The italics are John's thoughts...

Shock turned his legs to jelly, sent his thoughts spinning, a frantic repetition of a prayer, 'Dear God let it be true, please let it be true'.

The man in front of him was speaking, but John couldn't hear anything over the prayer in his head, 'Please tell me you are real, you must be real'.

Barely breathing he listened hard for that elusive sound, the prayer stuttering slightly before picking up the new mantra, 'Is that you breathing? Please let me hear you breathing'.

The man in front of him looked puzzled, and John's prayer became desperate, begging for the one thing this man alone could do, the one thing John had never feared as others had, 'Deduce me, see what is holding me here, tell me my fears are unnecessary'.

Sinking slowly into the armchair, his armchair, John waited and watched, watched as the tall figure slowly crossed the room and knelt before him.

He watched as slender hands reached gently forward, calm and soft, as if to still the terror of a wild animal or frightened child, and as warm palms caressed his cheeks his breath hitched, and his tears flowed.

Leaning forward, he fell into Sherlock's embrace, one hand clutching his curls, pulling him in for the kiss, the other pressed against his heart, feeling it beat.