I know it's been forever since I updated, but here I am! I've only two more weeks of classes and then finals, so I'm pretty happy. And if anyone here follows my story "Aftermath," here's a surprise for you! ((I'm almost done with the brief sequel!))

His Words

John sometimes stuttered. He often mispronounced a word or two when they were new to him. His vocabulary wasn't nearly as broad as Sherlock's and his accent threw in a few more words.

But when John talked, it wasn't about the complex way he could voice his thoughts. No, it was about the words that came out. To be quite honest, he didn't listen to them half the time when John was still a new addition to his life. Now as a permanent structure, it was a different story.

When John talked, the consulting detective didn't. Sherlock could feel his mind slow, absorbing the words like a water deprived plant. He would watch John's lips form the words, listen to them as they fell, and grasp the meaning. It was truly magnificent to have John talking. The good doctor didn't have a problem with talking either. While he was still the ever polite and logical man, John could voice his opinion without hesitation. That's why when he returned to Baker street, the silence he was met with actually frightened Sherlock.

….

Sherlock twirled the contents of his beaker to mix the solution thoroughly. He placed it back on the hot plate and upped the temperature. Watching the beaker, he noticed out of the corner of his eye a movement in the room behind him. Sherlock flinched as two hands slipped around his waist and a smaller frame was pressed tightly to his back. He didn't move as John laid his cheek to the back of his shoulder and sighed. The blond pulled back shortly after and went about preparing his tea.

Ah yes, those hugs. He had only returned three days ago, but John had adapted the urge—no, the need—to touch him. He was sure it was to confirm he was truly there and not a hallucination. John touched him more than said anything aloud. The raven stared at John's back, his blue robe left untied and only just passing mid thigh. Underneath, Sherlock would be sure to find no shirt and could see his faded sweat pants trailing under his heels. When John turned back to the consulting detective, Sherlock confirmed his belief. Facing him was John leaning against the counter with a steaming mug, shirtless. Sure enough, his stomach had thickened from his return home, but not so much that it took away from the toned muscles. Peeking from his shoulder was the discolored scar. John didn't say anything. He didn't even complain that his table was once more a lab bench, or even that Sherlock had burned his tea towel earlier when a small fire came about. John wasn't saying anything.

"Good morning, John. Did you sleep well?" Sherlock asked, even though he could tell from the dark circles under his eyes, John hadn't slept at all. The blond put down his mug and met the raven's eyes. He expected John to simply nod and turn away like he had for the last two mornings, maybe even a small mutter of good morning in return.

"I missed you." Sherlock nearly dropped the pen he'd been scratching away with. John hadn't said anything about his absence since he returned. He hadn't even mentioned how he felt after the short outburst in the doorway. Sherlock blinked, taken back by the words. Even more so, the emotion in his eyes accompanying the words.

Sherlock went to return the phrase, but only stumbled over the letters. He closed his mouth and turned away. He had missed John, terribly so, and he had every reason to tell him.

"You don't have to say it, Sherlock. I know." John ran his hand over the raven's shoulder as he took his mug with him, moving into the lounge. Sherlock was on his feet immediately.

"But, I wish to say how I feel." He admitted, voice a tad bit louder than normal. John looked at him surprised. Sherlock averted his eyes, walking over to the mantel. He didn't see the smile spread over John's face.

"However, I have trouble finding the appropriate emotion to fit with the words." He heard John's mug be set down.

"Sherlock, sometimes words aren't that important. Sometimes actions speak louder than words, I'm sure you've heard that. Like you can tell a person's life from a glance, I understand what you want to say by how you act sometimes. It's alright if you can't say it, as long as you can at least show a bit of it, then it's fine. Maybe one day you'll be able to say how you feel, but until then, it's alright to be silent, Sherlock. I don't mind one bit." John explained, pushing himself to his feet. The consulting detective turned to him and opened his mouth, only to quickly close it again. Instead, he closed the gap between himself and the doctor, pulling the shorter man to his chest and wrapping him in his long arms. He felt John's arm come to twine about his waist.

…

Because John could use words, he wasn't expected to. But that didn't mean he didn't want to.

"Sherlock, I'm back." John's voice carried from the lounge. The raven shot up from his chair and sauntered into the living room. After hanging his coat on the rack, the blond turned about to face his lover. Sherlock gave him a broad smile.

"I missed you, John."

Hope you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading!