((Author's Note/Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Sherlock, nor do I own Sherlock at all, though I and many others probably wish we did. _ Also, warning, there is SLASH FICTION if you don't like, please don't read. I don't want complaints, yeah? Thanks. Love you all, Enjoy!))

WARNING! I am currently still in the process of editing this and typing it out, please bare with me while this takes place! Sincerely, -The Writer

Chapter 12: Family Reunion (JW/G/SH)

The wait was killing him. It felt like years that went by as he sat by the crackling fire. Gladestone whined at his feet, licking the carpet impatiently. Whenever the sound of a cab was outside, both would jump up, only to realize he hadn't arrived yet.

Finally the doorknob downstairs jiggled and the door opened. "John?" the unmistakable voice called up the stairs. Gladestone bounded down the stairs and John hurried after him. He froze at the top of the stairs, looking down at his now blond friend.

"Sherlock…" he breathed and hurried down the stairs, throwing his arms around him.

Sherlock fell back against the door from the force of his friend's hug. "John, did you miss me?" he asked and smiled sweetly.

John blushed and pulled away, crossing his arms. "Shut up. Of course I missed you, you dolt!" he exclaimed. "I thought you were dead!" he added and sighed, his eyes watering slightly.

Sherlock was knocked back a second time when Gladestone jumped up on him. The breath was knocked out of him and he chuckled. "Hello cutie pie." he said and smiled, scratching the dog behind his ears. "John, he's adorable!" he giggled happily. "Is he always like this?"

John chuckled and helped Sherlock push Gladestone down. "Well, he is still a puppy Sherlock." he said and smiled. There was an instant change in the air as John remembered what he had been through. He punched Sherlock, knocking the man back for a third time. "You bloody arse! I went to your funeral!" he exclaimed.

"Oh, I know. I did too. It was quite lovely, but a bit small. I had expected more people to show…" he sighed and gingerly rubbed his jaw.

John punched him again, this time in the shoulder and this time with slightly less drive. "Why didn't you tell me you were alive?" he exclaimed angrily. "I sent texts, hoping you were alive and you could get them…" he murmured, wiping his eyes like a sad child.

Sherlock frowned. "Well…I got them…but I couldn't let you know I was alive, John. You couldn't know…"

"Why? Why couldn't I know, Sherlock? Molly knew, and Lestrade, but not me, your best friend. Why can't you have told me?" he growled.

Sherlock frowned. "John…god…it's because if you had known and hadn't had such a genuine reaction to my jump, you and Mrs. Hudson would have gotten shot by Moriarty's snipers." he said and frowned. "I didn't know when the snipers would stop watching, but with Moriarty dead–"

"He's dead? How?" he exclaimed.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Honestly John, he shot himself while we were up on the roof. It was a bit of a surprise really…" he murmured. "I hadn't expected him to shoot himself…" he sighed.

John's eyes were wide, and the sound of the kettle whistling broke the silence.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Tea?" he asked and smiled at John.

John returned the smile. "Of course." he said. "Oh, and Sherlock?"

Sherlock raised his eyebrow. "Hmm?" he glanced at John questioningly.

"Welcome home." he whispered.