Come back to me (Sherlock Holmess/John Watson MD)

John refused to think about suicide for one simple reason.
He didn't want to stop remembering.
He was probably the only one who had believed in Sherlock when he threw himself off that building, and he had to keep that legacy alive.
He was going to prove Sherlock was innocent.

As much as it hurt to be without him even after three years, as much as he missed him like he never missed anyone before, he still had to go on, he had to be strong.

It was one thing telling himself that, but it was quite another to actually wake up in the morning.
It hurt.
It physically hurt.

Because his life was boring.
Even when he helped Lestrade, it just wasn't the same.

It wasn't the work he missed, it was the person of Sherlock Holmes.
He missed taking care of Sherlock.
He missed all the things he learned from him.
He missed how they laughed together, his humor, his brilliancy.

He knew Sherlock hadn't killed himself.
Or better.
He knew he had done it to protect them.
It was obvious.
Or maybe John just wanted to believe that Sherlock would never up and leave him like that.
Not when John trusted him over anything and anyone.

So every day was leading into the next, his progresses in the case against Moriarty were slow and far apart, and his work took a lot of time from him.

He didn't date any more.
He felt he couldn't love anyone.
His heart had been torn apart, broken, he couldn't possibly connect with anyone.

He was perfectly content. Lonely.
As long as he could sit in his chair, look at the one that was Sherlock's.
And remember.
It was three years today.

Ever since Sherlock disappeared he had been hiding in one of Mycroft's governmental houses. They don't really exist though they are there. It had been good for the days being, but it never felt like home. Sherlock did no plan on sitting around, waiting for things to come around. No, he decided to start taking down Moriarty's network.

Sherlock believed that I he could manage to fake his own death, moriarty could do the same. He couldn't risk the fact of this dangerously insane man to get ahead of him in this. For the last 3 years Sherlock managed to set up tricks and take cells down, one by one. When he finally managed to take down a main London cell he decided the network was harmless. At least harmless enough to make it safe to return. Return?

Occasionally Sherlock had spied on John. He followed him down the busy streets of London, down to the graveyard even once to a restaurant where he had a date. Sherlock had heard how he told this woman he couldn't do it because of him. It broke Sherlock completely and he couldn't do this to his friend anymore.

That rainy Wednesday morning Sherlock sat up straight in his bed. Today it had been 3 years. 3 long years that had tired him out. He missed John, his job, his violin... He planned on mycroft visiting John this afternoon but his impatient self could no longer hold back. He wanted to go home, now.

Sherlock dressed up the way he used to. Purple shirt, black trousers and a blazer. His hair was slightly longer then it had been before, but his appearancedidnt bothered him much. He went outside and called out to a cab.

"221b baker street please"

John stirred from his thoughts only when he heard his phone beep. He looked at it lazily and noticed it was Mycroft.
The man was always checking on him.
One would think it was his mission in life to make sure John kept on living after his brother's demise.

John thought it was rather ironic.
But Mycroft at least would remember with him, he wouldn't change the subject awkwardly like everyone else.
As if it wasn't allowed to speak about Sherlock.

His fingers moved to his forehead, rubbing it thoughtful.
Mycroft wanted to see him. Of course. He wouldn't miss the anniversary.
But John wanted to go to the graveyard as well.
And he wanted to be alone for that.
Because even after this long, he wasn't comfortable with people watching his pain.

He texted Mycroft quickly, asking him to come in the evening, and stood up to gather a few decent clothes.
He wondered if he still had that jumper Sherlock complimented him for.
It was just that once.
Sherlock never complimented his appearance in any way. Just that once.
Funny he still remembered that, he thought as he changed.

Sherlock impatiently tapped his finger on his knees. He couldn't remember the cab ride taking this long? Or perhaps the fact he was dwelling on it and dying with nerves might be why as well. He stared out of the window, picturing John sitting in his chair, just staring. The imagine broke his heart all over. There was no way he could wait for Mycroft to come along, he needed to do this himself.

