Finally Home
Sherlock starred into John Watson's eyes - those dark and angry eyes which starred coldly back at him. Their oh so familiar blue were exactly as he'd remembered them these past two long years, if it wasn't for the fact that their twinkle of days gone by had now been replaced by a darkness which reflected an inner turmoil and his friend's unspoken pain.
He couldn't help it – the break in his voice as the lump swelled in his throat betrayed the emotion he'd fought to hide, and the tears welled in his eyes.
He'd dreamed of this moment for the past seven hundred and forty five days - he'd thought of nothing more than of seeing John again. It had been the only thing which had kept him going during what had transpired to be some of the most difficult days of his life, but it was only now that he was faced with the sight of his best friend standing before him that Sherlock Holmes realised that he was finally home - and really, truly safe for the first time in what had been two very long years.
