For the next week, Sherlock, John, and Hamish closed themselves in 221B. Sherlock took up his violin again, along with Hamish, who was starting up music lessons at his London school. John continued to tell Mr. Doyle and Mary about Sherlock's other cases, as well as details about Dublin, leaving out the more upsetting parts of the story—parts he would relate to Sherlock later, in private.

John was healing slowly. He stopped doing push-ups every day. He stopped carrying a pistol in his coat. He explained to Hamish why he had to lie to him, and though it was difficult, John explained to Sherlock how he had gained Moriarty's trust.

Sherlock, having put together most of the pieces himself, didn't enjoy hearing what John had had to do, but understood completely why he had. He was mixed with jealousy and pride that John had managed to fool James Moriarty.

Even so, John and Sherlock's relationship needed mending. John was hesitant to get too physically close right away, which Sherlock didn't press.

Several weeks later, on a cool summer night, Sherlock stepped into his bedroom to find John waiting. He'd scrounged up candles and had turned the oil lamp on the bedside table low. John beamed up at Sherlock, clean-shaven. "Hello."

A smile tugged at the corner of Sherlock's mouth as he looked around the room. He had noticed some of the candles had gone missing. "Hello."

Sherlock reached up and loosened his tie. John stepped forward to help him, slowly pulling the silk loose from Sherlock's collar.

"So...how do you want me?" He looked up to meet Sherlock's eyes, awaiting orders as he began to unbutton his own shirt.

Sherlock frowned and grabbed John's hands, stopping them on the second button. He searched John's face and realized that John was serious. He realized with horror exactly what John had gone through for the past year, but swallowed his shock and said gently, "John—I…not like that. This is give and take…I'm not Jim. I don't want to just…take you…"

John dropped his hands, startled at how fucked-up his whole situation with Moriarty had been. The worst thing was that he'd gotten used to it; being an object for Jim had become second nature. "Sherlock, I…what if I've forgotten how to do this? How to be normal? When I walk down the street I still…I still catch myself looking at target points instead of people. What do I do?" John looked up at him desperately.

Sherlock moved his hands up to hold John's face and looks him in the eye, fighting back tears himself. "You haven't forgotten, John, you haven't. It came with time and it will pass with time. You can do this, and I will be right here wither you when you do." He held John's gaze a moment longer, making sure the message sank in, then leaned his head down and placed a gentle kiss on John's lips, lingering a moment, eyes closed; before pulling back to look at him again.

John swallowed and nodded, overwhelmed. He leaned forward and kissed Sherlock very carefully, slowly, slowly opening his mouth to the kiss, keeping his tongue out of it for now. He moved his fingers, exploratory, up Sherlock's arms and to his face, touching his chin, his cheeks, before sliding his hands to rest behind Sherlock's ears.

Sherlock didn't push John, letting him take the lead, kissing him back slowly, his hands still on John's face, then slowly ran one through his hair and down his back to rest at his hip, the other sliding down to rest at the side of his neck, his thumb softly running back and forth under his ear.

John sighed against him, slowly stepping backwards to sit back onto the bed, taking Sherlock with him, never letting his lips stray far from his. He rested a hand at the side of Sherlock's neck and took two fingers to slide down Sherlock's back, vertebrae by vertebrae.

Sherlock sat on the bed next to John and shrugged off his waistcoat, dropping his tie to the floor. He slowly and hesitantly slid his tongue out to meet John's lips, but doesn't move it farther.

John felt electricity course through him. He opened his mouth a bit wider, meeting the tip of his tongue with Sherlock's briefly, then finally kissed him more deeply, letting his tongue explore Sherlock's mouth, inhaling sharply and grabbing Sherlock's back a bit tighter. As he came up for air, he breathed, "I missed you. So much."

"I love you John," Sherlock whispered, then leaned back onto the bed, pulling John on top of him, still kissing.

John slid his hand up Sherlock's shirt and tentatively touched the top button, then began slowly unbuttoning his shirt, moving his lips up to gently kiss Sherlock's closed eyelids. "I love you too," he murmured. The words felt so good, and he'd gone so long without saying them that he said it again. "I love you."

Once the shirt was unbuttoned, John leaned down to slowly pick from Sherlock's navel to his chin, tasting him. Sherlock tipped his head back and sighed, involuntarily sucking in his ghost of a stomach as John's hot wet tongue traveled across it. He clawed down John's back before he stroked up John's arms and shoulders, then continued unbuttoning John's shirt and pushed it off his shoulders. His biceps had grown and hardened considerably since they'd last been together. John felt harder in general, more trim, but it was still his John. He touched his bullet wound affectionately, letting his fingers trail through the light dusting of blonde hair.

