A/N: The plot thickens. A little short. The Sherlock Holmes series belongs to ACD. The programme Sherlock belongs to Gatiss and Moffat.
The Viewpoint of Dr. John Watson.
"Sherlock... is... is it really...?" I stammer. I can't believe my eyes. Sherlock Holmes is standing in front of me.
"Yes, John, it's me." I hear him. I see him. But I just can't believe it. I pinch myself in the arm just to make sure I'm not dreaming. I flinch a bit in pain. He's still there. I slowly walk over to him. Tentatively, I raise my right arm to take his. Seeing what I'm trying to do, he raises his left to meet mine.
I gripped him by the sleeve and felt it. It was the same thin, sinewy arm I'd always known. He was even wearing one of those nicotine patches beneath it like he used to. It's all I can do to keep from fainting right there dead away in his arms. That would be embarassing. Though, at that moment, I didn't care much about whether I was embarassed or not.
My friend was alive.
"Sherlock!" I exclaim. I embrace him. I start sobbing into his shirt.
The Viewpoint of Mr. Sherlock Holmes
Not exactly the response I was expecting. Is this what friends do after not having seen each other for one year? He's holding me rather tightly. Repeating my name over and over. Keeps saying "you're alive, you're actually alive" all while crying into my shirt. I hope his nose isn't running onto it, too. I admit, I'm unsure of what to do. Not used to all this... emotion. Especially not directed at me.
"John," I say. I decide to return the gesture and gently pat him on the back with my one free arm, my right one. I then grip his shoulder. This isn't too bad. It's good.
"Wait a second," John says.
Suddenly, John stops speaking. He takes me by the shoulders and has me at arm's length. He stares at me for a short while, seems to be sizing me up. He looks bothered by something. He then stares at my right cheek.
"What is it, John?" I try saying, but I'm cut off before I can say his name. While I didn't see it coming, I'm now lying on my back on the floor of his sitting room with a throbbing pain in the right side of my face. Seeing John's clenched fist gives me a clear indication of what just happened.
John Watson has just punched me in the face.
I thought he'd be over the moon to see me.