THREE DAYS LATER

The door to the flat creaking open woke Sherlock from a much-needed slumber. He'd been running straight on heroin and nicotine since his run-in with Mycroft, finally collapsing from exhaustion on the sofa. Feeling slightly cranky at being disturbed, he called over his shoulder, "Not now, Mrs. Hudson. I'm not in the mood for a cuppa." Silence. She hadn't turned to leave, and he knew someone was still there. The fine hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention and something clicked in his head. Not Mrs. Hudson. He slowly turned toward the door.

"Hello, Sherlock."

He fell off the sofa and scrambled to stand as his blurry eyes focused to take in the figure in the doorway.

John Watson stood stiffly in his military fatigues, a camouflaged duffel clasped in his left hand. As Sherlock's breath caught in his throat, the duffel dropped to the floor with a thud.

"John?" He blinked furiously, suddenly afraid he was dreaming.

"It's not a dream, Sherlock. I'm home."

Instantly, Sherlock was across the room, face to face with the one person who had the innate ability to stop his brain from functioning. John, here. In the flesh. Tanned, beautiful flesh. John, not dead. The myriad of feelings he'd been trying so hard to sort out began to boil over. Fear, despair, love, lust, anger, rage. And John was calm. So very calm. So maddeningly, devastatingly calm. Sherlock snapped.

His right hand curled into a fist and began to sail through the air, aimed directly for the chiseled line of John's jaw as he growled, "You bastard."

John's eyes never left Sherlock's as his hand came up to effortlessly trap the punch before it landed. He squeezed Sherlock's fist and said in a low, rough voice, "No."

Sherlock trembled with anger as he snatched his hand back, as if he'd been burned. "You're not dead, and you're going to deny me the pleasure of punching you in the face?" he said sharply.

John pursed his lips. "It looks that way."

"How did you expect me to react?"

"Like that."

"I'm angry, John." He was pleased at the touch of steel he managed to inject into his voice.

"I know."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "Very angry."

"I don't doubt it."

"Are you going to explain?"

John smiled. "I thought you would have it figured out by now."

Sherlock lifted his chin. "I have several theories."

John's eyes darkened to twilight as he leaned close and Sherlock could feel the heat of his breath on his chest. "Tell me," he whispered.

Sherlock's mouth opened and his jaw worked back and forth, but nothing came out. He closed his eyes and lowered his head in defeat, words escaping him. There were no words. John was home and that was it. John's hot breath tickled his ear, sending a surge of desire rocketing south as the doctor whispered again, "Tell me."

He wanted nothing more than to move his head a fraction of an inch, to move closer to allow John's lips to brush his ear. He shivered, but did not move. The taunt was cruel, understanding exactly what John wanted, yet he was unable to comply. The anger, both at himself for his cowardice and at John for pushing him so very far, returned. He stepped back, sniffing and shaking his head.

"How could you do this?" he hissed. "How could you do this to me?" Sherlock flung himself around and headed to the sofa. John's words stopped him cold.

"I imagine the same way you did it to me." John's voice was flat with a dead calm.

Sherlock threw his arms in the air turned to glance at John. "Is that was this was? Revenge, John?" he scoffed. "All of this to get back at me for something that happened years ago? Ordinary people hold grudges, John. God, you must be their king!" Sherlock was pacing the flat now, dressing gown fluttering around him. "Do you know how difficult that was? Do you know how hard it was for me? Do you know how much I wanted-"

"Really? Because you never said-"

"Of course I didn't say anything!" he yelled. "I thought you knew! I thought-"

"How could I possibly know, Sherlock? You just showed up after three years without so much as a by your leave, popping back into my life, a life I was trying like hell to get on with, with your 'Hello, John, how about some coffee? BLACK WITH TWO FUCKING SUGARS!'" John bellowed. "It was like nothing ever happened! I thought you had died, Sherlock! And it never occurred to you that I might have some feelings about that?"

Sherlock stopped and stared at him. John's fists were curled at his side, teeth clenched in the hard set of his jaw, eyes flaming, and body rocking under the strain. The doctor shook as he continued. "And this," he snarled, "This is not about you!"

"Isn't it?" Sherlock shot back. "Isn't this all about me? Making me," he ground out the word, "feel like this?" He pounded a fist against his chest. "It was killing me, John! Killing me!" He roared.

"You arrogant prat!" John yelled. "Three goddamn years I had to relive losing you! I died that day! And when you came back, you never bothered to say anything, anything Sherlock, that would lead me to believe you were sorry! And yes, maybe some small part of me was delighted to be able to stick it to you, but believe me when I say leaving you hurt me, Sherlock. Hurt me deeply. More than I thought it would."

