The next morning I woke up and began to panic, for Sherlock was not in 221b Baker Street. Looking frantically around the flat, I finally decided to call Sherlock's cell phone. When it went instantly to voicemail, I called Mycroft. Mycroft picked up after the second ring, answering to my call, while I sobbed brokenly into the receiver.
"Mycroft, please tell me- I can't have imagined- Please tell me it wasn't a dream. Tell me Sherlock's back."
"John. Calm down. He's here, with myself and Greg. There was a case that we needed his specific help for. Selfish bastard, I told him to leave you a message to prevent this panic attack. I'm going to send you two somewhere where you can discuss things without blowing up Lower London."
"Mycroft Holmes, inform your younger brother of the amount of trouble he is in for turning off his phone. And tell him that any disappearing acts he has planned need to be cleared by me, even if they can get me killed. I was a soldier, I killed people. I think I can take the stress of being in his life. And Mycroft? NEVER TAKE HIM OUT OF MY FLAT, MY BED, OR MY LIFE WITHOUT INFORMING ME PREVIOUSLY!"
"Indeed, I'll inform him of these things. And John? Don't threaten me." With that, Mycroft hung up, and I was alone in the flat watching crap telly for the time being.
"John? I'm home. Sorry, but Lestrade called me this morning with a lead on one of the men who had been instrumental in the threatening of your life. I couldn't resist going, and you looked to peaceful to wake." Sherlock looked worse than I had seen him in a long while. Hair was a mess, face drained of all color, eyes red as if from crying.
"Sherlock, next time you need to leave, at least leave a NOTE so that I won't panic. Again." I was so very mad at the gorgeous man in front of me, and yet it wasn't enough to make me walk out of the flat and go shoot something. It made me want to become a Koala and not let him out of my sight for the rest of the evening. I walked over to him, rose up on my toes, and taking the hint, he leaned down and kissed me. It held an apology on his part, and forgiveness on mine.
"Remind me to never get on your bad side again, John. I hate having you look at me the way you did when I walked through the door. Not exactly fantasy fulfilling, but a tad bit scary. Oh, the possibilities that doorway could have." Sherlock's grin was wicked, and the look in his eyes reminded me of someone I hadn't seen in a very long time. Of course, knowing Sherlock, she wasn't dead. "Love, the look on your face tells me you're thinking to hard on something. What is it?"
"Just remembering Irene and the predatory look in her eyes. You must have been in contact with her quite a bit recently. You have gotten the same look reflected out of your eyes." I was honest in my answering, even if it was just because he looked like I was about to tell him to leave and forget about coming back. "Is she invited to the wedding, Dearest? THAT would be a fun little trick to play on Mycroft, seeing as he thinks she's dead. Ooohh, we could introduce her to Harry. This could be so much fun." My eyes were dancing wickedly, and I saw him relax.
"I don't think your sister could handle The Woman, but if you want to get on the bad side of Clara, be my guest. As for Mycroft, he's being overly sentimental in the whole wedding business and wants to know if we could do a joint ceremony. Greg wasn't to happy about that, but whatever Mycroft says in that relationship goes, apparently. As for Mycroft not knowing about The Woman being alive, he now know, and apparently I will have to tell him how I did it. Saved her, I mean." The color had returned to Sherlock's face, and he was making snarky comments about his brother. He learned how to snark from me, unfortunately.
When we curled up in bed that night, content to hang onto each other, Sherlock's hands wound tightly around my own, trying to reassure me that he'd still be there in the morning. The wedding was fast approaching, but neither of us cared in that moment. We made a silent agreement that the night of the wedding would be the first actual consummation of our life together. Until then, we were content to lay in bed and listen to each other breathing, or tell stories of our days, or just cuddle. It was beautiful, and neither of us wanted our old companionship to end, but were both happy for the relationship it gave way to.
The next morning, I was up first. I made breakfast, sent Sherlock to work, and went to see Harry. My sister wasn't accepting visitors, so I went over to Clara's house. Clara welcomed me with open arms, and agreed to help me plan separate bachelor parties for myself and Sherlock. She was enthusiastic about helping, but wouldn't answer my questions about her and Harry, so after planning Sherlock's party, I went home to prepare for the New Year's Eve party that we were planning for the year anniversary of him being back. A year, and yet if he wasn't there when I woke, I feared that I had dreamed it. Jesus, Sherlock. What have you done to me?