Welcome Home (iamsherlocked/John Hamish Watson)

Sherlock took a deep breath. He had been hiding out for a year, nothing had happened. He knew he really shouldn't come back, that John should just move on, thinking he was dead, but he couldn't do it. For his own selfish reasons, he couldn't do it. He steeled himself and opened the door to the flats, he climbed the stairs quietly and turned the key in the lock, letting himself into the flat. There was John, sitting in his chair, on his computer, drinking tea like nothing had happened. Sherlock considered leaving before John turned around, part of him couldn't stand messing up what looked like normalcy for John with his presence. But he cleared his throat and kept his eyes trained on John, he hoped that his throat clearing would cause John to turn around, because he didn't have the words to say.

John was sat at his laptop trying to update his blog. Ella had told him it would help. He needed to write about it, she said. It wouldn't bloody help. Nothing ever did. His best friend was dead and nothing was ever going to change that. Nothing was going to make /that/ better. Not some stupid blog or a stupid cup of tea. He sighed and took a sip staring at the blank screen. He was yet to type a word/

Suddenly John heard something behind him. Someone clearing their throat. They still got clients coming to the house occasionally. People who thought that John might somehow be able to help them, that just because he was Sherlock's friend he could do what Sherlock did. Well he couldn't. Nobody could ever be as amazing as Sherlock. Mrs Hudson always let them in, but John always turned them away.

"I'm sorry...I can't help you," he muttered without looking round. "And if that's you Mycroft just...leave me alone." He rubbed his eyes and tried to focus on his blog, hoping they'd go away.

"John, it's me." Sherlock said, trying to keep emotion out of his voice. He was wrong, John hadn't moved on. John was only worse for wear and it was all his fault. What he thought would be a happy sight, a sight that he would feel fond and bittersweet about instead made him feel more sad, wretched, and guilty than he had before. He took another deep breath, waiting for John to turn around.

John heard the voice behind him and his heart flipped over. No. It wasn't. It couldn't be. It was impossible. He stared at his hands and noticed they were both shaking uncontrollably, his heartbeat so loud in his ears he thought they might burst.

He slowly turned round in his seat, his eyes revealing a tiny bit more of the flat with every twist of his hips until finally, a tall figure with a shock of curly black hair and a long coat with an unneccesarily huge collar swung into his sightlines and yes it was...it was unmistakably him...Sherlock...his friend...Sherlock Holmes.

John quickly span back round in shock and closed his eyes, refusing to look. "No...no...." he mumbled to himself shaking his head. "Keep it together John...keep it together....this isn't real. Sherlock is dead. Get a grip damn it!"

Sherlock's heart dropped into his stomach, he had really scarred John. He strode over to John and sat down in his chair. "John it's me, I never died, I had to fake my death to save you. But I'm back now, the coast seems clear." Sherlock sat forward, placing his elbows on his knees and pressing his fingers together in thought. Every few minutes he would look up at John, but couldn't look at him the whole time.

John heard Sherlock's words, felt his movement in the room, was aware of him sitting down nearby, in his old favourite armchair, the one that John stared at every single night imagining Sherlock still sat there.

He kept his eyes closed for several minutes, his head swimming with thoughts. For a while he kept trying to tell himself this wasn't real, that he was imagining it, because in some ways, that would be easier to deal with, easier to handle than this sudden reality.

Finally he opened his eyes, slowly swivelling his chair round to look at Sherlock. He stared at him silently, blinking hard. He rubbed his eyes, closed them, opened them again.

No. It was definitely him. Sherlock Holmes was alive. Alive and sat right there in 221B Baker Street. He wasn't dead. He never was. He had faked his own death. All this time. All those months...all those days and nights John had spent mourning for his best friend and now he just comes sweeping back in like nothing ever happened.

"You....faked....your own death?" he repeated slowly. "Sherlock....no. I'm...have you an idea what this has....you
FAKED your own death?" John stood up out of his seat, his whole body shaking, feeling anger pooling inside of him.

Well, Sherlock hadn't of seen this any more wrong in his mind. He wasn't expecting John to deny his reality and then get angry. Sherlock sunk back into his chair, trying to put himself as far away from John as he could. "I know it was dreadful, what I did, but it was for your protection. I did it for you. I'm sorry, I'm sorry I couldn't have told you but that could have meant your death do you understand?" Sherlock looked at him with his cool grey blue eyes, trying to radiate calm to the other man but he was pretty shaken himself.

John couldn't even hear Sherlock's words. They were just a blur, a noise. His head was aching and throbbing, his chest hurting. He felt his left hand balling up into a fist and with a small strangulated cry he lashed out, landing a punch straight on Sherlock's cheek.

"Bastard," he cried, tears prickling his eyes. He grabbed Sherlock by the collar and hauled him back up, staring at him through his bleary vision. Then he let him go suddenly and stood up straight, feeling strangely calm again.

