John slowly opened his eyes and looked around. At first, all he could see was a white blur, but then everything came into focus. He was in a small, white room, that held a few other beds. The one he was lying on wasn't that comfortable, but it was nicer then the ones he'd been using recently.

Slowly, John recalled what had happened. He made to get up, but there were various tubes sticking into him, and his leg was in pain. He dropped back on the pillows, sighing. He wondered what had happened to everyone else, and where was he was now. Suddenly the door opened, and a doctor walked in.

"Hello John. I'm Dr. Snider. Iv been taking care of you after the little incident. We moved you to London at the request of someone who claims to be your friend. I said that you should sleep, but he's, well, I need to listen to him. That is unless you don't want to see him."

John rolled his eyes. "It doesn't matter if I want to or not, he's coming in anyway."

The doctor nodded, and stepped out of the room. John heard some raised voices and a grunt. Then three people walked in. John couldn't see the door from his bed, and he wondered who Mycroft had brought with him.

"Hello Mycroft. Ah! Lestrade! What a pleasant surprise. I would get up, but I seem incapable at the moment."

"Oh god John. I can't believe your alive! When Mycroft told me what happened..." Lestrade looked thoroughly relieved to see John, and even Mycroft smiled.

"Now John, you are not going back to the military." Mycroft stated.

"Well obviously I'll go back as soon as I'm healthy."

"No John. No you won't."

"Lestrade, would you and the thug at the door please leave so that I can tell Mycroft exactly why I can't go back to living the way I use to.

Lestrade stared at John.

"What thug by the door?"

"We'll I'm not stupid Lestrade. I heard three pasties of feet walk in the door. You, Lestrade, and probably the thug you never go any where without. The thug at the door smiled.

"What if I were to persuade you? What if I gave you something you couldn't resist. Then would you stay in London again?"

"Mycroft. There is nothing that you could give me to make me change my mind."

"Very well. I am going to give you that thing anyways. You can refuse if you want, but I doubt that's you will. And do try not to scream. Lestrade, come. We will let him have a minute alone with the "thug."" The two walked out, and John head footsteps walking over to him. He turned his head. Long black coat. Black shoes. Nice tailored black pants. A tight purple shirt, and blue scarf.

"Sh-Sherlock? Now I know I really am sick."

"Long time no see, John." Sherlock walked over to Johns bed and put his hand on Johns face. "I missed you."

"I missed you more." John pulled a fist back, and hurtled it at Sherlock's face as hard as he could. Knuckle met flesh. "Oh my god. Your real." And John passed out.

When John came around a while later, he felt a heavy wait pressed against his body. There was a mob of black curls on his chest. John smiled as he ran his fingers through the hair.

Sherlock. Sherlocks back. He's really here!

John was beyond happy. The younger man raised his head to look at John. "Please stay in London with me. Don't go back to the army."

"How could I refuse you? Oh god. Did I give you that?" He pointed at Sherlocks cheek.

"Yeah. But I probably deserved worse. John. I'm so sorry."

"I know. But could you maybe shift over a bit? Your hurting me a little."

"Oh yeah, sorry. Sherlock rolled off John and squeezed himself into the small space next to him. The two looked at each other, then Sherlock leaned forwards and kissed John. John was momentarily shocked, but started to kiss back. Everything else went black and white. Nothing else mattered except for Sherlock. They broke apart,for air, and John brought his forehead to rest against Sherlocks, as he stared into those magical eyes.

"John. I know I'm not very good with people, and expressing my feelings, but I think I love you John."

John laughed, then kissed Sherlock again.

"No shit Sherlock. I love you too."

John snuggled down next to Sherlock, as his arms wrapped around his soldier. John put his head on Sherlocks chest, and fell asleep.

Sherlock put his nose in John's hair. He had missed the smell of his blogger, and he was never ever going to leave him again.

I was thinking about ending the story here. Let me know if you all want me to continue this.