"S-Sherlock..." John whispered before breaking into a sob, dropping his phone onto the roof before turning around and running back to the stairs. His heart pounded as the tears continued flowing, his legs taking him as fast as they could. He no longer cared about what happened or why it happened. John only cared about the fact Sherlock had returned and that he loved him. Sherlock loved him. The thought had never once occurred in John's mind, he was so certain Sherlock was repulsed at the idea of love. But Sherlock was human, even though he acted like a machine at times, and had feelings like everyone else.
Finally reaching the bottom of the stairs, John looked around, eagerly, for the exit to the outside world and hurried over to it, the smell of the damp, London, air hitting his nostrils. The wind found him, once again, and blowed its icy cold self upon him, sending chills up John's spine. He looked around until his eyes landed on the beautful figure standing across the street staring at him, their eyes meeting at last. All John could do was stare at him in disbelief, still confused by it all but not complaining. Sherlock looked different, much thinner than before. John remembered how little Sherlock would eat and how he would try to force feed him, but Sherlock looked even thinner than how he was before. This worried John and made him frown, but not once did he take his eyes off of him.
