A year. That's how long it had been since Sherlock had jumped off that bloody building. A year since John had smiled, or frowned, or really anything that took any real effort, the only thing he really put a minimal amount of thought into were his patient's, and only because he didn't want to kill someone…and ruin their lives like his was. And his bloody therapist…what the hell did she know anyway? But when she asked John to tell her what he wanted to say to Sherlock before he died…well he just couldn't… He couldn't tell anyone how he felt about Sherlock if the late consultant himself didn't know. "Bloody hell," John muttered to himself,"that man drove me insane and I never got to tell him how I feel…" The rather short man got up from his arm chair and walked to the fridge. Nothing appealing, he never really had an appetite anymore. "Damn you, Sherlock Holmes!" John shouted, not fearing Mrs. Hudson would hear; her favorite niece had her tonsils taken out and she wouldn't be in the house for two weeks. "Damn you!" He punched the wall where a faded yellow smiley face was painted. "And you were always the one telling me the be polite with my words." Johns eyes shot wide open and swiveled around to see the tall composed frame of Sherlock Holmes standing in the doorway. "I…uh…" John just stood there trying to process that Sherlock was alive; but it was a very hard thing; to see someone have their skull crushed in, and visit their grave everyday, then one day they just pop up in the door as if expecting tea. "Close your mouth, John, it'll catch flies," Sherlock said smiling brightly and patting him on the shoulder walking past him. "Are you going to put the kettle on or should I?" Sherlock called from the kitchen. John finally found himself and ran up to the taller man and tackled him. "Where the hell have you been!?" John shouted pinning Sherlock down by his wrists. "Oh, you know, just wiping all records of me from everything; so now I can go back into the consulting business and no one can even say that they think they remember me. Oh and I used a drug and basically everyone else in England so that they forget me. The usual," Sherlock replied as if he had gone out for coffee. "How come I can remember you then?" John asked still holding down Sherlock. "Simple; you don't take sugar in your coffee," Sherlock replied with a shrug. "Now," The taller man continued, "are you going to kiss me or not?" "Why would you-?" Watson started before being interrupted by Sherlock "Simple really, you keeping glancing from my lips to my eyes and back to my lips, also your pupils have dilated quite a lo-" John stopped Sherlock's banter by pressing his lips roughly against his flat mate's. "Stop showing off," Watson mumbled before pulling away to see Sherlock's reaction. Sherlock pulled his face back to his own and kissed him again, though this time tenderly. "That's how you know it's me…" Sherlock replied holding the man close. And everything from that day forth was perfect.