A/N: It's been awhile since I posted anything but this just came to me while listening to music at work. It's my first Sherlock fic so please be nice. As always please R&R! ^.^

He woke with a start. The train had finally began to move after almost an hour. He just stared out the window into the night. He glanced at his cell phone. 3:49 am. He had at least four more hours until he was home. He sighed quietly to himself as he thought of home. Did he even have a home to go to? Was John still there? Of course he would be. John, the ever faithful companion. John, the man that had been by his side no matter what. John, the man he loved.
"Ticket, hun?" An elderly woman was trying to get Sherlock's attention. He looked up at her, still in a daze from his thoughts.
"Huh? Oh, yeah. Here." He said as he handed her his ticket. She punched a hole into it.
"It'll be another three and a half hours until we reach where you're going." She said. He could tell she was trying to start a conversation but he just didn't want to talk to anyone right now. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts of John.
"Thank you." Was all he said as he turned away from the woman and stared outside again. She looked like she wanted to say more but she just nodded at him.
"If you need anything hun, just come and get me." He could hear the smile in her voice as she walked away. He was half tempted to call back to her but changed his mind. She wouldn't understand anyway.

The past three years he spent every waking moment tracking down every contact and associate involved in Moriarty's web of crime. At the end, Sherlock had found that Moriarty had also faked his own death. Sherlock, however, was able to make sure Moriarty was defeated, more permanently this time. With Moriarty's death, Sherlock knew it was finally over so he began his journey home.

He thought of calling John and telling him to put the kettle on for it was going to be a long day, but he decided against it. He wanted his homecoming to be a surprise. He did, however, give in a few times and visited 221B Baker Street. He would stay hidden and wait for signs of his beloved doctor. He saw Mrs. Hudson a few times and that made him happy, to see that she was alive and safe. But whenever he saw John, more times than none, he wanted to run over to him, to embrace him, and tell him everything. But he couldn't. He couldn't endanger any of his friends while his plan was in motion. So he settled for a few glances here and there. He also noticed John had started limping again. Sherlock hoped it was only psychosomatic again and that nothing was actually wrong.

He still helped Lestrade out with some cases, although Lestrade didn't know it was Sherlock. He would send in his hints about cases the news got wrong or didn't have any leads in. That was mainly just to keep his sanity. If he focused on nothing but bringing Moriarty down he would have gone insane. Molly was a big help with everything. She was the only one who knew that Sherlock was alive. He kept in touch with her, sending letters back a forth under different names. His letters were mostly just letting her know he was safe and asking how John was. She would always tell him everything that had been happening. He smiled slightly to himself at the thought of Molly. The girl he barely ever noticed had helped him so much. It must hurt her, too. In the letters she sent him, she said John would be at St. Bart's almost every day. Mostly just to watch her as she worked. Sometimes he would help her, too. She figured he didn't want to be alone in the house. That was understandable. If the roles had been reversed he wouldn't want to be either. His phone's text alert went off and he pulled his phone out of his pocket.

Good morning. I'm thinking of doing some shopping today. Anything special you want?
-JW

Every day since his "death", without fail, John had texted him. Most of the time it was silly, normal things like this. Other times it was John pouring out his heart, saying how much he missed him. Those texts were usually on holidays and on his birthday. It broke his heart to read them but it also gave him hope. It meant that John hadn't given up on him, and that's all he needed to keep himself going.

The train pulled into the station and the few people on the train gathered their belongings. Sherlock stood up and quickly exited. He was only a twenty minute drive from home. Twenty minutes separated Sherlock from John. As he hailed a cab and climbed in, he couldn't help but smile. He was going to see John again. Actually see him, touch him, talk to him.

Sherlock looked out the window at the rising sun and the familiar scene. Baker Street was busy with people making their morning commute. The cab pulled over and he climbed out. He severely overpaid the driver but he didn't care. He was home. He walked up to the front door and placed his hand on the knob. He took a deep breath, opened the door slowly, and walked in. He took in the familiar surroundings and it was almost enough to make him cry but he held it in. He shut the door behind him and walked up the stairs into the living room where he and John had spent countless hours together, no matter the reason. He paused and heard the faint sound of running water. John must be in the shower. He looked around but couldn't see John's phone anywhere. It must be in the bathroom with him. A smile appeared on his face as he pulled out his own phone.

If you hurry up with your shower, I'll go shopping with you.
-SH

Sherlock sat down in one of the armchairs and waited. After a few minutes the water stopped and Sherlock sat up. A moment later he heard would could only be the sound of a phone hitting the linoleum and then feet running down the hallway. There stood John, dripping wet and in nothing but a towel. It was quiet for what seemed like years as the pair just stared at each other.
"S-Sherlock?" John whispered. Sherlock smiled.
"Hello, John."

A/N: Thanks for reading! I have a few ideas for this that I may write as a sequel but as of right now this is it! If you want me to continue please review! Thank you! ^.^
~Bibi