Sherlock grinned happily as John busied himself in the kitchen, tutting about the lack of food in the cupboards. "Have you even been eating since you got back, Sherlock?" John exclaimed as he passed Sherlock his tea.
The detective gave a guilty smile. "Not much. Mrs. Hudson left on holiday," Sherlock admitted. John knew that if Mrs. Hudson didn't forced food upon him, Sherlock would forget to eat without John there to ensure it happened.
"Then I'm ordering in," John decided, pulling out his mobile and calling Angelo's. Normally they didn't deliver, but Angelo was so glad that Sherlock was back he sent his nephew down the street with the food in a matter of minutes. Still, John tipped him a bit to make sure their gratitude was obvious.
John plopped the food down on the coffee table and forced a fork into Sherlock's hand. "Eat," he ordered, and while they both tucked in he made sure that Sherlock matched him bite for bite. Finally, Sherlock declared he couldn't possibly eat anything more. Frankly, John had been full for quite some time, but Sherlock would simply have a tantrum if John made him eat more than he ate himself.
"I miss this," John said, without really thinking as he settled back into the sofa. He froze as Sherlock stiffened then relaxed as the detective sat more comfortably, pulling his feet up like a bird as he often did.
Sherlock wouldn't look at him when he spoke. "I miss you," he said in a rather small voice, a voice that sounded nothing like Sherlock but like Sherlock in his purest form at the same time. John couldn't help it. His detective looked so small and fragile perched on the couch in that great coat of his –why hadn't he taken it off when John had removed his own?- that John had to wrap his arms around him and draw him close.
"I miss you," John echoed, burying his face in the detective's dark curls. For a moment Sherlock was stiff but then he melted comfortably into John's arms, pressing his face into the doctor's chest.
"I'm sorry I didn't think of a better way," Sherlock whispered, so quietly that John wasn't certain he was meant to hear it. He replied anyway.
"It wasn't your fault, Sherlock," John said. "And I'm sorry I was such a wanker about it." He gave a dry chuckle and on impulse kissed the top of Sherlock's head.
"You were a bit of a wanker," Sherlock laughed pushing back so he could look John in the face. John punched him playfully.
"You aren't supposed to agree," John said with a chortle and a grin, pulling Sherlock to him without a second thought and pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.
Sherlock jerked back in surprise for a moment, and immediately saw uncertainty and hurt dance across John's face. Suddenly he leaned into John and kissed him, really properly kissed him. He swept his tongue across John's bottom lip, silently begging entrance and John admitted him a moment later with a gentle groan. John laid down, pulling Sherlock by the lapels of his coat until the detective was sprawled over John, their bodies interlocking perfectly as their tongues danced.
Ages later Sherlock pushed himself up on his elbows to look down at John. Somehow his own coat and shirt as well as John's jumper and undershirt had disappeared, leaving nothing but their trousers. Finally the moment was right.
Sherlock ducked his head to pepper kisses across John's collarbone and up his neck before slotting their mouths together for a slow, searing kiss. Then he pulled back again, sitting up and dragging John with him so that he could see John's eyes, the blue blazing with desire and… something more.
"I love you," Sherlock said, knowing that this time, John was listening. John leaned over and kissed him again, chastely.
"I love you," John replied simply.
"Can you come home?" Sherlock asked uncertainly. Perhaps John would rather remain in his other flat, perhaps he wouldn't want to move in together yet, perhaps- his mind was running away from him and John knew it, and knew how to stop it short.
"I'm already home, here with you," John answered, putting his arms around Sherlock's thin body and moving until they were lying down again, this time side by side, overlapping a bit on the narrow sofa. Sherlock's eyes lit up and he pressed his lips to John's forehead before settling down into John's embrace.
Just as John was beginning to doze off, he heard Sherlock murmur something to himself that sounded suspiciously like having to tell Mrs. Hudson she could rent out the second bedroom.
It was all the promise John needed, and he fell into the first good night's sleep he'd gotten in three years.