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"John?" Sherlock quietly questioned, his deep baritone voice wavering as he tried to mask the emotion that threatened to well up and spill over. John had rejected him. He had walked away and left Sherlock standing there. The detective had yearned be back in John's life; He had waited patiently to be with his John again. Sherlock was paralyzed with fear over this rejection. Did John no longer want him? Sherlock had been so sure that John was missing him the same way he was missing John. Though John's feeling were most likely strictly platonic. Sherlock could handle that. He had always handled that. He had never understood emotions. He was so sure that sentiment was a chemical defect found in the losing side. But since Dr. John Watson had come along, all that had started to change.
He still didn't think much of emotions, but he had started to feel. He had started to smile more often, cracked jokes and chuckled. He was finding a better life that wasn't always black and white. He found that the world could be bright and colorful. Of course, Sherlock had built a separate room in his mind palace for this new world of emotion. He shoved all those in so that he would not be distracted. But those emotions had a funny way of sneaking out when least expected. And there were certain times, late at night when regular people slept, where Sherlock allowed those emotions out, and he would revel in the beauty they created. It was at these times when Sherlock most wanted John. One of those times, was now. So the detective, after a short pause, followed after the doctor.
Sherlock moved silently, as always, up the stair. He hesitated at the door and placed his ear on the door so as to deduce what John was doing. He didn't hear snuffles, he wasn't sobbing. He heard nothing. Sherlock prepared himself for the worst, and barged inside. He looked around the room until his eyes found John, who was curled up on the bed.
"John, I am here. I am real," Sherlock asserted.
John looked up from his bed. His hair was untidy from where he had curled up into the pillow, and on his face, a few tears streaks could be seen. Sherlock looked to his eyes. They were watery and full of confusion, despair, and betrayal, but there was also something else. Hope. John appeared to be on the verge of some kind of mental breakdown.
"Sherlock, how do I know that you are real?" John croaked. His eyes hungrily took in the tall detective. This form he had missed for so long. Now, it seemed bittersweet that he should see it again, as it obviously indicated some kind of mental snap.
Oh well John thought maybe I don't care, if it means I get to see him again. That sounds crazy, even to myself, but honestly, I'm past caring.
John relaxed into the bed and stared up at Sherlock, looking slightly dazed.
Understandable Sherlock thought he thinks he is hallucinating. He saw me fall, and didn't know of my plan. A perfectly logical solution. He's probably frightened that some kind of mental problem is starting...How can I prove that I'm real.
Endless possibilities blazed through Sherlock's mind. He eliminated each one just as quickly as it came up, knowing the downfalls of each one. For he knew John, knew how his mind worked, and what could and couldn't convince him. The detective had done what he did best, and all those months with John, he had been gathering data, seeing and observing. He was slightly embarrassed to admit it, but he had done it so that he would know how to best woo John Watson, when the time came to put a plan into action. Now seemed to be a good time to use that knowledge. Sherlock eliminated all but one possibility.
This is crazy, but it is the only possibility. And when all other possibilities are eliminated, whatever remains, however improbable, must be true.
So Sherlock strode over to John's bed, grabbed John up off the bed, and pulled him into a hug. It felt so good to Sherlock, to be touching again, Holding his army doctor in his arms. He felt the warm rush of confusion.
"Sh-Sherlock, what the bloody hell-!" John sputtered, completely taken aback by this action. Never in a million years would he have thought that Sherlock could make emotion physical contact with another person. To be quite honest, John figured that intimate contact would cause him physical pain. Sherlock barely liked to shake people's hand, or allow even the briefest forms of physical contact, and now here he was, hugging John. John tried to squirm away to get a better look at Sherlock.
Sherlock just hugged tighter, willing John to feel how real Sherlock was. The tall man loved how well he and John fit together while embracing. John's head was high enough to rest on Sherlock's shoulder, but low enough to where he could bury his face into John's blond hair. Sherlock tried to take it all in, memorizing everything about John, the feel, the warmth, even the smell.
John was utterly confused by his hallucination's actions. He enjoyed it, but was baffled.
The Sherlock I knew would never do this. For that matter, how could a hallucination do this? He feels so real, but all of my dreams do. I can feel the sweat in my dreams, feel the cool of the pavement outside St. Barts., feel the impossible arms of Sherlock Holmes around him. A new thought slammed into John's brain. Those other dreams felt real because I have lived them. My mind was able to put those sensations into my dreams because I've experienced them before! But this is new. Sherlock has never hugged anyone, as far as I can tell. How could my mind insert this sensation into a dream? It has to be real. And it feels so right.
With this thought, John pulled Sherlock tighter into this embrace. His mind rejoiced, as he fully comprehended that Sherlock was real, had to be real. The army doctor allowed himself to mold himself into the hug. He let all the tension and rigidity that he had been hanging onto go, and let himself enjoy the feeling of Sherlock's deceptively strong arms around him.
Sherlock chuckled when he felt the tension leave John's body. He could feel the acceptance and joy radiate from John, and was absolutely thrilled. He allowed his face to nestle into John's hair, and let the euphoria he felt cleanse his brain of any thought that wasn't John.
After standing like this for a while, neither party wishing to be the first to surrender its hold over the other, Sherlock noticed John's weariness.
A combination of the late hour and lack of restful sleep no doubt Sherlock deduced. So quickly and smoothly, Sherlock pulled them both down onto the bed. It was rather small for both of them, so John ended up more on top of him than anything.