AN: Two years after Sherlock jumped off St. Bart's hospital, John returns to Baker Street to find something he never expected to find.
Warning: language, slash
Disclaimer: Arthur Conan Doyle and the devil who goes by the name Steven Moffat are the only people who can claim ownership over these characters. Sadly, I am neither.
His heart thundered so hard against his rib cage, he could have sworn that it would break free. His mouth was dry; his tongue like sandpaper. His hand shook as he reached for the doorknob and turned it.
The door creaked open and he stepped inside, walking towards the stairs. His army-like footfalls echoed in the dank space and the steps creaked beneath his feet.
His breath was so erratic by the time he reached the top step that it was almost a panic attack. His face was pale and he could feel tears burning behind his eyes. He ran a sweaty hand through his short, greying hair and pushed open the door.
The flat looked exactly as he remembered it; the worn and peeling wallpaper with the yellow smiley face, the sofa pressed against the wall, the cluttered desk, the music stand, the fireplace, the bookcases, and the two chairs facing each other. There was just one difference: there was a person sat in one of the chairs; their legs crossed and their fingertips pressed together under their chin. His aurora borealis coloured eyes stared up at him.
"So it's true," he intended to snap from the doorway, but his voice cracked. "You are alive."
The man in the chair rested his arms on the armrests. "Hello John."
John took at step forward as his friend got to his feet. He raised his hand and pressed a sweaty palm against the man's face in an attempt to see if he was real. His hand then curled into a fist and he struck the man's jaw.
"You fucking bastard, Sherlock!" John yelled, tears forming in his eyes. "You fake your death and let me live with it for two whole years?"
"I'm so sorry, John." Sherlock spoke, his voice laced with guilt. "I didn't want to do it but it was the only way I could -"
His words were cut off as John laced his fingers in his thick, dark curls and pulled him downwards, pressing their lips together. Sherlock gasped in shock and John deepened the kiss by parting Sherlock's lips with his tongue. Their tongues danced together and touched almost nervously.
John finally pulled away, his lips red and swollen.
"- save you." Sherlock finished.
"I've waited so long for you to return to me," John told him. "I love you, Sherlock."
Sherlock looked almost startled by this turn of events. "I love you too."
John grinned and pulled Sherlock back down for another kiss.
"I'll never leave you again."