He was on his toes again, as if he wasn't tall enough already, staring at the constantly moving crowd of people. Mycroft chuckled at his brother's antics, one could compare Sherlock to a bloodhound hot on the scent. Normally this was a look he reserved for a particularly interesting problem. However it wasn't a criminal that Sherlock was after this time.
"It's late." Sherlock huffed, storming back to where Mycroft sat on one of the many benches spread out within the airport. His long dramatic coat billowing out behind him.
"Heaven forbid a world come to be where everyone has your hyperactive schedule, Sherlock." Mycroft teased fondly, causing his brother to raise an eyebrow.
"The plane was supposed to be here by now." He replied. "Yet there is a disturbing lack of plane."
"Calm down." Mycroft scolded. "You wouldn't want to look too nervous."
Sherlock gave a distracted nod but kept pacing anyway. His hands were never still, they kept fidgeting with each other until he shoved them into his pockets. He paced a moment longer and then turned on his brother.
"I need a smoke." He growled.
"I can't cover for you forever. I won't tell him how badly you fell off the wagon while he was gone but if you show up smelling like tar there's not much I can do." Mycroft sighed, glancing at his watch.
"Then give me a cigarette and some gum!" Sherlock insisted.
"Honestly...can you just wait patiently like a normal human being? No, wait, don't answer that." Mycroft sighed. Sherlock, who had his mouth open to prepare a retort, promptly closed it.
"Now sit down and behave or I'll tie you to your seat like I did when you were nine." Mycroft scowled.
"Oh don't bring that up." Sherlock sat down next to Mycroft. "I could never get away with anything, not even a simple treasure hunt."
"Nothing was simple with you." Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Especially not treasure hunts."
Sherlock had stopped listening, he was staring off into the distance. Then, he suddenly leapt up from his seat and went running off into the crowd.
"So much energy..." Mycroft groaned, allowing his scowl to turn into a small grin.
Sherlock raced past vacation goers and business trip takers, ignoring the protests whenever one of his sharp elbows found its way into someone's ribs. He stopped, his breath catching in his throat, and his lips forming a name.
"John!" He shouted, running towards the returning soldier.
It was his John, albeit lankier and a bit more scruffy looking. Sherlock could count more than a few new scars, and he didn't like how thin and tired looking he'd gotten, but it was his John all the same.
He grabbed the smaller man and spun him around, for a full fifteen seconds John's feet left the ground.
"S-Sherlock!" John laughed, barely able to talk around the man's embrace. "Put me down!"
"John." Sherlock nuzzled into John's shoulder, only wrapping his arms tighter around the doctor.
"Yes, I'm home." John chuckled, wiping the tears from his eyes. "Were you good while I was away?"
"No." Sherlock muttered around the fabric of John's uniform, and John swore he heard him sniffle. "I was dreadful."
"Knew I couldn't expect anything else." John placed a kiss in the detective's curly black locks. It appeared that he'd let his hair get longer without John around to pester him about getting it cut. Sherlock raised his head off of John's shoulder and John kissed him.
"Now let's get home. I'd kill for some tea and some time alone with you." John chuckled.

Thanks so much to all my reviewers, remember tell me what you think and feel free to leave suggestions for stories you might want to see. I'm always looking for inspiration. Enjoy!