[Okay, last chapter. Longest one yet I think. Sorry it took so long to upload, there have been distractions like other fan fics and Tumblr and Skyrim and general procrastination. I will most likely edit this chapter in the future but here it is for those who've been asking for it. Thanks for the reviews and favourites. Hope you like it! Epilogue or follow up? Maybe.]
John had been standing outside his old flat for 5 minutes trying to work up the courage to knock on the door.
Sherlock had been pacing up and down the short distance of the living room for half an hour waiting for John to arrive.
What if this is just a trick? John thought.
What if he's not willing to forgive me? Sherlock thought.
Taking a deep breath, John gave three short raps on the door just as Sherlock opened it, wanting to go wait outside for his best friend.
They looked at each other for a moment, John's hand still suspended in the air mid-knock and Sherlock's hand still resting on the door knob. There were no words to describe how each was feeling. Relief, happiness, fear, and above all a sense of being reunited.
It was Sherlock who spoke first.
"Welcome home, John Watson." He gave John a small smile and stepped back, gesturing towards the unchanged flat.
John lowered his hand, nodded awkwardly at Sherlock and limped in. His eyes scanned across each of the many features of 221b he had come to love. Mrs Hudson had left everything, despite her words at the graveyard. Each item so unique, reflecting Sherlock's personality. The violin lay on Sherlock's armchair, the skull stared menacingly at John from above the fireplace, and the face on the wall had more holes than John had ever seen before. He felt at home for the first time in over a year.
Sherlock looked over John as discretely as possible as John looked around the room. From the bags under his eyes and the way his head lolled forward slightly, Sherlock could tell John hadn't slept in a while. His posture was bad, showing he'd spent a lot of time over the last few months lounging around. All in all, John didn't seem happy in the slightest.
John yawned, feeling drowsy from the recent nights of little sleep. He didn't want to stand up for much longer but he felt too awkward to sit down in the armchair he'd once called his own. It didn't feel right.
But it looked so inviting.
"John, take a seat," Sherlock murmured.
He watched John walk over and sit down on the chair Sherlock hadn't dared touch since his return to 221b. Sherlock then made his way over to his own chair, moving the violin and placing it in his lap as he sat down.
Silence consumed them both. Neither of them had any idea what to say. Sherlock had been hoping John would be the one to break the ice but it seemed John was just as lost for words as Sherlock.
After what seemed like another year, Sherlock was once again the one to speak first.
"Good punch last week."
John looked at Sherlock, feeling half angry half amused at his words.
"I'm sorry about that."
"Apology accepted."
Silence.
"I'm... sorry, John," Sherlock whispered. What else could he do? What else could he say? He couldn't make it up to John, he knew that, but he wanted forgiveness. He'd explained why, surely he understood? John was compassionate, kind, forgiving, everything that Sherlock wasn't.
"I can't forgive you yet, Sherlock. It... hurt."
John saw he disappointment in Sherlock's eyes. Maybe he deserved to be forgiven. He'd explained and apologized. What else could he do?
Suddenly, Sherlock looked at John with an expression of curiosity. In the pit of his stomach, John felt dread. Sherlock being curious about something was never a good thing.
"John, when I found you in the flat what were you dreaming about?"
Is he serious? John thought to himself. He felt uncomfortable, growing hot on his cheeks. He didn't want to discuss this with Sherlock. Not now, not ever. Anyway, weren't they meant to be sorting things out? Trying to find a way for Sherlock to make it up to John?
Sherlock looked at John's blushing cheeks and felt a sense of adoration. It was fleeting but it was certainly there. Sherlock frowned. Adoration was never something he felt. It was a strange sensation that gave him the urge to... Kiss John.
John looked at Sherlock and saw a look of confusion. It was adorable.
Adorable? John thought to himself. Since when have you found Sherlock adorable?
Kiss him? Sherlock thought to himself. Why in the world would you want to kiss John?
"What did you dream about, John?" Sherlock pressed, trying to disguise his thoughts.
John looked up at Sherlock and once again could not stop thinking about how cute he was. His eyes looked over the sharp and beautiful edges of Sherlock's high cheekbones, over his strong jaw, into the green eyes. He'd never noticed how interesting Sherlock looked.
Sherlock's feelings towards John strengthened the longer he watched the changing expressions on his face. His face... Sherlock could have sworn that his face had never looked so handsome before.
"You..." John whispered.
"Me what?" Sherlock asked, sounding distracted.
"You. I was dreaming about you."
Sherlock sat there, feeling a bit shocked. Me? Why would he dream about me?
Something dawned on John. Sherlock wanted to pay him back for the pain he'd caused him. He'd interrupted John's dream, it had never finished. Maybe he could finish it for him.
"John! Answer me!" Sherlock was staring at John, wide eyed, confused.
"What?"
"Why were you dreaming about me?"
"I know how you can pay me back," John said, trying to keep his voice even.
"What?" Sherlock sat there, growing angry. All he needed was a simple answer! "What has that got to do with anything, John?"
"You'll find out."
John stood up slowly. He felt as if he might faint, or as if the sound of his heart might drive him insane. His legs carried him forward towards Sherlock, who looked up at John frowning.
"John?"
A strong but shaking hand took Sherlock's, sending a warm feeling through his stomach. John pulled Sherlock up and against his chest.
"John, what-?" Sherlock began to feel nervous, yet it was a good type of nervous, one he'd never experienced before.
John pressed his lips against Sherlock's once, not sure on how he was going to react. As he pulled away, he saw a look of comprehension on Sherlock's face.
He understood. John had dreamt of them kissing, which is why he had looked so happy. Sherlock had stopped the dream before they could kiss.
I guess that makes sense, Sherlock thought.
Then the both of them gave into instinct and kissed. Awkwardness soon turned to passion as they embraced each other, pouring the hurt and the loss they'd felt for over a year into each other. They shared the love they'd hid from one another and themselves.
The kiss lasted 365 seconds. And it was perfect.