John awoke to the smell of cooking in the kitchen. Cooking? Who would be cooking?

He arrived at the kitchen to find Sherlock cooking him breakfast. A sight which he never thought he would see.

"Fried or scrambled egg?" He asked.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?"

"This is the least I can do considering the circumstances. I thought you'd like it, am I wrong?"

"No, no. Carry on. I just need a shower."

John was still in complete shock about the whole thing, and not entirely convinced it was real. He pondered over these thoughts in the shower. All he could think about is what his therapist had said to him on one of their last sessions together. He started to reminisce it.

"John, you have to release something. This pent up emotion and deep resented anger is not good for you." His therapist told him.

"No, I won't say it. I don't deserve to be able to say it. I should have told him a long time ago."

"John, you can say it now, there will never be another chance to. Release it, John."

"That's exactly my point, there won't be another, ever."

"There's a chance now, John. Admit it to yourself."

"I- I. No, I can't. I just can't do it…."

He pulled the curtain across and stepped out of the shower. John rested his face in the towel for a few moments whilst drying himself .Could he say it now? Could he ever face up to saying it?

He got dressed and stepped out of the bathroom. Time for breakfast.

"Sherlock?"

"What?"

"Why are you being so nice? This isn't the arrogant prick I remember."

"I feel bad."

"Because you made my life a living hell?"

"1 point for John. I feel awful."

"You don't need to now. God, I never thought I'd say this. Be a stuck up twat! Come on. I've mourne the old Sherlock, not this one."

"I have one more little thing I need to tell you.

"Well, it can't get muchworse. Spit it out then."

"I read your letters."

"You what?"

"I read them. I actually replied to some of them. Mycroft would take them to me."

"That's where they went… No, that;s not the point. I can't believe it! Why? What were you hoping to achieve?!"

"I don't know. I wanted to know what you were thinking, okay?"

"Sherlock, they were private."

"They were addressed to me."

"YOU WERE DEAD!"

"Okay, okay. I'm sorry. But I am curious about something you said."

Panic struck John. Sherlock can't know. Not now. Oh my god. Why did he have to read them all?!

"And what would that be?"

"What did you want to tell me?"

"About…? I don't understand Sherlock."

"I think you do."

"No… Explain?"

"How you really feel. Don't deny it John. I can see through anything, remember?"

"But, no. No."

"Don't worry. I feel the same."

Sherlock started walking to his bedroom. What? Did this mean that Sherlock feels the same way?

"Sherlock, stop."

He stopped in his doorway.

"There's no explaining to do, John. No questions."

"Um, I think there is. How long?"

"A long time."

The urge to kiss Sherlock was getting unbearable for John; he knew that Sherlock felt the same way now, not even their friendship was stopping him.

"John, stop daydreaming and come here."

John slowly walked up to Sherlock. This was the moment he'd been waiting for, for years. He couldn't believe it was finally happening.

"Sherlock, are you-"

His speech was cut off by Sherlock's lips colliding with his. A force that was so powerful it almost knocked Sherlock to the floor.

John pulled away.

"Sherlock, we are in your bedroom you know."

"Why do you think I lured you here?"