So this is the second part of my story... Enjoy
John sat on the edge of his bed with his elbows resting on his knees, and his chin resting on his palms. His head was raging and he was muttering to himself, "He didn't stop me when I kissed him, but then he pushed me away. It doesn't make any sense... I thought maybe he loved me too, and now I've screwed everything up. I just got him back and now he'll never want to see me again."
He stopped muttering to himself, and instead buried his face into his palms. He felt miserable.
Sherlock lay down on the couch. His hands forming a steeple just below his chin. He was exploring his mind palace again. He was closely examining John's reaction to his return. It had certainly been more enthusiastic than he had expected.
At first John hadn't believed that he was actually there.. That he was a figment of his imagination. Obviously, his life was going downhill. He used to believe in miracles. Especially when Sherlock was concerned, but he obviously had a hard life since Sherlock fell, that much was obvious from the sobbing and drinking.
John had then said he loved him. Maybe Sherlock had a similar sentiment for John. Maybe all the late night trips to the room in Sherlock's mind palace labeled John was because of love.
The idea seemed preposterous, and yet any other solution seemed impossible. So it must be love.
When Sherlock came out of his mind palace, it was morning already. Sherlock stood up slowly, and went to make tea. He needed a peace offering for John. He needed a way to start a conversation.
He made his way to the kitchen, and sitting next to the kettle was a note written in John's scrawling handwriting.
Sherlock,
I'm sorry about last night. I would have told you all this in person but I couldn't get you out of your mind palace so this will have to do. I'm moving out. I believe that you may need some time to re-adjust to being alive. I hope that I'll be able to move back in soon.
-John
Sherlock dropped the note and ran up to John's room. Sure enough most everything was gone. There was only a couple of old jumpers and a copy of John's favourite book, The Catcher In The Rye.
Sherlock ruffled through John's jumpers and pulled out one that was a deep navy blue. Sherlock remembered that jumper. It had been one of John's favourites. Sherlock took of his silk robe and pulled the jumper over his head. The material was surprisingly soft, and it was comfortable beyond belief. He picked up the battered copy of The Catcher In The Rye.
Sherlock meandered his way downstairs. He felt like sulking. When he went down to the living room, but instead of sitting in his normal chair, he sat down in John's. He enjoyed the earl gray tea scent that was uniquely John.
He perched himself in the chair and opened the book. It felt worn and comfortable in his hands.
It was late afternoon by the time Sherlock finished the book. He was just finishing the last page when he heard the door open behind him.
"Sherlock," John's familiar voice echoed in the otherwise silent flat, "What are you doing?" His eyes flickered over the jumper, the book and finally the chair.
"John!" Sherlock exclaimed, jumping out of John's chair, "Why did you come back? I thought you were gone!" Sherlock threw himself at John giving him a bone crushing hug.
"I forgot my book..." John replied awkwardly.
Without a seconds' thought, Sherlock grabbed John's head in his hands and brought their lips together. John was surprised by Sherlock's actions but melted into the consulting detective's arms.
The Catcher In The Rye lay forgotten on the floor. In the end, this insignificant little item had brought the doctor and the detective back together, and nothing separated them from that day on.
I hope you enjoyed my story. If you did feel free to leave a comment. Thanks for reading :D