I really need to not watch fan videos on YouTube, because then I come up with stuff like this that will just not leave me alone. This is a one-shot, and pretty sure it will remain so. Just a little drabble that I had to get out of my brain so that I could write my other stuff. :) Hope you all enjoy!

Reviews/comments welcome!

Sherlock does not belong to me in any way, shape, or form. I'm just messing with the characters for fun.

"He's not really dead, is he?" John Watson demands of Mycroft as he bursts into the man's office, not having seen him for nearly two years, after the supposed death of Sherlock Holmes. Not since he came to Baker Street offering to pay for everything of Sherlock's t be packed up, and being thrown out by a still grieving John, who came very close to attacking the British government.

It's been two years since that day and John has never given up hope. Everyone has told him that he has to move on, that Sherlock was a fake, or that not even he could survive a fall like that. But John didn't, couldn't, believe that. He lived with the man for almost two years, he didn't for one second think that Sherlock could do something like that, think that he would take his own life. he was too clever for that, too arrogant, and too full of life. And bugger all if John didn't love him for it. Everything that he was, only realized too late. So he looked for signs, he lived off of Mrs. Hudson's charity and part time work that he got, plus savings and he suspected Mycroft helped as well, but he of course has no way to prove that.

Now he's put enough pieces together, figured out enough clues that he is 99% certain that Sherlock is alive, and out there taking down Moriarty's web one by one. He can't prove its Sherlock of course, that's the way the detective would want it, but he knows for certain that it is him, there's just too much that reeks of the detective, to him at least. So he's come to the one man who can confirm or deny everything he's gone through, he can put him out of his misery if he wants to. He's sure that if Sherlock faked his death, Mycroft has something to do with it.

Taking a moment to evaluate John's condition, Mycroft motions to his assistant who leaves the room, then he presses a button and the sound of doors locking comes from both sides of the room. "You're quite persistent, Dr. Watson." He states as he looks at the man before him, considering it for a few moments before he sighs quietly. "And before you ask, I did not know Sherlock was going to fake his death. Nor do I know where he is right now. I, like you, have found out what he is doing by examining the results. As I'm sure you have surmised, he is taking out what is left of Moriarty's web." The man says calmly, sitting back in his chair and steepling his fingertips together.

Hoping is different than having your suspicions confirmed, and now John feels like someone just hit him in the stomach with a baseball bat, making him slump over and have to sit down as he tries to take a few deep breaths, running a hand through his hair and closing his eyes. "He's alive. He really is alive. I'm not crazy." he says quietly, taking a few deep breaths before he nods a little, closing his eyes and starting to laugh softly, though the laugh gets cut off into somewhat of a sob. "So he did this to me on purpose. He just left." he says as he looks up at Mycroft.

"He would not have done so if it was not to protect you, Dr. Watson." Mycroft reveals as he watches the doctor, not wanting him to be too angry at his brother if he doesn't have to be.

"Where do you think he was, last?" John asks as he slowly stands up, his back stiffening, hands balling into fists at his side, very much the man that Mycroft first met in the warehouse. The soldier. Determined, and on a mission, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Sitting up a little, Mycroft sighs again, seeing the look of determination on John's face. "I thought it might come to this." he says as he pulls open a drawer and then slides a manila envelope across the desk toward John. "Everything you need is in there. Leave no trace of where you're going. Tell no one. Do not bring any devices which can be traced to you. There's an untraceable phone in there for emergencies." he says as he taps the envelope before he sits back. "Good luck, Captain Watson. Do bring my brother home in one piece." he says in a slightly dismissive tone.

Catching the change in how Mycroft addresses him, from Doctor to Captain, John reaches out and takes the envelope, nodding. "Thank you." he says before he tucks the envelope inside his jacket and turns on his heel to leave, heading back to Baker Street. Sitting on his bed, he finally opens the envelope to see everything from a passport to cash, to maps and locations of where Sherlock might be. Adding in what he knows and what he's been able to track down, John calls in a few favors to arrange transport, packing a single canvas duffel bag, leaving most everything there, packing up some food and water to bring with him before he leaves a note for Mrs. Hudson, just saying he has to get away from Baker Street, from everything, and not to contact him for a while, and he understands if she has to let out the flat, but to please not get rid of or sell any of his or Sherlock's things.

