Author's Note: I apologize for the short update today, but I thought this was a good place to end the chapter. Hopefully I shall update soon!
When John Watson's eyes fluttered open, Sherlock Holmes nearly started dancing.
"Sherlock?" John mumbled, trying to sit up against the will of his protesting limbs.
"Hello, John," said Sherlock softly, grinning as he helped John sit up and lean against the wheel of the ambulance.
John's hands went to Sherlock's shoulders to make sure he was actually there, to feel the solid warmth of bones and muscle beneath pale skin under his palms.
"You're here," said John, the disbelieving smile spreading over his face. "I saw you die, but now you're here! Sherlock Holmes, you insufferable prat..." John leaned forward and hugged Sherlock, the fondness in his voice clear.
Sherlock wrapped his arms around John's back as well, resting his chin on top of John's head. The ground beneath them rumbled slightly, and Sherlock chuckled, wondering what in the world the Doctor could be doing to their beloved city.
"I missed you," Sherlock muttered into John's hair, his voice barely audible.
"God, Sherlock, I missed you, too," replied John, and he was just beginning to reflect on how happy he was in that moment when suddenly the solid warmth in his arms wasn't quite so solid and warm.
John pulled back from the hug in time to notice Sherlock's pale flesh become translucent for a moment before fading back into solidity.
"Sherlock, what - " John began, but Sherlock was fading away again, the detective's eyes wide in fear and confusion.
"John, what's happening?" Sherlock cried, beginning to panic as his hands scrabbled at his chest, feeling how intangible he was becoming.
"Sherlock, no, you've got to stay here, with me..." said John, reaching for Sherlock's hands, having trouble keeping a hold on them. Sherlock's hands were momentarily stable and comforting in his own, his skin becoming solid once again, before Sherlock began to dim again, becoming colder and less substantial.
"John, I don't want to go, I don't want to leave you," Sherlock nearly sobbed, trying to hold John's hands but having trouble grasping at anything real anymore, feeling empty and far away. He was fading quickly.
"Don't leave, Sherlock," John whispered, looking into Sherlock's still-bright eyes, until his fingers were holding nothing and even the captivating blue gaze had become lost in the night.
And of course, as suddenly as John Watson had found his way, he was lost once again.
