Alright I decided this will be the last chapter. I originally planned to make this a one-shot thingy but as I started writing I decided I'd just do a couple of chapters more.

I really don't have a clue what else I should do with this story. I'll continue from where chapter 5 ended, and I'm so sorry if this isn't any good but I'm just not quite good at endings and ughhh

But I absolutely enjoyed writing it and I hope you enjoyed reading it :) (whoever you are, you're lovely)

Kisses!

excuse the grammar by the way

Two weeks later.

"John! Wake up. Why are you sleeping when we have far more crucial things to do today? Wake up!"

John Watson opened his eyes and was greeted by the smell of coffee and Sherlock's hand patting his face. The detective saw John had awoken and placed a small kiss on his forehead before jumping back from the bed, looking way too excited.

"See? There you go, I've made you coffee. Now get dressed so we can get to the crime scene before our body starts decomposing while waiting for you to get up." After those words, Sherlock rushed out of the room, leaving John slightly disorientated. The doctor sighed, but got up. He drank his coffee, grabbed some clothes, and stumbled towards the shower. On his way he heard Sherlock pacing up and down the living room downstairs. He sighed again as he closed the bathroom door.

It had been two weeks since Sherlock had come back from the dead. Two weeks since John had kissed him and two weeks since Sherlock had actually kissed back. Now they weren't just Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, the brilliant detective with the funny hat and his side-kick blogger. They were more than that. Boyfriends? Lovers? John had figured there wasn't really a word that described what they "were". To each other they were still just Sherlock and John, the duo who couldn't live without each other. And they were fine with that

It was time to get things back to normal, even though it wouldn't go that easy. John still had nightmares, and he often would forget Sherlock was really there. Gasping for breath as he walked into the living room and saw him sit in his chair, convinced he was dreaming or that Sherlock was some kind of hallucination.

But he would be okay, and Sherlock did everything he could to ensure that. He would calm John down when he had just had a nightmare or an attack, and helped him accept the fact that he was really there at moments John needed him to. According to him, the nightmares would slowly start to become less, and so would the panic attacks. He seemed sure and John trusted him on it, as he always did.

Today they would have their first case together in almost a year. Lestrade had phoned Sherlock that morning, telling him that apparently there had been something interesting going on, judging Sherlocks behavior. Or maybe his enthusiasm was just because he hadn't had a good case in what seemed ages to him. But that seemed unimportant to John. He was already happy enough to see that Scotland Yard had consulted him in the first place. Considering everyone had been thinking he was dead for eight bloody months and the news of his return had been on all the headlines of every paper in London for a couple of days.

Now it seemed that people were slowly losing interest in "That Detective Who Came Back From The Dead". They had enough things on their minds, and they didn't really care quite enough to find out what exactly had happened. Most of them believed it had just been some kind of funny hoax, anyway. Now everything had become a little quieter. Sherlock being Sherlock, of course had ignored all the attention and requests for interviews or whatsoever as much as he could. Ensuring that, he'd stayed inside all day for at least a week, insisting John would do the same, and letting Mrs. Hudson (who honestly had almost had a heart attack after finding out he was still alive) do all the grocery shopping if any needed.

And so John entered the living room, dressed and well. Slightly amused at the sight of his friend, who was now looking more impatient than ever.

"Come on then, I thought we had a case." he said to a way too excited looking Sherlock who was sitting in his chair, impatiently tapping his foot on the ground. As he saw John he jumped up, and almost flew towards the front door as he yelled "Finally! Mrs. Hudson, were off out!". He grabbed his coat and scarf as he already started running down the stairs. At the sight of this, John just shook his head and followed.

The taxi ride to the crime scene was an absolute torture for both Sherlock and John. The detective constantly snarling at the highly irritated cabbie that he had to buck up, and that he was obviously making detours. John trying to calm him down by saying that bodies couldn't just walk away from a scene and that they would get there in time.

And finally, after what seemed like ages from Sherlocks point of view and like the longest cab ride of his life from Johns, they arrived.

They were standing in front of a horribly posh looking house, and the bright yellow tapes that were strung around it looked very out of place. You could say the same of all the policemen in their neon green outfits that hurt your eyes. As John looked up and down the street he saw the other houses in it looked almost identical. All with an old-fashioned exterior, and very decent looking lawns.

The building that had to be the crime scene was surrounded by police cars, and its front lawn was full of policemen talking to each other and taking notes. Some men in special-looking suits were entering the house, a couple of them had photo cameras with them.

John wondered what exactly could have happened here. It was not really the street where you'd expect a murderer to strike. Especially because all these houses probably had a very good alarm system. So if they were speaking of murder, the killer had probably known the victim, considering it would be quite impossible to just break in somewhere.

"Ah, Anderson, such a pleasure as always." John's thoughts were interrupted by Shelocks voice. He had spotted Anderson, who had been busy scrabbling something in his notebook and was looking more annoyed than ever.

"Don't you ever think that just because you popped out for a few months and came back because of some magic trick that I should tolerate you now. The fact that Greg wants you in, doesn't mean I have to agree. And this is still my investigation, for the record. Are we clear?"

"Quite clear. Thank you, Anderson. Nice to see you again. And I also cannot help but notice that you have something red on your lower lip. I am still not implying any unnecessary things, but isn't it just the case that Sergeant Donovan is wearing the exact same lipstick color today? It really seems nothing has changed in my temporarily resignation. How nice." Before Anderson could respond to this, one of the police men in the neon green outfits turned around at the sound of her name and smirked.

"Oh hey, Freak. You again? I've quite enjoyed ten months without you contaminating our crime scenes. Shame you couldn't stay away for a little longer. But you'd do everything to come back to your boyfriend, right? Really understandable." She nodded at John, who blushed slightly and didn't know what to say, with a look of satisfaction on her face.

Sherlock just gave her his most innocent smile. "Oh yes Sally, you ought to be right. But that wasn't too difficult to deduce, was it?"

With these words he grabbed Johns hand, and turned his head towards the doctor. John understood the link and couldn't help but smirk as he got what Sherlock was doing. He leaned in and before someone could say something the two were snogging each other in front of an utterly confused looking Anderson and Donovan, who for once didn't know what to say.

As he pulled back, Sherlock pushed the two of them aside. Not letting go of Johns hand, who mumbled: "Now people won't ever stop talking." Sherlock laughed and as he turned his head to his friend he mumbled back: "Well, at least we gave them something to talk about."

"Now where is Lestrade. I thought we had a case to solve, hadn't we?"

THE END