Could he allow himself to hope?
Sherlock thought about what John possibly could have meant by what he said. He knew that John considered Sherlock to be his best friend. Could John 'not gay!' Watson possibly have seen him as more? This definitely required further study. He leaned over the couch and brought his face level with John's. His gaze traveled down to John's lips. John had a habit of licking his lips when he was nervous, agitated, and (Sherlock had once thought but quickly dismissed) turned on. He had thought about kissing those lips, possessing that mouth… He shook his head. That idea would be very Not Good while John was unconscious.
Sherlock's eyes flicked back to John's as he heard him groan and stir. "Mrs. Hudson, I had the strangest…" John trailed off and Sherlock tried to smile. "Dream." Sherlock straightened up quickly when John bolted upright. "Sherlock," he breathed.
"Hullo, John," Sherlock said calmly, while his brain was working in overdrive.
John sputtered, "but you're...you... you're dead." His voice (and Sherlock's heart) broke. "I watched you fall off a rooftop."
"Well," Sherlock said reasonably, trying to keep John as calm as possible, "as you clearly can see, I'm here, alive and quite well. Amazing, the power of perception… The experiments I could do…"
He realized that was the absolute wrong thing to say and therefore expected the resulting sock to the jaw.
"You GIT!" John yelled. "You SODDING ARSE! Six months, Sherlock. Six BLOODY months you let me think that you were dead! Do you know what you put me through!? And Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson, and Molly, and everyone else who gives a damn about you!"
"John, I -Hmmph," Sherlock tried to explain, but was suddenly wrapped in a tight embrace. It had been a long time since he had gotten a proper hug and the proximity of John caused his brain to misfire temporarily and for him to stiffen reflexively. Oh my God, John is hugging me, Sherlock thought. He relaxed, put his arms around John and just enjoyed the contact. He inhaled John's slightly spicy scent. Too soon, John let him go.
"God, I've missed you," John said. Sherlock gratefully took the cold compress John handed him for his jaw, which was already starting to swell slightly, and knelt patiently while John (ever the doctor) checked him over for any new cuts, scrapes, bumps, and bruises. Sherlock had earned a few new cuts and scrapes over the past six months, but they were mostly in unnoticeable spots. Once John seemed satisfied that Sherlock was in one piece and in a healthy condition (or at least, healthy for Sherlock) he sat back and asked, "Where have you been?"
Sherlock got up and sat next to John on the sofa. His knees were starting to feel uncomfortable and there was no reason for him to continue to be on the floor. "I'm fine, John. Really," he insisted. "I've been staying at Mycroft's."
"MYCROFT'S!?" John spluttered. "You mean to tell me that he KNEW you were alive this whole time and didn't breathe a word? I'll kill him, I'll swear I'll kill him, I'll – "
"I asked him not to," Sherlock quickly interrupted, leaning away a bit in case John decided to swing at him again. "I needed you to TRULY believe that I was dead." As much as it hurt both of us, he thought but did not voice.
"But why? Moriarty -"
"Is dead, yes, but still had people targeting you. I had to make sure you were safe." Sherlock sighed. "You, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson all had targets on you. I had to stay 'dead' long enough for the threats to have been eliminated."
Sherlock noticed the look John gave him when he said the word 'eliminated'. He pretended not to notice and just kept talking. "I did keep an eye on you, John - I monitored you at the flat, followed you around town, to the cemetery. I stayed within earshot and where I could see you, but I had to make sure you couldn't see me." He paused. How much should he reveal? "As much as it... pained me to see you suffering, it really was for your own safety." He didn't want to say what he really was thinking, which was 'It damn near killed me to see you hurting and you have no idea how many times I almost aborted the entire mission just so I could come home to you and tell you how I feel about you'.
His mind went back to John's words in the cemetery. He wanted to know – no, he needed to know – exactly what John meant. He placed his hand on John's shoulder, more to steady himself than John. "At the cemetery, you said that you wanted to tell me how you truly felt about me. That you wanted to tell me exactly what I mean to you. What are you telling me, John?"
"The cemetery… About that, Sherlock…" John trailed off and Sherlock's stopped breathing until John continued. "When I first came back from Afghanistan, I was miserable. I missed the thrill of the chase, the adrenaline rush that being there gave me. I was depressed. I even was on anti-depressants. But then I met you…" He chuckled. "That first case, and I was hooked. After meeting Mycroft for the first time and before coming back to half of the London police force searching for drugs in our flat, I stopped back at my old place, retrieved my gun, and threw out my anti-depressants. You were better than any medicine I ever could have taken.
And then that day, it was all over. I thought you had died without me ever telling you how much I care about you. You're my best friend in the whole world, and I was completely miserable without you. I don't want to ever lose you again, Sherlock."
Sherlock thought back to the fake drugs bust. They had never talked about that. Sherlock knew that John had always wondered what Lestrade was on about that night. John needed to know. "Cocaine," he said.
John suddenly got what Sherlock had come to call John's 'what are you talking about you mad bastard' look. "What are you getting on about?"
Sherlock shrugged. "My drug of choice. The 'fake' drugs bust that Lestrade conducted… if he had looked hard enough he would have found it. Of course what's hidden in plain sight is always the hardest to locate. But that's beside the point. After we met, I found that I didn't need it anymore. Once we solved our first case together I went home and I destroyed it all. I found with you around I didn't need any artificial stimulants." You're the only drug I need.
He noticed John looking around trying to figure out where he would have hidden his drugs in plain sight. "Flour container," Sherlock said. "Lestrade never would have thought I'd hide it in there and the rest of the squad is too stupid to have noticed."
Suddenly it clicked. You were better than any medicine I ever could have taken… I thought you had died without me ever telling you how much I care about you... John loved him, that much Sherlock was sure of, but… "When, John?" Sherlock asked softly. Has it been all this time, or is this a recent development?
"When what?" Obviously John was out of practice following Sherlock's rapid-fire train of thought.
Sherlock removed his hand from John's shoulder and took John's hand in his own. "When did you fall in love with me?"