Disclaimer: I do not own BBCSherlock, Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, or 221B Baker Street, 221 Baker Street, or Baker Street.
WARNING: May encourage feels of the happier/crazy variety! APPROACH WITH CAUTION/AT YOUR OWN RISK. :)

A/N: Dear God, what is this? HAPPY FEELS? Selvine is writing HAPPY FEELS for John and Sherly? BAH. What wrongness is this? Obviously, I must check myself into hospital this instant to make sure nothing is wrong.

In any event, this doesn't really have a connection to any of the other stories except for the prior chapter of this. I'm pairing them together, because I feel they happen in the same universe and I feel like they both come across with this hopeful feeling that the other pieces don't really have.

No, this is not after "Dreams". No, this is not before "Sherlock Was Real". I do kinda reference them both, but neither is ACTUALLY related to this. Not mycanon-connected to either of them. X3

Also, I'm sure I'm not the only one who likes the idea of John figuring things out a bit more, knowing what's going on, etc, and leaving Sherlock completely out-of-the-loop until the last possible moment. So hopefully I'm not the only one who will enjoy this piece.

Non-beta'd/edited. Reviews and critiques welcomed and encouraged. I DO respond!

Thanks again for your time, patience, opinions, encouragement, etc- ALL of it is HIGHLY APPRECIATED!

X's and O's,
-Selvine

John Watson lay on the roof of 221B Baker street, contemplating his life and the lack of a certain flatmate. Nearly three years had passed, and though John's nights had been restless for a while, the dreams had suddenly stopped a few weeks ago. The soldier had this nagging feeling someone was watching him, and yet he felt safer than he had in a very long time. It didn't make sense, but John knew Sherlock was keeping an eye on him, waiting to strike. Perhaps three years of the detective's absence had made his instincts keener, or maybe he was just going mad. Either way, within a few weeks he'd either be happier than ever, or might have cracked and be safely locked away for his own good; both would be better than the Hell he'd been living in.

The English sky, as almost always, glittered in painful white and depressing gray. Sunlight made its only appearance in brightening the clouds to the point of blinding, and forcing all those below to cast their eyes downward. The doctor ignored the glaring attempts at suppression and kept his gaze skyward, sighing on occasion and adjusting. His hands rested behind his head, a pillow against the roofing. His favorite jeans and the shoes he'd been wearing since whoever-knows-when, accompanied the veteran's jumper, warm as ever. When the sky opened up to cry in short bursts, as it was prone to doing, the doctor simply ignored it.

Even now, higher than nearly every building in the surrounding area, Watson could feel the probing of those intelligent eyes, as if he were a puzzle piece that needed solving. Obviously the lout had yet to finish whatever business he'd been up to, or else hadn't figured out his flatmate knew he was alive, but whatever the reason, John was growing impatient. Three years without a word, and now the man showed up, expecting he could just watch from afar and everything would be alright?

Silly Sherlock, oh so childish and naive. Watson knew how much the younger Holmes brother worried, though the detective had always fought to keep his emotions under wraps in that sense. The doctor knew that every movement he made, Sherlock was calculating mental health, physical health, monetary status, relationship status, employment status, and more. Assuming the prat had not yet gone to his brother for the resources he could provide, or had chosen not to hack through the various firewalls the government constructed. Snorting derisively, the military man grimaced. Even he had eventually picked up on the trends, the little quirks people had. Passwords, firewalls, codes; his time alone remembering the countless tidbits Sherlock would point out had given him all the time he'd needed to brush up on the various technological aspects behind such things. New Scotland Yard didn't even know who their latest hacker was, or how villains kept appearing at their doorstep, hogtied and decorated in a nice red bow.

Grinning to himself, the doctor pondered; he wasn't sure how to push Sherlock over that edge that would bring him back. In all honesty, he hadn't been to the graveyard in a while. A sudden psychological breakdown might result in consistent visits, or even sleeping on the soil where Sherlock had been "buried". If he kept that up fairly consistently, the detective might decide that showing his face and revealing what had happened would help. Then again, he might decide John was too mentally unstable for an encounter.

Puzzling the pieces over in his mind, Watson continued to pour over the angles and possibilities. He could feign attempting suicide, see if that would bring the younger Holmes brother out of hiding. It would have to be timed perfectly, and Sherlock would need to be able to keep an eye on him, have a direct path to him, and so much more. However, if he took the time to plan it well enough, he might just get a bite. If he didn't, though, it might cost him his life.

Frowning, the soldier continued flicking through concepts. He could make Sherlock stop watching him with too many overtly physical activities in plain sight. He could do something incredibly stupid, pretend to miss the simplest of clues, and see if the behavior struck a chord. Or, he mused, he could simply wait, and the elegant male would seek him out of his own accord.

Yes, this felt right. John would feign surprise, keep up a familiar guise of stupidity until the two had formed a bond again. There were so many ways this reunion could go poorly, and rushing it might only result in disaster. He would wait, and in the mean time, he would enjoy knowing Sherlock's never-resting gaze kept him safe.

As the sun pulled out from behind the clouds for just a moment, John smiled and closed his eyes, enjoying the heat, the light, and, simply, how beautiful the day had been as a whole. The world needed more days like this. The world needed Sherlock.

Laughter bubbled up from the doctor's somber throat, a grin split wide across his face, and cackling ensued. It might be a give-away to his viewer, but he didn't care. Sherlock was back, Sherlock was here. He wanted to scream it to the world.

I BELIEVED IN SHERLOCK HOLMES… AND I WAS RIGHT.

A/N: Yay! So now that that's done... I hope you all remember to reviewwww~ I really do appreciate it, and try to respond to all those who have accounts or give me a way of contacting them!

Thanks oodles for your attention spanssss...

Love Alls,
-Sel