it was both shocking and crippling to find Sherlock's room completely empty. John wanted to stay strong, and up until this point he had done very well, but everyone has a breaking point. He covered his eyes as his body shook with the force of his sobs, and it was a while before he felt stable enough to face Atticus.
He turned, ready to demand to know why he had been brought here, and why on earth he thought John would want to see it. however it was Atticus standing before him. it was him. the man John had cried for countless months over. The man people came to for answers. His best friend. the man he wanted so desperately to be something more.
Sherlock looked immensely uncomfortable, and stared at the ground before making eye contact with him, "John, I-"
But john couldn't wait for him to finish. He had already waited more than he could stand. He decided he didn't care what the reasons were for sherlocks disapperence, and he didn't care if there were any. He didn't even care if this was real or fake. If this was some cruel joke of Mycroft's or a creation of his own imagination, so be it.
He swiftly and desperately entangled himself in Sherlock's suddenly tense figure. He gripped him tightly, to the point Sherlock had to struggle for breath, but he had no choice. If he didn't take advantage of this moment, he may never get another one like it; Sherlock might disappear again.
He wasn't exactly positive what drove him to the man's lips, but whatever it was, he was glad of it. they were soft and surprisingly warm, and they formed in his perfectly.
Sherlock hesitated, not sure of what to do, and a little put off that John would confuse him this way. he thought he might break it off, or say something, but he didn't, and it was in that moment that he realized he didn't want to.