Mycroft had warned Sherlock about John's reaction though. He said he might as well get angry and never wanted to see him again. Or get an emotion breakdown. Anything but being happy, if he had to believe his brother. Sherlock on the other hand believed John indeed would be happy to see him. Perhaps he wouldn't show it in the beginning but inside, he will. He will, right?

The taxi slowed down and Sherlock felt painfully familiar with the neighbourhood. "There." He muttered as he threw some money to the cab driver, who didn't even take the time to reply to him. Not that Sherlock would have cared if he did, though. He inhaled deep, staring at the numbers on his front door. 221B, it never felt so good to just see them.

Sherlock held up his hand, hesitatingly. Should he perhaps call John first? Just to see if he even wanted him to come over? God no. What was wrong with him? His mind didn't seem to corporate on anything. And he was nervous, extremely nervous. His hands shaking as they slowly moved to the bell.

Riiiiiiing.

John started, his thoughts disappearing in a pop, when he heard the doorbell go off.
He wasn't expecting anyone.
Unless Mycroft was early?
Mycroft was never early though.

He frowned, calming his heart, it could be a client.
They still came at times.
Not that he could help them anyway.
Instinctively, he checked his gun was hidden under his belt as usual.
Always ready.

He took his stick and slowly limped down the stairs. His leg always got worse during anniversaries.
He couldn't believe it was three years already.

He sighed as he opened the door, fighting the black hole in his chest.

Then his breath left him completely.
He would recognize Sherlock in between a million.

Blue eyes were wide.
The cane in his hand falling to the floor.
An instinctive step back that had him stumble back until he hit the stairs.

The steps hitting his back.
He didn't feel the pain.
He was too busy staring and gaping at his best friend.

"You're dead," he pointed out helplessly.
His heart in his throat, his voice breaking.

This isn't happening.
It is.

Sherlock tried to put on a smile as he heard the door clicking out of its lock, but once he saw John's expression he went pale. "Hello John." Was all he could say before his best friend seemed to collapse on the floor.

Sherlock straight away walked in, kneeling in front of him.
"John. It's me." He said softly. "I'm not dead." Of course he wasn't, he was standing there.

"Are you okay? Just say something, anything?!" Sherlock was unfamiliar with the situation, but John didn't seem well. His hands reaching up, cupping the doctor's face. It felt so good being able to touch him, to let him know this is real.

Sherlock's heart was beating in his throat, blood and adrenaline rushing through his veins. He had no idea what to do or say, but all he wanted right now was to hear John's voice.

John couldn't believe his eyes.
And then all his senses as they were overwhelmed with Sherlock.
His scent.
His touch.
Warm and alive.

He was here.
He was real.

"How-?" he stammered, his hands nervous and anxious as they reached towards him, grabbing the other man's collar, dragging him down to his eye level.

He was there, he was real, it was all he could think about.

"Sherlock," he added, his whole body shaking like a leaf.

His hands balled into fists on the other's shirt.
"Do you have any idea how much... how much... how much I missed you?"

He bowed his head, his eyes welling up with tears.
"You better have a good excuse," he laughed in between the tears he was trying to hide.

"It's okay John, calm down." He spoke reassuring as he felt and saw his friend shaking. Though his own body was reacting quite the same. "Doesn't matter how, I'm back. For good." He whispered, now close to John's face.

His thumbs ran over the other's cheek as he felt tears starting to fall down. His own eyes filling up, blurring his sight.

"I have an idea, yes. I missed you just as much." He said, now pulling John close against his chest. "I'm so sorry, John." he repeated a few times.

"I had to do this. Moriarty had assassins ready to kill you, Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson if they didn't saw me toss myself of that roof. I had to do this to save them, to save you."

Sherlock's hand ran through John's hair. He couldn't believe this was happening. He had been waiting for this moment ever since he'd been gone.

Calm down?
John didn't think he would ever be able to calm down.
This was more than he could take.
His friend, his only friend, the person he had mourned for the last three years was now back, alive, in his arms.

He buried his face in the other's chest, taking in Sherlock's scent and his heart seemed to go ever crazier.
God.
This had to be heaven.
This had to be an hallucination.
It couldn't possibly be real.

"How? I saw you fall... you were dead..." he stammered, even though he didn't care that much, the most important thing was to know that this was real.

