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John heard a knock on the door (so like that day five years ago), the familiar knock of Harry when he and the family came over for their Thursday tea. Glancing at his watch and noting that the Potters were extremely early today, he reflected on the last few years as he hastily pulled out the tea cups from the cupboard.
He had been close to depression when he had first encountered the Potters. In those days, he had had nothing in his life that brought happiness. They had virtually saved his life.
Sherlock had died a couple months earlier when they knocked on his door for the first time. John still really hadn't gotten over the shock that had come with his friend's death. He would never get over it. He would always miss Sherlock terribly, no doubt about it. But the Potters, especially the children, had brought some joy back. The long, sunny summer days spent playing with James, Albus, and Lily were some of the happiest times he had ever had, excepting, of course, the ones with Sherlock. The Potters were the best friends he had now, the only friends, really. They came over for tea every Thursday, and he traveled to their townhouse for Sunday lunch and dinner at least three times a week.
So of course, it had come as a real shock two years ago when Harry and Ginny had revealed their true magical nature in response to John's questions about where the children disappeared to every summer. He was sure that they wouldn't send them to some rotten old boarding school, they loved their rascals too much. But when he heard of Hogwarts, and the Ministry of Magic, and spells, and wands, and all sorts of crazy things, as incredulous as he first was, it really all made sense. Gradually, the truth became normal to him.
The Potters had warned him of the law that all wizards knew and had to abide by, The International Statute of Secrecy, he thought he remembered it to be called, and John agreed to never speak of magic to anyone, especially those he thought to be wizards.
As John fetched the key and unlocked the door, eager to see his friends, he called out merrily, "I haven't even put the kettle on yet, you've come so early! I was going to go and get some more of those Jammy Dodger biscuits that Lily loves so much!"
But when John saw who it was that had come to all, and saw that unruly dark hair, and the voluminous scarf in place as it always used to be, and a rather uncharacteristic grin of joyous delight spreading across the man's face, he promptly fainted, thumping to the ground, utmost surprise numbing everything.
"John?" said the voice that he just couldn't believe he was actually hearing.
"...John?"
He decided to take on a brisker tone, one that would be much more familiar to his companion than the tenderness that had been evident in his other attempts to rouse him.
"John, get up. I need to borrow your phone. It's important."
John sat up dazedly, staring uncomprehendingly at the man who stood before him, ordering him around as if business as usual had resumed. Sherlock.
He found his words after a couple of minutes of dead silence, voice cracking with emotion and high with disbelief. "Sherlock...You... You're- alive?" he asked weakly, incredulously.
"Yes, John." A grin was spreading across Sherlock's face- not a ridiculing one, but a genuinely relieved one. A happy one. "Missed me a bit, have you?" He held his arms half out, as if hoping for an embrace, a reconciliation. John got to his feet immediately, and slowly made his way towards him with small, dragging steps, until he stood facing his best friend. His alive best friend.
"Sherlock..." he said again, weakly.
"SHERLOCK!" he yelled angrily, his face transforming into a mask of all the hurt and rage and misery he had felt, his fist slamming into the side of his face. "IT'S BEEN FIVE BLOODY YEARS! WHAT THE-"
Sherlock backed away, nose bleeding, a bruise blooming purple over one eye. "John, let me explain," he said softly, hands in the air. Then he rethought. "No.. let me apologize. I'm sorry. I hope you'll forgive me. That we can still be friends."
John could feel the tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes, and tried furiously to blink them away, as he had so many times. You're a soldier, man, keep it together. But some things were more important than maintaining his strength. He stepped in and hugged Sherlock tightly, quickly, gripping him as if to make sure that he was real. That he would stay.
"Sherlock..."
"Yes, John?" There was a nervous tinge to his voice, something that John had never heard before. He met Sherlock's eye and tried to convey silently how hurt he was, how terrible the past years had been. How much the soldier in him had been shaken.
"I've missed you. And I forgive you."