John slowly opened his eyes and groaned; his whole body felt like it was covered in bruises. As he shifted his weight he found that he was lying on his back in his bed and was propped up on multiple pillows. How strange, he thought, I don't remember going to bed… In fact I don't remember much of anything before I came home last night. John struggled to remember as he very slowly tried to sit up.

"Good morning John," Said a strangely familiar voice to the left of his head.

John's head swiveled around to find Sherlock lounging in a chair with his left leg propped up on an ottoman.

"Wh-how-when" John began, when all the memories came flooding back. He had been having a rough day and had returned to the flat expecting to have a nice quiet night in when he had opened his closet only to find a sheepish looking Sherlock Holmes hiding inside.

"Do you often hide in my closet?" He asked skeptically.

"Not usually no," Sherlock smirked. "It's good to see you again." He added quietly after a moment's pause.

"How is it you're alive?!" John practically screamed at him. "I mean it's good to see you too, brilliant in fact, but you were dead!"

"And how did I get in my bed?" He added as an afterthought.

"I put you there. Look, John, I would love to tell you all about it," Sherlock began, his face paling even more, "as soon as you fix me up a bit."

"Oh Jesus," John gasped, finally noticing the bloody bandage wrapped clumsily around the detective's slim leg and the blood that was dripping down the side of his angular cheekbone. "What did you do?"

"I fell." Sherlock responded through his teeth as John awkwardly got out of bed and rushed to Sherlock's side.

"Alright I need to get you into the kitchen. Can you walk?" John asked nervously.

"Yes of course I can." Sherlock snapped sarcastically. "It's only broken."

John smiled to himself. He had even missed his flatmate's snappy comebacks.

"Alright then, let me help you up." He said as he tried to pull Sherlock to his feet as gently as he could.

"Ouch! Watch it John!" Sherlock exclaimed as John finished the final knot on the bandage around his best friend's knee. John had managed to half-drag half-carry Sherlock into the kitchen and set him down in a chair as gingerly as he could, and was now kneeling next to him tying the final knots on his bandages.

"Right, that should do it." The doctor said as he stepped back to examine his handy work.

"Now," he said expectantly when he was satisfied that the bandages would work, "Where have you been? How are you still alive? And if you were alive this whole time why didn't you come back sooner?" He asked with hurt in his voice.

Sherlock looked up at his love with sad eyes. "John I wanted to come back sooner, I really did."

"Then why didn't you?!" John demanded, his voice rising. "I took that damn pill in an attempt to commit suicide because I was so depressed after you left!"

"I know, John. And I'm so sorry. I really am." Sherlock whispered with tears in his eyes. "You weren't the only one who suffered from it."

Johns voice softened, "I'm sorry Sherlock I didn't mean to yell." How could he possibly stay mad at that face?

"No you have every right to be angry with me. To answer your question John I couldn't come back because it would have put you in terrible danger. Moriarty has those snipers under orders to shoot anyone who I seemed to talk to for more than a few minutes. Coming home would have almost certainly resulted in your, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade's death. I'm sorry."

Comprehension showed on Johns face. "Sherlock its fine, you don't have to keep apologizing. So why did you come back now?"

"I saw that you took that pill and I thought that you were dead."

"You saw me? How did you see me?"

"Mycroft has had the whole flat bugged for months. I called him and asked him to check on you." Sherlock stated sheepishly.

"Good old Mycroft," John smiled. "Thank God you are as clever as you are though, because if that had been the bad pill I would definitely be dead." He said in an attempt to make Sherlock smile.

It worked. "I even manage to save your life when I'm not here."

"How true," John laughed. "Now where have you been this whole time?"

"I have been staying in remote hotels throughout the country for the past 7 months. I would never stay in one for more than two weeks in case I was suddenly recognized."

"And how did you acquire the money to do that?" John asked suspiciously.

"I had some help."

"From who? Mycroft?"

"No"

"Who then?"

"Molly Hooper."

John blinked in surprise. "Molly from the hospital? That Molly?"

"Do we know any other Molly Hoopers John?" Sherlock asked sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

John chose to ignore that last comment and they lapsed into a comfortable silence.

"I really hope this isn't a dream." Sherlock muttered to himself.

John laughed. "Well if it is, I never want to wake up." He replied lovingly.

Sherlock sat in a stunned silence. He gazed at the man sitting across from him for a moment, hardly daring to believe that maybe, just maybe, this amazingly kind and handsome man in front of him returned the feeling he had for him. The idea was so shocking and amazing that it nearly made Sherlock twitch with excitement. Never once had he considered that John, amazing, wonderful, perfect John, actually cared for him, but there had been no mistaking the love that had been in his voice only a moment ago.

"John," Sherlock began nervously. "John, there's something I need to tell you." Damn it his voice was trembling, why did his body have to betray his emotions when he had worked so hard to keep them hidden?

John gazed into Sherlock's sea blue eyes. "Oh, what is it?"

Suddenly Sherlock began to have doubts, which was strange in itself. Sherlock Holmes never doubted anything, not ever. And the origins of his doubts were even more alien to the detective; they were along the lines of: What if John didn't actually have feelings for him and he was just hearing what he wanted to hear? What if John pushed him away in disgust? What if, God forbid, he left him? No, no I have to do this he thought to himself, making a decision, I've been holding this in for too long, I have to get it out.

"John, I lo-"

And that was as far as he got because at that exact moment, six armed men came crashing through the front door and into the flat.