Sherlock was pacing the floor of the airport, consulting his watch every five seconds. He was dressed in tight, black skinny-jeans, a form-fitting purple shirt, and he had even gone to the trouble of adding just a little cologne. He knew John liked this shirt the most, even though he would never admit it. It was 9:53am. As of this second, John was precisely three whole minutes late. That was three whole minutes of the fortnight gone. Sod everyone in charge of the landing pad.
Half an hour than planned, John plucked his dufflebag off the conveyer belt and swiftly walked over to the doors. He looked every bit the handsome soldier with his beret, his uniform and black boots. He even had a white band with a red cross around his arm, showing he was a medic. For now, he just tightly held his bag as he jogged down the corridor to the hall where Sherlock would be.
"John!" with a relieved grin and untainted joy on his features, Sherlock ran up to close the gap between them, wrapping John in a big, warm hug and holding him almost possessively to himself. "John…" he breathed into his shoulder, "welcome home."
John had dropped his bag and hugged Sherlock back right away. He sighed happily and closed his eyes as he inhaled Sherlock's scent. "Hello Lockie," he said, swaying them from the left to the right and back.
Sherlock grinned, chuckling from pure relief at having him home, safe, in his arms. Actual tears found their way out of his ducts and wet his cheeks. "Hello indeed, my dear soldier. You look amazing as always, but you've put on some extra muscle," he teased, grinning even more widely.
John laughed and pulled away, grinning back at Sherlock. "Oh, Lockie, you're crying!" He held Sherlock's face in his hands and thumbed the tears away from his cheekbones. "Don't cry, silly, I'm fine!"
"You are now," Sherlock smiled, blushing, deciding to ignore the fond smiles and empathetic glances they were receiving from some of the other commuters and travellers. "Let's go home." He picked up John's bag and slung it over his own shoulder, "I've got a cab waiting."
John nodded, and followed Sherlock outside, in the fresh English air. "It's good to be back," he told Sherlock as they got in the cab. "I missed you. Platonically, of course," he added, grinning.
Sherlock rolled his eyes but made no further comment on the matter, looking out of the window as the cab took off, "I think you're fully aware that I missed you too. I'm going to put in a complaint to whomever the Minister for Defence is, asking that they lengthen, or at least increase the number of, holidays that you guys get."
"I'll sign it too," John said, nodding. He felt so happy, and restful, too, now that he saw Sherlock. It was an increasing feeling of his, the longing to see Sherlock, or to hug him. "How many classes do you have?" He asked Sherlock after a short while.
"I'm on study break," Sherlock grinned cheekily, "which I may or may not have extended to get a free fortnight with you. I only have one lecture on one day for an extra unit I'm doing, but aside from that, it's no Uni for two weeks."
John grinned widely, already looking forward to it. Although... "I have to visit mum and Harry at least once," John mumbled, "Remember last time?"
His mother had been livid, and Harry had yelled at him for a good hour before hanging up on him.
"Of course. If you'd rather stay with her and your sister for the fortnight, I can ask the cab to make a detour…?" he asked. "I suppose it was presumptuous of me to expect that you'd want to lodge with me like you used to…"
John gave him a pointed look. "You're not serious, are you? Me, preferring to stay with mum and Harry over staying with you?" He raised an eyebrow. "Don't think so. Besides, I'm sure you bought me the jam doughnuts? Mum never buys me those." He grinned, a smile which lit up his whole face.
Sherlock laughed happily, nodding, "I did. Oh, by the way…did you get that package I sent up to Afghanistan for you?" he inquired. John's smile was certainly contagious.
John hummed and nodded. "Yes, I did, I forgot to thank you for them, sorry." He squeezed his friend's knee and said, "I'll take you to dinner to thank you properly. I only read the first one, actually, but it was brilliant. I love Stephen King."
Sherlock gave him a fond smile, "You don't need to do anything like that, John – you've no idea how happy I am that you're here…" the cab stopped outside Baker Street, and Sherlock paid the cabbie, then got out after. Once more, he carried John's bag up into the flat, unlocking it and holding it open for John.
John got out of the cab, grinning at two girls who walked by, whistling at him. "Ladies," John greeted, saluting them. He laughed as they blushed, and then got after Sherlock to enter the flat.
Sherlock dramatically rolled his eyes as he shed his shoes and walked up the staircase. "Not changed a bit, then," he observed with a little laugh of his own.
John snickered as he followed Sherlock up, leaving his bag for what it was. "Well, you can't blame me, Sherlock, haven't seen a woman for half a year..." he sighed deeply, inhaling the familiar scents of what he always associated with Sherlock. "Good to be back," he mumbled, glancing around.
The young man raised an eyebrow, "Do you want a lift to the club, then?" he teased with a smirk, remembering the many nights John spent away at the local nightclub while waiting for his details to be processed so that he could join the army. Those awful months. He had told him not to go, but…it didn't matter now. "Tea?" he added.
John's eyes landed on Sherlock and he nodded. "Oh, yes please!" He nodded eagerly and stepped closer to his friend. "Proper tea?"
"Proper tea it is," he smiled, nodding to the coffee table that he had cleaned. A big bag of jam donuts sat on it, with a smiley face drawn on it. In John's room, Sherlock had laid new sheets and placed a gift-wrapped parcel on the bed, which consisted of a few new shirts and jumpers (a private joke in reference to the school jumper John was seldom seen without in his earlier years) and an expensive new watch, shatterproof and waterproof.
John bit his lip and looked from the bag back at Sherlock. "Thank you," he said, his eyes grateful. "You're the best friend a person could ever wish for." He sat down on the sofa, taking his beret and heavy boots of, sighing happily as he wriggled his toes.
Sherlock smiled softly, bringing the tea over and sitting down next to him, "You're seriously that appreciative? Just for the doughnuts? I'll send you some when you're in Afghanistan. There are freezing bags good enough to preserve them for the two-day express flight, I'm sure."
John rolled his eyes. "It isn't the donuts, Lock, but the fact that you're so very thoughtful about what I like and need. Thank you for that." He patted his friend's knee and gave him a soft grin. "Thanks."
"You're very welcome, and it's no trouble, I only see you four times a year – and that's if I'm lucky." He picked up his own tea, leaning against the other lightly as he sipped the hot beverage.
John curled an arm around Sherlock's shoulders, pulling him closer. "You know," he whispered after a while, "I would never let anyone get between us, not even our girlfriends." He sighed happily and buried his nose in Sherlock's curls. It was good to be home.