John's breath quickened as he pulled closer, and he leaned down to kiss Sherlock again as Sherlock ran his hands along his arms. "Do I look different? From when you last saw me?" He left a trail of light, slow kisses up Sherlock's jaw to his ear, burying his nose in Sherlock's hair. He'd missed that smell so much. He could drown in it.

Sherlock ran a hand up John's neck to the back of his head, holding it against him, missing the feel of John, missing his smell, his smile, his touch—everything. Finally he whispered softly, "You look even more changed than Hamish does."

John turned his head so his lips were brushing Sherlock's. "Hamish certainly sprouted up though, didn't he?" He gave Sherlock a soft kiss, nipping at his upper lip.

Sherlock chuckled lowly. "I almost didn't recognize him at first…if he keeps this up, in a few years, he'll be taller than you." He kissed John again, sliding his tongue into his mouth and ran his hands down John's back and slowly slipped them into the back of John's trousers, gently grabbing at his bare skin.

John gasped and pressed against him, then laughed, still finding laughter such a surprising thing, then growled into Sherlock's mouth, "That's not funny." He pushed Sherlock's shirt off his shoulders, rolling him over slightly to the left and then to the right so he could pull the arms free, then sats up, looking at Sherlock and running his hands up Sherlock's arms from his wrists down to his chest and stomach, then back up to cup his face. He smiled.

Sherlock looked into John's eyes. "I missed you." He sat up himself, John straddling his thighs, and kissed him again, pulling him close. John pushed into the kiss, gripping Sherlock's back, relishing the feel of his spine and shoulder blades.

Sherlock groaned and arched his back, beginning to unbutton his and then John's trousers before running his hands up John's back, feeling scars there that hadn't been there before. His stomach turned, but that vanished when John leaned in to kiss Sherlock with more fervency, pushing him back onto the bed. John's hands were everywhere now, growing frantic. He murmured into Sherlock's mouth, "God—I want you—"

Sherlock clawed at John's back and bit at John's lip, sucking on it. "You can have me, John." He raked his nails through John's hair, and as John kissed him back, he yanked on Sherlock's trousers, sliding his hand inside to grab his erection, massaging along it as he worked down the trousers with his other hand.

Sherlock groaned loudly, pushing his hips up, reveling at John's touch. It had been so long. "God—" Sherlock clenched his pillow in his fists as his breath hitched.

John gives him another kiss, lingering, almost reverent, before sliding his lips down and brushing them over Sherlock's skin as he crawled down the bed toward Sherlock's cock, his lips finally meeting it to slowly lick up its length.

Sherlock shuddered, clenching his teeth, trying not to cry out, both in pleasure and anticipation. John took him in his mouth, slowly at first, gripping Sherlock's hips with his hands and stroking the hollow place above his hipbones with his thumbs as he pulled in deeper, sucking and increasing the pressure of his lips.

Sherlock's eyes rolled back and he squeezed them shut, curling his toes, breath catching. He'd forgotten how intoxicating John was, how good he made everything feel, how it felt like he wasn't just stimulating one sensitive part of his body, but he was adoring Sherlock's entire being. He shuddered, feeling pleasure hit him from head to toe.

John moved his hand back to grip Sherlock's bum as he pulled Sherlock in deeper, pulling in and out with greater speed, easing up every so often to keep Sherlock from coming too quickly. He had forgotten how much fun giving fellatio could be when he actually cared about his partner, when he wanted to pleasure him to the moon and back, to give him everything he could.

After a minute longer, Sherlock stuttered. "St-Stop!"

John drew away, looking up at Sherlock. "Do you want me to get on my knees now?"

Sherlock stared down at John incredulously, his chest still gasping for air. "G-God…no…John. I-I want you to fuck me, John—fuck me!" Sherlock demanded, then dropped his head back onto the pillow.

"Oh-" John's breath caught as he realized how fucked it up was that he still defaulted to subservience, then he pushed aside the thought and laughed. "All right!" He slid his tongue up to Sherlock's navel and kissed just above it before sitting up. He was halfway in the process of making Sherlock roll over when he changed his mind, steering him so that he was lying on his back once more. He slid off Sherlock's trousers completely, then stood on his knees to shakily remove his own.

Sherlock spread his legs and let his muscles relax, his breathing starting to slow and even out. John grabbed something from the bed stand, a small vial of oil. At least being with Jim had taught him something useful. He spread some on his fingers as Sherlock frowned at him curiously, then gently pushed Sherlock's knees up toward his chest and slowly pushed an oiled finger inside, his breath catching at the tightness, then worked it in and out, slowly adding a second.

Sherlock breathed deeply and tried to relax. It had been over a year for him and he knew he wasn't prepared.

John pushed his fingers further inside, carefully, then let them rest there for a moment. "Are you all right? We don't have to do this. I don't want to hurt you."

"No—I'm fine, do it," Sherlock said, taking a deep breath through his nose.

