He calling me from the living room. Loudly. Demanding my attention.

"Sherlock?" He's lying on the couch, glaring at the ceiling. He's bored.

"John?" He looks up at me. "What are you doing here?"

"You called me," I answer, slightly bewildered.

"Yes," he says, "and you came. I called you and you came." Then he smiles. It's not a classic Sherlock smile, and there's no sense of 'up to no good' behind it. It's an actual happy smile. He seems happy to see me. He seems happy.

He sits up on the couch, neatly swinging his legs around to the floor & I sit beside him. Like natural reaction, I barely notice I'm doing it.

Then he turns to look at me from where he's sat. He places his hand on the side of my face and then unsuspectedly pulls me in and kisses me, so lightly and nervously, almost like an exchange between friends. But it's not.

I wrap my arms around him and he pulls me in toward him, stroking my hair and kissing my head comfortingly. It's so un-Sherlock, but I don't care.

"What are you still doing here, John?" he whispers in an almost wistful tone. Then his voice turns raspy as though he's going to cry, and he repeats "Why?"

I try and speak but I can't say anything, so I just let him hold me, crying in his arms while he kisses my head. I let him, and I let it carry on because doing anything else is pointless. I don't care that it's a dream or that it's so un-Sherlock, because it's him and me and that's all I've wanted. Even now, it's all I want.