He pulled back suddenly, and cupped the other's face with his hands, bringing him oh so close, searching the eyes he knew very well even after this long.
"This is really you... you are here... you are back..." he repeated, not able to stop the tears.

"Molly helped me fake the records, it all had been a trick John. It needed to be conventional. It was risky, but worth every bit of it." His voice kept low and shaking from all the emotions he felt.

Sherlock felt happiness, sadness, relief and doubt all at the same moment. He was happy to see john, to have him this close and to be able to touch him. But the sadness about what he had caused, how much he had hurt his best and only friend kept ringing through as well. Not to mention the doubt he felt, the fear of John changing his mind once the adrenaline had disappeared from his veins.

"Yes. Yes I'm here. And I won't ever go again." He replied, his eyes probably red from crying as well. "John, it's so good to see you again." He whispered.

John's finger slid on the other's cheek, down his neck, Sherlock was here, he was warm, he was breathing.
His mind seemed to be stuck in a dangerous loop.

"You should have told me..." he whispered, but there was no anger, he was rather sure there was a reason Sherlock had been away from so long.
Maybe he was just being pathetic, trusting him even after this.

"God Sherlock," he exclaimed, his heart beating oh so fast. "I missed you so much... I thought I would die for how much I missed you... God..."

He laughed, his eyes finally showing the happiness that was quickly filling his chest.
"It's good to see you too! It's great to see you! Sherlock, you are alive! I couldn't ask for anything more!"

A shiver ran down Sherlock's spine as he felt john's warm hands on his bare skin. It felt so welcoming, so good. Sherlock's head leaned forward, resting against his best friend's. " I couldn't tell you John. You'd be in danger, he would come an kill you. I had to make sure you were safe." he whispered back.

Sherlock laughed back, everything felt so familiar. "yes I am back. And I am not going anywhere ever again. Besides perhaps upstairs?" he suggested. Their position on the stairs wasn't really comfortable, neither would it lead to approving looks from anyone who could see them like this.

"Am I safe now?" he asked, his eyes searching the other's face, wondering if he could really allow himself to hope this was for real and Sherlock was really back for good.

He laughed a bit as Sherlock mentioned moving upstairs.
"Yes, you are right," he muttered, his hands dropping away from the other's face.

He stood up shakily, the shock still making him feel completely overwhelmed.

He took Sherlock's hand, automatic, instinctive, he couldn't help it and he was not ashamed of it.
"Come home, Sherlock..." he whispered, pulling him upstairs, forgetting about his limp completely.

"Yes. I would have never came back if I didn't knew your safety was guaranteed." Sherlock reassured John with a smile as he lifted himself on his shaky knees. His gaze travelled through the whole hallway. Nothing had changed, not even the colour of flowers on the table next to the stairs. It felt right to be here.

Sherlock looked up at John as he felt the other's hand wrapping around his, he smiled slightly as he entangled his own with it. Sherlock didn't mind, 3 years alone had made him empty and longing for any kind of affection.
John's words made his shiver. Home, he was home.

"It's good to be home." He replied softly, following John up the stairs. Once the door leading to the living room opened, Sherlock inhaled as deep as he could while he closed. That scent, the scent of his flat, the scent of many memories and nostalgia. "God.." He whimpered when he let go and opened his eyes again. Reality slapped him right in the face. He had missed this so much.

It's good to be home...

John would have never thought he'd hear Sherlock say that, but after three years, he reckoned it was all the detective could think.
"This is surreal... it feels like a dream..." he whispered, almost to himself as he squeezed the other's hand.

"I couldn't bring myself to leave Baker street... I wanted to... remember... always..." he explained off-handedly, his eyes not able to move away from Sherlock. He needed to memorize this.
"I am glad I didn't leave..."

Sherlock brought his eyes back to level with John. He had missed just standing opposite his friend like this, staring into his eyes. It had happened so many times before yet this felt like the first time all over again. "Yes." He agreed. "I'm glad you kept it as well."

Sherlock had to fight off all kinds of impulses to touch John. Though, he needed it to clarify this all was actually happening.