With one last look around, John nods to himself. "I'll see you soon, Sherlock." He says before he heads downstairs and hesitates as he steps out of the door, having even left the keys to the flat upstairs, just in case. He doesn't want anything to link him back to Baker Street, or his identity as John Watson, except maybe his gun.

Several planes, trains and other vehicles later, John arrives in Italy, looking around for a few moments before he rents a car with his alias that Mycroft provided him. It takes almost a month to be able to track Sherlock down, finding him in Greece. With his bag on his shoulder, gun tucked into the back waistband of his trousers, John approaches the small, one-room flat that Sherlock rented out, wearing just a pair of jeans and a t-shirt with his duffel over his shoulder. Taking a deep breath, he knocks on the door, standing to the side so if there is a peep hole, Sherlock won't be able to see him. When there's no answer at first, he's just about to knock again when he hears shuffling inside and then a familiar gait headed toward the door.

A pause, and then slowly the door opens, Sherlock on the other side, looking a little ragged an worse for wear, having a bit of stubble on his cheeks that makes it look like he hasn't shaved in a day or two, and he needs a bit of a haircut. That, and he, too, is just wearing a t-shirt with a button-up shirt open with the sleeves rolled up over it, and jeans with his normal dress shoes. He steps just into the doorway before he looks around, stopping and his eyes going wide as he sees John. "John? But.. how?" He asks in surprise.

"You bloody idiot. You bastard." John says as he glares at Sherlock, moving forward and shoving him back into the flat, slamming the door behind them both before he drops his bag to the floor. "I knew you weren't dead. I knew you were clever enough to fake it, you couldn't fake your skills. Not from me. Once I knew that, I had to figure out why you had to fake your death. So I started looking. And I saw what you were doing. Subtle, but it's there if you know what you're looking for, who you're looking for. You left me. I thought we were friends and you abandoned me." he says, seething with anger, his hands balled into fists.

Knowing that words aren't going to be good right now, Sherlock steps forward slowly, shaking his head. "I missed you, John.." he breathes as he stares at the doctor in front of him like he's some sort of miracle, before lifting his hands to frame the older man's face with them, finally swiftly leaning in to place a deep, desperate kiss on the older man's lips.

Shocked for a moment, John is soon returning the kiss, grabbing a fistful of Sherlock's hair to pull him down. Finally, he breaks the kiss because tears are starting to slide down his face. "You bastard. I thought I had lost you.." he says as he starts to cry, sobs being torn from his throat as he presses his face to the detective's shoulder, hands grasping at his shirt like a lifeline.

Surprised but pleased by the response, Sherlock shakes his head a little as he folds his arms around the older man, noticing how much weight he's lost. "I had to." he says softly, resting his head against the gray-blonde hair of the other man's head. "To protect you. To save you." He laughs a little, incredulous, shaking his head. "I never dreamed you would find me." he says with a shake of his head.

"Never again, Sherlock. Never again. Where you go, I go." John says in a firm tone, his voice a little broken, still hiding his face. Finally, he pulls back and wipes his cheeks. "I will kill you if you do this again." he says as he looks at Sherlock with a slight glare.

Nodding a little in agreement, Sherlock moves one hand to brush away the doctor's tears tenderly, smiling softly. "I did miss you, John.. you have no idea.." he says softly as he looks at him, stroking his cheek for a few moment.

That just about makes John hit him, but instead he shakes his head. "No. You don't get to do that. I know exactly how much you missed me, because I missed you, too. Only I thought I might be crazy, that you might not really be coming back. Never again." even now he seems a little uncertain, grasping the younger man's arms and nodding a little as if to reassure himself that the other man is here.

"You know, I may not be the great Sherlock Holmes, but I do know you. Better than anyone. I'm not an idiot."