John sat up in bed, not ready to face the day. He had gotten home form the hospital late last night, and gone straight to bed. The nightmares would not go away. He woke with a scream fighting to break free every morning, and then had to face the empty flat. The morning was his least favorite time. He had all this extra time and nothing to fill it with but thoughts and regrets. He thought of the blog, what to fill it with today. His phone buzzed on the table. He sighed and stood, pulling on his clothes. He picked up his phone and read the screen.

Come into the living room. –SH

An invisible hand punched him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Every understandable thought left his head. He grabbed his gun off of the side table. Suddenly it was very hard to walk straight, he leaned against the wall to make it into the living room. He stubbed his toe on the doorframe.

"Sherlock." He said, the same way another may use a curse.

"Sherlock." He whispered again.

He stumbled into the living room.

"John." The exact same voice, the exact same way he had said it a lifetime ago in a room with a pool, as John prepared to face his death.

John was panting, unable to get enough air. The gun fell to the floor.

"You. You. I saw… You did… God, what you did… what did you do? What the hell did you do?" John's voice came out as barely more than a whimper.

"It was fake, John. It was all fake. Well, most of it."

With one motion John collided with Sherlock as his fist collided with the side of Sherlock's face. They both fell to the floor and John's world went blurry. The world was spinning, and Sherlock was talking. His mouth was moving but the words made no sense. He was lifted off the ground and put on something soft, he thought he must be dying. The world started to turn black.

John's eyes snapped open. A vial was being taken out from under his nose. Sherlock Holmes sat on the small bit of couch that John was not currently occupying. His face was thinner than it had been before the fall (that being no mean feat), and there was a strange red mark spreading over his cheekbone, but when he turned and faced John fully, his eyes were the same.

"I feel I need to apologize to you. I had no idea my reappearance would have such an effect."

"You're a genius and you had no idea? Christ, Sherlock. You were DEAD. How did you- No. Don't tell me. I don't care. Oh God. Please let this be real."

John looked at him, making sure that he was real. Sherlock looked him in the eye, the corner of his mouth quirked up. John felt joy rising inside of him, and all of a sudden they were both smiling and Sherlock's deep laugh filled the room.

John took Sherlock by the arm and pulled him into a bone-crushing hug. Sherlock patted his back, a bit awkwardly. They parted and John let out a deep breath.

"Hungry?" Sherlock asked.

"Starving." John replied.

"Breakfast?"

"Brilliant."

"I'll call Mrs. Hudson."

"Does she…?"

"… Perhaps you should call her."

John laughed and picked up his phone.

"Mrs. Hudson. We need breakfast for two up in B. I know you're not the housekeeper, but just this once? Oh, and Mrs. Hudson? Brace yourself."

"John. No one else can know. We have work to do."

"Okay. Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"If you ever do anything like that ever again I will throw you off a building myself."

Day Eighteen

Everything is good. Nothing special going on. Life is moving on. I'm sort of busy, so I'll post tomorrow.

Comments:

What? Seriously? That's it? – I 3 deerstalkers

Everything's fine now, right mate? – Lestrade

More than fine. – JW

We need milk.

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I WAS SO FREAKING EXCITED TO WRITE THIS CHAPTER THAT I WROTE IT EARLY! To anyone who is disappointed that it only took this long for Sherlock to come back I AM NOT WRITING THIS BLOG FOR THREE YEARS! I have stuff to do!

This chapter dedicated to Mitaya.