"John." He whispered, leaning closer to his flatmate. "You will remember. Always. Because I won't ever leave again." He tried to sound reassuring.

John couldn't help smiling up at Sherlock, stepping closer as the detective leaned in, the other man's body felt like a magnet to him.
He needed to be closer, he needed to check whether he could believe this was real at all.

John was an impulsive man, he could not help himself in times of emotional distress, and it was no surprise that he reached up, automatically, his hand moving to touch the other's face again.
He had never touched him like this before, but he felt he needed it now and nothing was going to stop him.
"It's good to hear you say that... because I don't want to lose you again... those three years have been hell..."

Sherlock leaned in to John's touch. The warm hand sliding over his cheek made him shiver once more. Even though they had never touched each other like this, Sherlock felt as if it were something he had missed, something worth coming home to.

"I know. They've been hell for me too." He said, moving his head closer to rest is against John's. "I am so sorry." He whispered.

John's heart seemed to jump in his throat when their foreheads pressed together, it really felt like they were gravitating towards each other, like they couldn't stay away.
John felt it too, he needed to be close, and this was hardly enough.
It was eating at his heart.

And suddenly he was feeling the tension too, the way he wanted Sherlock like he never truly realized before.
"God... I am so happy you are here..." he whispered, closing his eyes, taking in a deep breath, taking in his scent, just feeling the pale skin of his neck under his fingers.

Sherlock close his eyes as well. John was close, so close, Sherlock could feel the heat of his breath floating over his face. John's words almost made Sherlock tear up again. He couldn't believe this moment was so intense, so emotional for both of them.

"I'm really happy to be here, with you, as well." he whispered as he lowered his head slightly, their lips nearly touching. "I missed you." he said just before pressing his lips onto John's. He had no idea why he was doing this, but it felt right. It felt as the only possible way to show John just how strong his emotions were at this point.

John's feelings seemed to be tied in a knot, he was craving for something he didn't think he would ever be able to get, and now that they were so close, he thought he could die right there in need.
All he could think about when Sherlock leaned closer, when he felt the other's breath on his face, was that he wanted him to kiss him.

Sherlock, I need you, please, please, please, kiss me, please, kiss me...

His soul sighed in satisfaction when Sherlock finally leaned in, his body instinctively moving closer, returning the pressure of lips.
Arms flew to wrap around the other's neck, pulling their bodies close, oh so close.
He just wanted everything of him.

Sherlock wrapped both his arms around John's waist. He pulled the man as close as possible while he deepened the kiss they were having. A warm feeling overwhelmed him. He couldn't believe they were doing this. Sherlock shut down his mind, he didn't need to think right now. All he wanted was John, and kissing was just the start of it.

Sherlock moved, turning both of them around before slowly started to walk forward. He pressed John into the nearest wall, pushing his own body against his friend's as close as possible while keeping him in a passionate kiss.

John had no idea they were moving until he felt the wall against his back, chills broke on his spine and shook his senses to the core.
He couldn't help but moan.
Who would have ever thought he'd moan because of Sherlock?

His body pressing against the tapestry as Sherlock moved closer.
They were so close.
But it still wasn't enough.

John had never felt he needed anything as much as he did Sherlock in this moment.

His arms tight around his neck he was stretching to reach Sherlock's lips and his tongue was fighting against the other man's, trying to take in as much as possible.
He was eager, and he was aroused before he could wrap his head around what was happening.

Sherlock's heartbeat increased, his whole body pressing against John's. His hands cupping around the other's hip, pulling them closer against his own. And John moaned, he could feel the air exchange between them. His own tongue flicking around John's as if they were dancing together.

Sherlock pulled his face away just slightly, now moving it to kiss John's cheek down to the soft skin of his neck. He kissed down however far possible, every now and then slightly biting and sucking it, leaving marks all over.

His thoughts a haze, his body burning with need, he threw his head to the side, whimpering helplessly when Sherlock started sucking bruises into the skin of his neck.
His head a mess, he just knew he needed him closer.

"Sherlock," he moaned, his hands moving quickly to push off the other's jacket then moving to undo the buttons of his shirt.
He wanted more.