Sherlock cradled his cheek, bending forward in pain. "Fuck John! I'm sorry!" Sherlock exclaimed. He was stunned that John had hit him, although he couldn't quite blame him. He back looked up at John, his mouth slightly open in stunned silence, waiting to see what he would do next.

John stepped back, cradling his sore knuckles where he'd cracked Sherlock. "I....I'm sorry too," he stammered. "It's just...it's just...."

He stared down at his friend, not knowing what to say, then he leapt forward and threw his arms around him, grabbing him towards him in a tight hug. "Bloody hell Sherlock," he muttered. "You don't even know how much I've missed you."

A smile crept across Sherlock's face as he hugged John back tightly. "I've missed you too, more than you know." Sherlock rested his chin on top of the shorter mans head. Content just to be this close to John forever.

John held Sherlock tightly for several minutes, not willing to let go in case he just disappeared again, realising it was the first time they'd ever hugged.

Eventually pulled back and looked into the man's eyes. "You're definitely real aren't you?" he grinned. "I'm sorry I hit you it's just...really Sherlock...you're bloody impossible. But God...it's so good that you're not dead. It's...it's bloody brilliant," he laughed.

Sherlock smiled back, equally pleased to see John. "I'm sorry for all I put you through John, I wouldn't have done it if there was any other way, and I won't leave you again." Sherlock's voice took on a solemn tone towards the end, meaning every word he said.

John looked deep into Sherlock's eyes and he certainly appeared to be sincere. In fact, he'd never seen him looking so serious. He didn't have that usual glint in his eye when he was joking or playing around or being sarcastic.

John nodded slowly. "I....I believe you Sherlock. You know....someday soon you'll have to sit down and tell me everything, absolutley everything but not right now. Right now I just want to enjoy you being back. Being...alive."

A small smile then returned to Sherlock's face, John wasn't mad enough to force them to have a difficult conversation right now. He took a deep breath and relaxed a little. "What would you like to do then?" He looked curiously at the shorter man, trying to deduce what he was thinking from his subtle movements and postures.

John sat down next to Sherlock. He grabbed the detective's long arm and draped it over his own shoulders, tucking into his armpit and resting his head on his friend's chest.

"I just want to hold you and make sure you don't disappear again," he whispered, listening to the beating of Sherlock's heart. They had never been this physical together before and it was enjoyable. God knows he'd imagined this moment many times during Sherlock's absence. This and more. Much more. But there was no way he was about to let Sherlock know that.

Sherlock was shocked by John's sudden intimacy but at the same time extremely pleased. He liked the feeling of John's small muscular body next to his, his head on his chest. After a moment of fighting with himself, he rested his head on top of John's. "I will never leave you again John, until you want me to. I promise." Usually Sherlock thought promises to be a trivial thing, how could one truly promise that they would never do something again? But in this case, he truly meant it.

John felt his hand automatically move up to rest on Sherlock's chest next to where he had placed his head. As he listened to his friend's gentle heart beat his fingers idly stroked the man's neck. He wasn't even aware of himself doing it.

"Why would I want you to leave Sherlock?" he asked. "I never want you to leave. Ever."

"Some day you may tire of me," Sherlock's voice rumbled in his chest, "and then I would go, but I will never leave you against your will again. I'm quite sure that we are safe." He rested his other hand on John's leg, beginning to rub it gently.

John snuggled up even closer into Sherlock's chest, tucking himself under his friend's chin.

"I'll never get bored of you Sherlock," he chuckled, "you're amazing."

John could feel his heart pounding rather loudly and he wondered if Sherlock could hear it, and with a bit of a blush he said, "you know we've never actually hugged before."

Sherlock smiled to himself, he never got tired of hearing John's praise, although sometimes he would try to play it off, it did mean a lot to him. "I suppose we haven't," Sherlock mused out loud, "Although it surprises me that we never did. I'm just not much of a physical person." He let his words hang in the air, waiting for a reply from John.

"I know you're not," John whispered close to Sherlock's ear. "And it's fine. Really. I guess....I guess I'm not much of a physical person either. Otherwise I wouldn't have had such disasters in my love life..."

He rolled his eyes and smirked. "Still can't keep a girlfriend longer than a couple of months....keep talking about you too much apparently..."

Sherlock smiles, while he was known for being highly intelligent, he was also known as a consulting 5 year old, and his next comment highlighted the latter, "Well if you like me so much why don't you marry me?" He said in a teasing tone, looking at John fondly.

John blushed furiously and looked away. It was as if Sherlock could read his thoughts. Knowing him he probably could.

"Well maybe I should marry you," he laughed. "That'd make sure you never bloody left again. I wouldn't let you out of my sight."

Now it was Sherlock's turn to blush, he hadn't expected that reaction, not that it was unwanted, just unexpected. "Well then maybe we should." he said, looking away at something distant only he could see. He tightened his arms around John, holding him closer.