So, I am writing this in three parts (not three chapters), but hopefully I can manage to label everything clearly so you know which part is which. I'm thinking part one and three will be from John's POV and part two will be from Sherlock's...that being said, I do have a tendency to change my mind. So I hope this turns out well and enjoy the story. :)

One, two, three. One day until he was home. One day until he burst through the door and held the man he had only been able to talk to for the past three months. One day until he could (hopefully) feel his lips on his. One day until he could hear his deep baritone, the one that haunted his dreams, in person, echoing through the nearly empty flat.

-o0o-

This had to be the longest day of John Watson's life. It felt as if time had stopped, like every second passed slower and slower, the hands on his watch never moving. He took a deep breath and ran his hand through his hair, even though he had only showered a few hours ago, sand still poured out of his hair. How was he supposed to do this looking like some sand creature? How was he supposed to do any of it?

He should have done it months, no, years ago, when he first realized he had feelings for his ridiculous flatmate. But he didn't, he kept putting it off and then he didn't want to lose him, and then he got deployed. Being back in the war, being back to a point where he wasn't sure if he would live another day, that was his breaking point. That was what made him realize how important it was to tell Sherlock everything. How crucial it was to tell him how much he cared for him...and yet here he was still scared shitless.

What if Sherlock didn't feel the same, or what if he did, was John really ready for a relationship with a man? He had literally no experience in that area, his only frame of reference was with women, it would be like starting from scratch and in a whole different ball game. He sighed, resting his elbows on his knees.

John knew he had probably felt this way since the first day at Bart's but Sherlock was clear right from the off, he wasn't looking for a relationship. That's what scared him. What if Sherlock shot him down, or worse left him. Was a chance of something more really worth possibly losing his best friend and flatmate? John looked around bleak desert airport. White walls, white tiled floors, and these god awful blue airport seats.

The gate was filled with soliders, all ready to go home, either finishing their tour or just going home on leave. When he had gone home for his 14 day leave, three months ago, it was as if he never left. Sherlock was back to his usual self, except maybe a tad thinner, if that was even possible. He was on a few cases for a good ten days of his leave, but the last four days...there was something different. He lingered. Every touch, every glance, he lingered. It was strange, not unwelcome but strange none the less.

Whenever John felt Sherlock's all knowing eyes on him, it gave him then his leave was over, and that was all they got, a few peaceful days. Even then John could swear he could feel his eyes on him again as he left the flat that last time. Ever since, John wondered if his absence had somehow alerted Sherlock to the existence of the feelings he now held, but on the on other hand John also realized it could be something as simple as a new experiment he wanted to try on John, and not the reciprocation John desired.

John sighed thinking about his great detective...no, not his, the great detective. The way his dark curls flopped onto his face. The grouchy expression he always made whenever John tried to make him eat a bite of anything. His deep but genuine laughter when John was able to say something surprisingly funny...

"John? John? You alright mate?" The solider in front of him asked. The young man, put his hand on his shoulder, as if he was trying to shake him back to the real world.

"Ya, just...nervous." He said being perfectly honest. John looked him over. His army cut hair just starting to grow out, the smile on his face, and the overall excitement of going home, all reminding him of a younger version of himself. Fresh out of school, first tour, just a kid looking for adventure. John had taken him under his wing right from the off, shown Jack the ropes, so to speak. He was a good kid, smart, fit, and quick on his feet, everything the army needed and wanted in a recruit.

"I hear ya. I can't wait to get back and have my mum's cooking again. She said she's going to have dinner all ready when I get back." He said, smiling like a kid on Christmas morning. "That was one thing you never told me! You never told me how bad the food was!" He laughed.

"Oh shut up, the food's not bad!" John laughed, his eyes crinkling at the edges. "Okay, but it not even close to my mum's." Jack smiled.

John mindlessly fumbled with his dog tags. "Ya, well those are kind of unfair expectations." He said, now looking at the young man who sat beside him. "Do you think you will go back for a second tour?" John asked, knowing that this one hadn't been easy on anyone in the troop, especially the new guys. Seeing battle for the first time, seeing death on a large scale, fearing being killed everyday, it was hard on everyone. But being new and having soliders come to them, missing limbs, crying out for help, and only being able to ease their way, for some it was too much. Now obviously that wasn't an everyday occurrence, but even having that happen once was too many times.

"I don't know, I want to, but..." He trailed off as he ran his hand though his straight, brown hair. "It's just, I know when I am there, I am making a difference. Really saving lives, you know. I could just stop and go to school become a true doctor or nurse, but I don't know if that's enough."

"Just remember it is your choice." John said, providing some much needed wisdom. But really it wasn't his place to tell him either way.

Soon an announcer interrupted their conversation (which had quickly taken a more serious tone), calling their flight over the intercom.

Both John and Jack stood up, grabbing their canvas duffels off the floor, John pitching his over his good shoulder and Jack carrying his in his hand. John patted his back, smiling at his friend, who he felt like he had known forever. "Come on, let's go home." John said as they boarded the large army plane.

