control himself.
Sherlock lay in the couch calmly, he nodded towards Mycroft and Lestrade, gesturing that they should leave and that he could take care of the situation from now on.
He sat up as John started throwing punches again, he had expected them and now he let the pain wash through him reminding him of how bad it had been without John. He would have let John hit him for a while longer but he wanted to try something.
Sherlock stopped John's third punch and used his grip on John's hand to pull him closer. John fell onto Sherlock's lap just as he had anticipated and then the detective quickly grabbed hold of the older man's head bringing it closer to his own face, kissing him roughly across his lips, continuing even when the older man did not respond.
John was surprised when Sherlock pulled him into his lap and kissed him. He froze. He would have died if this was the battlefield, but this wasn't. It was Sherlock. Sherlock was kissing him. That stupid git. How dare he?
John pulled back. "You're an ass."he stated. "Anyone told you that before? You come back after three years and you decide to suddenly kiss me?" building his rage. "You're such a prick" he stated again and with that he stooped down and kissed Sherlock with a roughness that showed all his longing, how much he had missed him, all his despair when he had died and now his hope and anger.
He pulled away for a moment, panting for air, "But you're my prick." He whispered into Sherlock's ear nibbling at them.
Author's Note
This is my first fic...so any help would be appreciated. Rate and review and all the normal stuff.
Also, I might continue this fic if someone helps me with ideas. But that won't be until 3 weeks because I have summer camp. :/