Sherlock had finally cleaned up all the arms of Moriarty's network, and could now return to 221B Baker St. He had picked a time when he knew John was out, and gone back. He had expected John to clean all traces of him away, but when he entered 221B, it looked exactly the same as when he had left it. He went up to his bedroom to find only one thing missing, his pillow. He explored further and found it was on John's bed. He went back down the stairs to wait for John.
221B~221B~221B~221B~221B~221B~221B~221B
A hour later, the door creaked open and Sherlock leapt up. John walked in, limping again and looking lost. As he looked up, a spark of hope came into his dull eyes. "Sherlock?". But then he looked down again and shook his head. "No, John." he muttered to himself. "You know it can't be.". "It is me." Sherlock exclaimed. "I faked my death.". By this time John had made his way over to the couch and stiffly lowered himself down. "That's what they all say." he intoned quietly. Sherlock's heart felt like it was being torn in two. "Hallucinations?" "Yes, hallucinations!" John exclaimed in annoyance. "You should know, you are one." "No, I'm not." Sherlock said pleadingly. "I'm real. Please believe me." "No. I've done that once already. I'm not giving myself that hope again. Now go away." "What can I do to convince you I'm real?" "If I can touch you. But I won't be able to." "Here." Sherlock said, sticking out his arm. "Touch me. I'm real.". John reached out a hand and grasped his arm. "No." he insisted, shaking his head. "No, I've just developed touch hallucinations too."
"They're called tactile hallucinations, Doctor. And this isn't one. I'm real!" "Sherlock?" John asked, with a look of dawning hope on his face. "Sherlock?" "Yes, as I keep telling you!" John abruptly stood up and punched him across the jaw. "You absolute bastard! Do you know what I went through?" Sherlock cradled his jaw. "I missed you too." he grinned. "Ow." John gasped and enveloped him in a smothering hug. "God, I missed you and your tactlessness." he whispered into Sherlock's shoulder before breaking down and crying. "Come on." said Sherlock, dragging him over to the couch. "I've been coiled like a spring all afternoon, I want to relax.". He looked down at his shoulder. The shirt was sopping wet, and it was one of his favourite ones too. Oh well, he thought, holding John tighter. It was worth it.
And there we leave them. John will forgive Sherlock soon enough, and they'll be closer than ever. Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson and Molly will be suitably surprised, and Mycroft will act it. And they'll all live happily ever after.