-o0o-

The flight was long and they still had an eight hour stop over in Germany before they would board a civilian plane back to London. Even though he was exhausted, John was itching to leave the entire time, not because he disliked Germany for any reason, but just because he wanted to get back to Baker Street as quickly as possible.

Between him and Jack, they could have had enough nervous energy to fly the plane themselves. With Jack talking a mile a minute and John almost running down the hall ways just to calm down. John just...he needed to take a breath and figure out what he was going to do. He went into the airport bathroom, it was much nicer than the one they had occupied in the desert. He splashed the cold water on his somehow still dust covered face, watching as the dirt wash down the sink.

His hand was shaking as it ran over the skin. No... his hand didn't shake anymore, not since he met Sherlock...so why was it shaking now? He willed it to stop, but it didn't, It only shook harder. Shaking, even as John held it to his chest. Then it hit him, he missed him. His hand was shaking because he missed him, he missed the danger of his consulting detective, he missed his soft pale skin, he missed his icy eyes, God, he even missed the experiments that made the flat smell like some kind of dead animal. That was definitely never something he thought he would ever say, and yet six months away from Baker Street had done him in.

He leaned against the sink and into the mirror, facing himself, forcing himself to be honest. He rubbed his hand over his brow, wiping away the last of the dust. He sighed, definitely starting to phsyc himself out of telling Sherlock everything. Did he actually see what was happening or did he just see what he wanted to see? He couldn't even tell any more. Was he really that far gone that he couldn't even differentiate between his wants and reality? John was a man who needed to be in control, and right now he wasn't. He had no control over Sherlock, he had no control over what he was feeling, and he had absolutely no control over his heart skipping a beat and his breath hitching every time he even thought about the dark haired detective.

On top of everything else, John wasn't good with relationships. His longest relationship (ever), had only lasted six romantic history was mainly comprised of one night stands and flings from his school days. What if Sherlock did say yes to whatever madness John proposed, it would inevitability end, and then where would he be left? Losing a friend, losing his home, and losing all chances of ever being close to Sherlock again. Was it really worth all that? He didn't know anymore. All he had thought about for the last two years was working up to this point, to telling him, and now he couldn't do it. He couldn't look Sherlock in the eye and say those three words that meant so much more than just a simple 'I love you'.

-o0o-

"John, are you in here?" Jack called as he walked into the bathroom.

"Ya, just finishing up." He replied as he dried off his face.

Jack rounded the corner from the door to the sink. "I've been looking for you every where. They said they are going to start boarding soon, and after seven hours I didn't think you would want to miss the flight." He laughed, quickly washing his hands before they left.

"You're not kidding!" He smiled as he pulled open the heavy door. Just as they got back to their seats, they were joined by a few others from their platoon and even some other soliders they hadn't met before. They smiled and joked, all just happy to be on their way home.

"Billy? Is that you?" John asked, looking at one of the soliders who had wandered in.

"Blimey! Captain John Watson, didn't think I would be seeing you again any time soon, 'specially not decked out in fatigues." The man laughed as he patted John on the back.

"Ya, been a few years I know, and I'm not as young as I used to be." He smiled, throwing his arm around his old friend.

"Well, neither am I!" He joked. Bill was older, but only by a year or two. He and John had met on their first tour, scared out of their wits. Though they still met up once and a while for a pint, it wasn't nearly as often as either man would have liked. "So John, what have you been up to since I saw you last? Still living with that Sherlock bloke?"

"Yeah, yeah. Still chasing criminals and solving mysteries, well when I'm back home at least. Other than that, just working at the surgery, keeping busy." John said, sliding away any mention of Sherlock. "What about you? Didn't think you'd be up for another tour."

Bill smiled, his eyes wrinkling around the edges. "I didn't either, but Queen and Country came calling..." He trailed off, his smile fading. "But this is it, I'm done. Suzy needs me home, so do the kids."

John thought back to the last time he had seen Bill's family, his youngest wasn't even born yet. "How is the family?" He asked looking over toward the other soliders off to the side.

"Oh their good." He said pulling a photo from his left breast pocket. "Tim's seven now, and that's Charles, he's five, and that little princess is Hannah, she is just about to turn three." He said as he pointed to each child individually.

"I didn't know you added a girl to the mix. Suzy must love that." John smiled as they started to line up for boarding. "Yes, she sure does." Bill said as they moved onto the plane. "Anyway, it was great to catch up. Keep in touch, we should go a pint and soon." He said as he waved and took his seat next to a civilian couple.

"Mmm, definitely, text me sometime. It was nice to see you Billy. " John replied as he moved to the back of the plane and flopped next to Jack, buckling his seat belt and grabbing one of the complimentary pillows under the seat in front of him.

Jack shot him a look and a little smirk, almost a full smile as he pulled out the paper from the seat pocket.

"Just wake me up when we get home." He laughed, before he closed his eyes and quickly attempted to dift off to sleep. At least when he was asleep, he could dream about Sherlock and Baker Street all he wanted, and it was almost as good as the real thing...almost.