"You want me to be sorry?" he asked incredulously. "All you had to-"

"Yes!" John cried, "Yes, I want you to be sorry! I want you to be sad!" He started moving forward, "I want you to hurt! I want you to question! I want you to miss me!" He stopped in front of Sherlock, hands curling into the dressing gown, pulling Sherlock to eye level. The last words were a gritted whisper. "I want you to tell me."

Sherlock stared into John's eyes and the rage melted, the burn of anger slowing to a crawl, morphing instead into a creeping sizzle that flushed his skin. The time for anger was over. Resentment had no place here. They now stood on equal ground, each showing their hand, but neither able to articulate. Everything had shifted in one fell swoop, in that last breath of John's, and all the scattered feelings that had orbited around them for years finally fell to earth, sliding together with the easy grace of a key and lock. John was right. This wasn't about him. This had always been about John. About what he needed and what Sherlock had denied. Now, he wanted nothing else between them.

He reached up and cupped John's face in his hands, ghosting his lips across John's, and whispered, "I love you."

John growled deep in his throat and pressed hungry lips to Sherlock's. The taste, the feel of John's mouth moving on his, erased everything from his mind except the pleasure. John's lips rubbed and teased, tongue stroking and searching, and they clung together on a sigh, wrapping needy arms around one another, refusing to let go.

With hurried stumbling, they collapsed on the sofa in a heap of seeking hands and throaty moans. Finally, after many long, fevered kisses, they came up for air and John pulled Sherlock's head down to rest on his chest. He was pleased to hear the hammer of John's heart against his ribcage, the rapid thumping a sweet cadence to his ears. John's fingers trailed in his hair and he sighed in contentment, pressing against John's hands like a cat seeking attention.

He felt John drop a kiss on his head. "I love you too, Sherlock."

Sherlock sat up suddenly, eyes searching John's. "Where were you? And what were you doing for Mycroft?"

John sighed and tucked him back down again, releasing a long, steadying breath. "I made it out of the building, just barely mind you, out the back. There was a car waiting in the back alley and I was whisked away, as your brother is prone to kidnapping."

Sherlock wrapped an arm around John's waist and snuggled closer. "If he does that again, I swear I will spike his tea cakes with laxatives."

John chucked and pressed another kiss in Sherlock's hair and continued. "Turns out the terrorists that attacked the school were getting information from someone within the Doctors Without Borders camp, so it was decided, without my consent of course, that I should be the one to infiltrate and sniff out the culprit. So, that's what I did. 'For Queen and country', is how it was explained to me. But, on the caveat that he would never ask me to deceive you like that again. I was surprised, frankly, when he agreed."

"If you ever go away again, I swear to God I will follow you to Hell and find you. You cannot leave me."

"You'll have to leave the coat behind, I'm afraid. Cheekbones and mystery won't hold sway in the fiery depths." John smirked.

"Point taken. However, I have it on good authority that I look rather fetching in Bermuda shorts." Sherlock smiled. "But, Satan or no, I don't do flip-flops."

"Noted."

Sherlock sighed. "So what do we do now?" The fingers weaving though his hair were making him light-headed.

"Holiday?" John offered. "I could use a bit of a rest."

"On Mycroft's quid?"

"Of course."

"Excellent," Sherlock murmured. "Where?"

"Greece?"

Sherlock wrinkled his nose. "Greece? Why Greece?"

"I suddenly have an overwhelming inclination to see you on a sun-drenched beach in nothing but a pair of Bermuda shorts."

"Flattery will get you everywhere." The fingers tightened against his scalp and he gasped.

"Do shut up, Sherlock. And get upstairs."

Sherlock sat up and leaned into John's face, preparing for another kiss. "What for?"

The devious smile that slid across the doctor's face sent a jolt of electricity straight to Sherlock's groin. "Because I plan on having you in every way imaginable that will render you incapable of saying anything but my name for the next several hours." John caught Sherlock's lips in his own.

"Oh, John," he sighed.

"Starting already?" he murmured against Sherlock's lips, smiling. "I think I'm going to like this."

ONE WEEK LATER:

Mycroft Holmes barely contained the squeak of displeasure as he perused his bank balance. Greece? He sighed and shook his head as his mobile buzzed within his jacket. He pulled it out and checked the screen, his vision suddenly filled with a shot of John basking happily on a stretch of white sand beach. His eyes moved to the caption.

THANKS FOR THE HOLIDAY. TAKE HIM AWAY FROM ME AGAIN AND I WILL DO EVERYTHING IN MY POWER TO ENSURE YOU NEVER HAVE ANOTHER MOMENT OF PEACE. I BELIEVE YOU KNOW I AM CAPABLE. CHEERS. - SH

Mycroft barked out a short laugh and replaced his phone, smiling. Past time for that to be over. Long past time.