After a few minutes Sherlock managed to stop the tears, and in a rare admission of what he would call weakness he wrapped his arms tightly around John and buried his head in the crook of John's shoulders.
John held on to him tighter and started stroking Sherlock's curls in a soothing manner. When Sherlock didn't pull away, he braved making quiet shushing sounds in the hopes of calming him down. He then wiped at his own tears with his free hand.
They stayed like that for a long time until Sherlock had finally calmed down and only the occasional hitched breath lingered. He slowly extricated himself from John's embrace, but as he did so John held on to his hand and refused to let go.
He looked up at Sherlock, whose eyes were puffy and red rimmed. "Feel better now?" Sherlock could only nod. "Are you ready to listen to me?" Sherlock nodded again.
"Okay, good, listen carefully," John said as he cleared his throat. "Sherlock Holmes, you are and always will be my best friend. There is not a single person in this universe or any other that could ever replace you."
The two men held each other's gaze intently, Sherlock hanging on to every word and John making sure he did so. "Sherlock, I am so, so sorry," he continued. Sherlock looked confused, but said nothing. "I'm sorry I didn't see it before. I know I'm not as clever or observant as you but I should have noticed.
"Noticed what?" Sherlock asked quietly.
John eyed him sadly, "How much you're hurting."
A sigh of relief came whooshing out of Sherlock. This was what he had been waiting for since his return. For someone to observe, not just see. He was so relieved that someone had finally realised that he wasn't nearly as okay as he wanted everyone to believe, that he didn't have the heart to deny anything John had said. He may be a good actor, but John had always seen past his acts and confronted him about it.
"My best friend came back from the dead after two years of being away taking down a criminal network to protect me and the people he loves and I didn't think that maybe that would have repercussions." John sighed, disappointed in himself. Not only was he Sherlock's best friend, he was also a doctor. "I should have kept an eye on you. I should have noticed you were injured and hurt and upset and I'm sorry I didn't."
Sherlock placed his own hand over John's, and held on to it tightly. "You did more for me than you can imagine."
John scoffed. "I can't take credit for what a hallucination of me did for you, Sherlock."
"But you can," Sherlock reassured him. "The greatest strength I had when I was out there by myself was you. I had something to come back to, no matter what happened. You saved my life, John."
"You saved mine first." John tried to blink back tears. He wasn't used to these displays of affection, much less with Sherlock. The few times he'd let himself show his true emotions had either been life and death situations or when he was alone. Even then it was difficult for him.
He had been shocked to hear all the wonderful things Sherlock had said about him at the wedding. Not because he didn't think they were true, but because it meant so much that Sherlock had talked freely about them in front of so many strangers. Somehow that had made it even more special, and in the face of Sherlock's confusion when the tears began to flow he could no longer resist the urge to hug his best friend. To show him how much he appreciated his words and everything he had done for John.
It seemed Sherlock felt the same way because he dropped down from the chair onto the floor in front of John and hugged him.
John returned the hug as soon as he realised what was happening, holding on to his friend tightly, as though that would keep them both from crumbling.
The comfortable silence stretched on for a few seconds before John groaned, "My knees are killing me," an amused smile on his face.
Sherlock pulled back and started laughing, all the pent up emotions of the last few minutes being released in that laughter. John quickly joined him and soon they were both near tears again, but for a completely different reason. Every time they stopped they'd look at each other and start laughing all over again.
It was a few minutes before they managed to get a hold of themselves and John went back to making tea while Sherlock went to sit in the living room.
While he was finishing up John thought of something to ask Sherlock. He was hoping it would help the detective feel less left out and it also meant they would be able to spend some time together.
He walked back into the living room carrying two mugs of tea and put one in front of Sherlock. "Why don't you come over for dinner one day, Sherlock?"
The detective's head snapped up in surprise. "To yours and Mary's?"
"Yeah," John sat down next to him on the sofa and sipped his tea. "You are Mary get along, which I still don't understand but I'm not complaining," he chuckled. "You could see the house, deduce our entire lives, as you like to do, and maybe we could even play a game of Cluedo."
At this the detectives' eyes lit up. He could always be bribed with a good game of Cluedo. "That seems acceptable," Sherlock conceded.
No matter how casual Sherlock sounded John could tell he was excited. And he suspected it wasn't just the idea of the game that pleased him. Having been invited to what was essentially John's new life was clearly a big part of Sherlock's decision making. But regardless of the reason John was just looking forward to spending some time with his best friend.
The same could be said for Sherlock. He now had an opportunity to see John without having to work around dinner times and work hours, or trying to convince him to come to the latest crime scene or bribing him with Mrs Hudson's cooking.
They settled on a time and date, not long after John and Mary's return from their honeymoon. John didn't leave until Sherlock promised that he would make it and no crime scene or experiment would keep him away.
When Sherlock closed the door behind John he felt more like himself. His headache was thankfully gone and he had actually thought of an experiment that he needed to conduct to help with one of Lestrade's cases.
He walked up the stairs to 221B already making a mental list of equipment he would need. When he entered the living room he was once again met with the sight of an empty flat, devoid of any of John's stuff, but more importantly devoid of John.
He found himself frozen in the middle of the living room staring at John's chair and trying to ignore the loneliness already creeping up his entire being.