Waiting
A dark haired figure was standing besides the window, his emotionless face illuminated by the city lights.
Waiting Sherlock Holmes stared at the house opposite him. He had nearly reached his target. Two and a half years ago he had started bringing down Moriarty's web. Carefully he took each of the spider's men out, one after the other. Tonight he would take care of the last one.
After tonight it would be over. He would be free. He could go back.
Back home. Back to him-John.
Brave, loyal John.
The last time he had seen him in person was at the graveyard. He hadn't liked the way John had changed. Hadn't liked that John used his cane again. Hadn't liked the new lines on his face. Hadn't liked how John's voice broke, begging him to come back.
However, what he disliked the most was how John closed off. How he turned back into a soldier shutting his emotions out hiding behind his military training. He would have returned in that moment, so that John would not suffer anymore. But putting John in danger was simply unacceptable.
Therefore, Sherlock had proceeded to bring Moriarty's web down, eliminating the tread so that he could return to John one day.
The first few months he did his best not to think about John and concentrated on his task but he was not successful. Somehow John always found his way back into Sherlock's mind. When he could not take it anymore he contacted Molly hoping she would tell him how John was cooping.
And Molly understood. Without having to ask she told him about John. How John used his cane again, how he still refused to put anything of Sherlock's things away and how he had done nothing in the first few month, how he started to work at Sarah's praxis recently, how he , Lestrade and her would go to the pub once a week.
Since the first time he had called Molly once a month. It had helped hearing about John, reminding him why he was doing all this, but he still missed him. Sometimes, when his mind just would not stop, he hacked into Mycroft's security system and watched John through the cameras.
However, all this did nothing to lessen Sherlock's desire to see John again-face to face. He missed John.
He missed their talks, the way John's voice changed whenever he got emotional, missed the way he made tea and even his nagging to just eat something, he missed John's presence-the way Sherlock just felt more at ease with him around, grounded, missed the way John-
A movement on the street caught his eye. His target had finally arrived. Turning away from the window Sherlock got ready.
The waiting was finally over.