The flash caught Johns eye as he looked outside, wondering if Sherlock was safe and hidden from the weather. The almost childlike question brought a smile to his mouth, it almost reached his eyes.

Yes. And that's an order- JW

Sherlock smiled at the answer, John was accepting his presence now. He was so close to being able to enter the apartment and hold John. There was a few more thing's that needed revealing first though. The weather worsened, the wind blew worse and the rain was heavy, Sherlock had no protection against the weather, his clothes soaked through. He supposed it was the lack of warmth in him that caused him to act like he did, but he let his sentimental side win over him.

I've missed you. –SH

It was true, Sherlock had missed John, yet he couldn't explain why he felt compelled to tell him. It was useless information to him, yet to John it meant the world. Sherlock had finally came home, after three years of being dead. John was mad of course, but the emotion declared by Sherlock was so rare that John couldn't ignore it. The lightning flashed again and John became more worried for Sherlocks wellbeing.

I've...I've missed you too. You don't even know –JW

John was only telling the truth, he had missed Sherlock dearly. He had gone through a lot of pain, never accepting that Sherlock was dead. He couldn't face the truth that the world existed without him. John had grown accustomed to life with Sherlock, so much that he couldn't readjust. He would go out on cases with Lestrade, talking to an invisible man beside him. At first everyone was worried for John, he was actually seeing Sherlock in his eyes, yet he managed to solve the crimes himself. There worries died down. Selfishness and greed comes before many things, fame, glory and praise come before someone's mental health.

Sherlock received the text. Barely able to read due to the rain covering his phone. If he wasn't careful it would stop working and he would have to enter the house before John was ready. Thunder rumbled and he looked up towards the sky, squinting against the rain falling. He knew he had to hurry up or he would fall ill and this would all be a waste of time. He'd gone long enough without John, he wasn't prepared to waste any more time. He's fingers were cold, and he could barely feel them, yet he pushed through this and replied. Enough sentiment he thought to himself. He had to admit a few facts without John in his presence. It just made things easier.

I've watched you, you've even spoken to me a couple of times. But you never knew it was me. –SH

His typing was slow, slower than Johns. He had barely pressed send before another text came through from John, he opened it and smiled. John never doubted the limit to his intelligence.

Or do you? –JW

Even throughout everything, John still believed that Sherlock had a heart somewhere. Sherlock knew that John had understood how much he had suffered as well.

When John received the text, saying he had spoken to Sherlock in the past 3 years, his breath caught in his throat. This had to be a lie, he would have recognised Sherlock. It was impossible to miss him he thought to himself.

"No, there's no way... I was looking for him everywhere I went... I couldn't have missed him" John had grown accustomed to speaking to himself, allowing his thoughts to roam freely without Sherlock around. While he was talking to himself, debating about the possibility he could have missed him, another text came through from Sherlock. The timings between the texts were increasing. John was starting to worry about Sherlock and what was causing this delay.

I helped you one, with the chip and pin machine –SH

John remembered a man who had helped him once. He was nearly breaking down. It was 6 months after Sherlocks death and he hadn't moved on from it. The machine wasn't working, and John never worked out how to use it. Sherlock had seen John like this and walked over and helped him, saving him from the near mental breakdown.

"But that man was nothing like Sherlock, only his height." He whispered to himself, this was too much. Never in his life would he have missed Sherlock.

John didn't believe the words he was being told. His hands were shaking, in fact his entire body was shaking.

That was you? –JW

Sherlock was now freezing, he could barely feel or control the extremities of his body. He couldn't bare himself to this weather for much longer. He was aware that John wasn't fully ready for his visual appearance, yet his health was determined by the speed of which he could convince John to accept him back into his life. He would have to send this in parts, it would be too much to read as one message. It would be too much for John. He pulled his already soaked clothing around him more, turning the coat collar up again after the wind had blown it down, trying to protect himself from the worsening weather. He scolded himself for not checking the weather before deciding to reveal his self to John. He knew John deserved an explanation. He started typing the message out, at a considerably slower speed than usual. The blood wasn't flowing to his fingers anymore.

Do you remember? The man with the ginger hair? And that horrible clothing? –SH

John opened the text and cast his mind back. He remembered the ginger haired man, he was kind. John started to reply, but the phone kept going off. He wouldn't have a chance to reply. The tears started springing to his eyes again, realising the full extent of how alone he'd been without Sherlock, as to just how much he missed him. The texts came through quickly.

I looked out for you. –SH

When you were short on money I found a way to transfer mine to you. –SH

John knew that when he was short on money a small amount would enter his account, enough to see him through. He'd always assumed it was Mycroft. The first time it had happened he had gone to the bank and tried everything he could to find where the money had came from. He refused to speak to Mycroft anymore. It was too much, hearing the way he had accepted and moved on from the death of Sherlock so easily, as if he had never existed. Mycroft had believed the papers, believed the lies. John could never forgive him for that.Nothing John could imagine, would prepare him for what Sherlock was to say next. Even Sherlock was not aware of what brought him to say this, to admit this... humanistic character out of him. Yet he felt an incredible tightness in his stomach as he pressed send.

I've never stopped thinking about you John. –SH

John was taken aback, yet relieved. His best friend hadn't forgotten about him. The guilt set in, he remembered the night he had drunk too much alcohol. He had wanted to forget Sherlock, forget everything about him, he wanted to move on. He had put himself in hospital trying. The phone went off in his hand again, the tears falling freely down his face now.

I'm on my way John. –SH

He couldn't take it anymore; he had so many things to say to Sherlock, but no words to show them with. He was speechless. Sherlock was alive and coming home. His best friend was coming back, and he couldn't believe it. The smile never quite reached his eyes though, Sherlock had been dead. If he was willing to do this once, he was capable of doing it again. John didn't have the emotional and mental strength to make it through this again. He knew he had to reply, or Sherlock would never leave his phone alone, yet he had nothing to say. He typed the only word that was perching on the edge of his lips, silently kissing them.

Sherlock... –JW