*glass shatters*
"Sherlock how many times do I have to tell you not to leave the beakers so close to the edge if the table" John said.
It had been a month since Sherlock returned to him after faking his own death.
While Sherlock was 'dead' he and John were wrecks. Neither could stand it.
Sherlock hated seeing John torn apart and hurt so deeply at the loss of him and John couldn't bear to be without Sherlock.
At one point, John had given up, he stopped going out and talking.
When Mycroft saw John like this he knew it was only a matter of time before things became unbelievably worse, if there was such a thing past what john was feeling.
Sherlock saw this through their old flat's windows and couldn't stay away from John any longer.
He ran to the door, opened it and ran into the flat.
At first John just sat there. Staring. Making no movement whatsoever.
Sherlock walked a few steps closer and John stood up and started walking to him.
Slow, as if Sherlock was a dangerous dog who needed to be put on a lead.
When he was a half foot away he asked Sherlock," Are you really here? Are you really alive?"
"Yes" Sherlock answered," And I'm going to stay."