John pulled his fingers out, lubricated his cock, then very carefully pushed it in, pausing to let Sherlock get used to its width. Sherlock gave a small groan, and John pulled out and pushed in again, this time hitting Sherlock's prostate, making Sherlock arch his back and part his lips in a silent moan.

"All right?" John whispered.

"M-more—" Sherlock gasped.

John pulled out and pushed in again, finding a rhythm, gripping Sherlock's legs and draping them over his shoulders so he could scoot in closer. He held on to Sherlock's hips, groaning. "Sherlock—!"

As John moved, the uncomfortable stretching began to subside, and it was all pleasure as John hit Sherlock's prostate once more. He moaned and began bucking his hips up to meet John until it was pure pleasure, and John complied to his thrusts by moving faster. John shuddered above him, digging his hands more tightly into Sherlock's skin.

"God—John," Sherlock muttered as they kept going, the joy inside him tightening and building. "Fuck."

John cried out as his thrusts became harder, more resonant—he forced himself to hold back to a gentler pace for a few minutes, groaning, before moving the pace back up to his hardest thrusts. "Oh, God, Sherlock—I-I'm going to come!" John gasped. He was so, so close, and the next thrust deep inside Sherlock sent him over the edge.

The feel of John coming inside him sent Sherlock over the edge as well, and he came just after John, intense waves of pleasure washing through him. He fell limply into the mattress, gasping for air as John pulled out and crawled next to him, giving him a shaky, wet kiss. "We had a…lot of lost time to make up for…"

Sherlock let out a short, exhausted laugh. "Lucky for us…we have the rest…of our lives…to make up for it…" He leaned over to kiss John again, dropping his face down on the pillow next to him so close their noses are almost touching. John blinked away a couple of happy tears as looked over at Sherlock, finally so close to him again, as it should be.

Sherlock wiped an escaped tear off John's cheek with his thumb. After a moment, he pulled away to grab the covers, untangle them a bit, and pull them over the two to keep them warm from the cool night. He set his head back where it was and let his eyes roam over John's face, finding himself have to rememorize it as its changed so much.

John lets his eyes flutter shut, fully relaxing for the first time in what felt like a year, and scooted closer to Sherlock, resting his head under his chin.

Sherlock watched him, kissing his eyelids and lips gently. He'd spent so many nights alone that it seemed impossible that John was really here next to him. He almost didn't want to fall asleep in fear that John wouldn't be here when he woke up, as illogical as it was. "…Goodnight, John," Sherlock murmured, his eyelids drooping despite his efforts.

A few days later found the two men sitting in the living room. Hamish was back at his old school, and Sherlock was taking a break from case work for the day. John asked Sherlock why he had never replied to his last letter.

Sherlock looked up from the book he was reading and across to John, sitting in his chair with a cup of tea, exactly where he should be, and exactly how Sherlock had imagined him every time his eyes swept the room all those months. "I read your letter and immediately made plans to get to Dublin. Granted, I'd been scheming for months on how best to do it. In lieu of replying I thought it safer to act without telling you, in case Jim caught word and tried to foil it. It took a good long while to get everything in proper order."

John nodded sorrowfully. "I was sure you'd died. I don't know how much of that conversation you heard—back with Moriarty, when he had the gun pointed at me."

"All of it." Sherlock gave John a sad smile. "I was in the kitchen with Jane. I fear I might have disturbed her."

John smiled. "The dropped platter." He paused and looked at the floor. "I understand why you didn't respond. I probably would have done the same. But I meant it, what I said to Moriarty. When I thought you and Hamish were both dead—I couldn't do it anymore. I wanted to be dead too."

Sherlock shook his head. "God, John—don't even say that…the very thought—" He paused for a moment, looking at John, then lets out a weak laugh. "If I had faked my death—again—for you, only to find out you had gone and let yourself get shot—I would've dug you up and killed you all over again."

John laughed a bit too. "Faking your own death twice? You Holmeses always did have a flair for the dramatic. I'm making more tea. Want a cup?"

"I already have faked my death twice. Have you forgotten my aneurysm so soon? Once more would make it three."

At that moment, their door burst open and Mary stepped in anxiously.

Sherlock stood up. "What is it, Mary?"

"Inspector Gregson's here. The British Museum's been robbed! They want you to have a look."

Sherlock's eyes flashed in excitement and he cocked an eyebrow at John, a smile spreading on his face. "Care to accompany me, Doctor Watson? It could be dangerous."

John was already getting up and grabbing his coat. "Don't wait up with dinner, Mary. Ta!"

Sherlock wound his scarf around his neck, scanning 221B over before he headed out the door after John. Everything was in its proper place, and everything was as it should be.

After they'd disappeared out the door, Mary went to the window to watch the consulting detective and the doctor stride down Baker Street with the inspector, ready for every crime and every adventure.