Are you here yet? – SH

No, still have to take a plane from here to Heathrow – JW

Hurry – SH

Just landed – JW

I'm waiting – SH

We're still taxying to the gate – JW

I'm at the gate – SH

How did you manage that one? – JW

Mycroft – SH

Of course – JW

John Watson stood from his seat on the airplane, smiling kindly to the people who nodded their thanks to the man in the uniform. It was so surreal to see these people sitting so calmly on an airplane when he had just been in a place where no one dared to relax for two minutes. All of his smiles felt forced these days.

He had been called to do a nine month tour of duty in Afghanistan again, seeing that he had recovered from his injury in the shoulder and psychosomatic limp. John had told Sherlock first over dinner one evening four months before he had to leave, and then had hardly seen Sherlock for a week after that. That week he slowly told those that mattered to him. He took Gregory to a pub and let him know, asking for him to tell Mycroft. In the middle of the night, his phone beeped with a message from a restricted number telling him that he didn't have to go if he so chose. He told Anthea to bugger off, he was fine thank you. Molly he took to lunch, a friendly lunch he made sure to say, and casually told her that he'd be gone for nine months. John, Sarah and Mike met up with for a casual coffee and he let them know of his tour of duty coming up. Sarah threatened to do unspeakable things to him if he came back injured again. Mrs. Hudson he had to break the news to gently, watching her tear up over tea and quickly busy herself about her kitchen to make him and Sherlock a nice dinner that evening.

Three months before he was scheduled to ship out as John was getting his affairs in order, running about putting holds on cards and cancelling standing appointments, considering the idea of moving his things out of 221B so that Sherlock could find a sublease for the months whilst away. Sherlock had finally accepted that he was leaving for nearly a year. With this acceptance, there was a thousand questions posed with a hundred pieces of advice, the phone that has been approved to carry with him found its way into his military duffel within two days of Sherlock's acceptance.

Two months before John shipped out, Sherlock started to act differently. He was more moody, sulking about the flat in his pajamas and robe. Whenever John came home from work, the flat was always immaculate, some sort of a dinner freshly made, but Sherlock was always splayed upon the couch, uncooperatively not answering any of John's questions or even talking with him. No experiments were running on the table, just clean spaces around 221B that made it decidedly less homey.

One week later, John came home to a well-dressed Sherlock and was quickly leaving again to go out to dinner. They had a normal conversation for once, John ate while Sherlock sipped on a drink, and after their things were taken away and Sherlock had quickly paid the bill, he finally said started to open up as to what he had been sulking over the past week.

"John, you remember that I'm married to my work?" Sherlock's bright blue eyes were focused on John's.

"Of course," John said, completely lost as to why Sherlock was bringing this up.

"Do you realize that since you've moved in, you've become an integral part of my work," John's face chaged into a concentrated confusion, trying to work out what Sherlock was trying to say.

"I'm sure you'll do just fine while I'm away Sherlock," John ventured, "Even if you need me, you can always send me a message."

The consulting detective looked exasperated, "John, don't be thick. I've never been interested in anyone because I'm so focused on work. You've become a part of that,"

"Sherlock, you're never interested in anything unless it's to do with work, that's who you are," John said, thinking how that couldn't be truer.

"No, you are absolutely being obtuse on purpose. When we first met you asked me if there was anyone that I was seeing, I said no because I'm married to my work. You've become an integral part of that John."

"Sherlock," John couldn't breathe, why now? Before he was leaving? "I'm about to leave for nine months. If you really want this, something between us, wait until I come back," he wanted this, them, so badly. But having a taste and then being gone for nine months would destroy him.

"No John, I will not wait until you come back," Sherlock leaned forward, "I want to create memories between now and when you leave to use while you are away. That will help ground me and not drive everyone crazy while you are gone, and give you something to live for and come home to. It's practical, and sound. We both get a piece of each other to remember the other by, and a reason to make it through the next nine months."

John saw that Sherlock had thought this through, and practically it was sound. Emotionally it would be harrowing, "Did you take into account how much it would hurt me to have you for a month and a half to myself, and then be separated from you for nine months? That may destroy me Sherlock," John felt weighed down.

"I… John," Sherlock had been thinking about this for a few weeks, John new, but this had never crossed his incredible mind. He had been stopped with just one sentence, "What would it mean to you if you knew that it would do the same to me if we did nothing?"

Silence fell in their corner of the restaurant. The other voices around them fell away as they stared at each other, so hurt, not knowing how to move forward from here.

In the end, Sherlock asked that they have some semblance of a relationship for him to cling to, and John said that they would have boundaries. Not that Sherlock understood that word.

Sherlock agreed though, but demanded that they spend every moment available together for the next two months. And the stubborn man still pinned John to a wall frequently during this time, giving him steamy snogs to remember him by.

John walked off of the airplane quickly. He was eager to see Sherlock again, to explore what was hinted at before he left. But he was also nervous. What if Sherlock had changed his mind? What if John wasn't what his flat mate thought that he was?

The Doctor squared his shoulders and walked out to where Sherlock was surely waiting for him. As he rounded the corner, he automatically searched out the pale skin, sharp eyes and dark curly hair, and tall lanky frame as he continued through the crowd.

"John," Sherlock, long coat with blue scarf, was suddenly in front of him, grabbing him around the waist and kissing him fiercely. John dropped his bag and sank into his embrace; realizing how much he missed the insufferable consulting detective's presence.

"I missed you," John murmured as they broke apart. He had heard a few aww's around them as they embraced, but John honestly couldn't bring himself to care what people thought.

"Lets get you back to 221B,"Sherlock grabbed John's bag and hand, leading him through the airport, "Mrs. Hudson decided to invite a few people over to say hello."

"Oh, that's very thoughtful of her. Who's going to be there?" John almost wished that he could just have a day to himself with Sherlock in their flat.

"Mycroft, Lestrade, Molly, and Mike. Nothing too large. I couldn't stop the combined forces of Mrs. Hudson and Mycroft insisting on having this today," Sherlock commented as he loaded them into a cab.

"That sounds nice," John smiled, "Are you getting along with Mycroft these days? Especially since he was gracious enough to provide me with a mobile while I was away."

"Yes, well, he and Lestrade have been quiet inseparable since they started sleeping together. Detective Inspector Lestrade has done wonders to my brothers temperament and waistband."

"You're terrible Sherlock," John laughed heartily, causing Sherlock to chuckle slightly.

"Well, it's true," Sherlock grinned. John leaned into the consulting detective, relishing in the bodily contact.

The two were quiet the rest of the way from the airport. John was weary from his long flight and hoped that the friends at his flat weren't planning on staying all night long.

John watched his city drive by on the way to 221B. It's like the city hadn't changed since he'd been gone. There was a whole world out there, a part of it that was at war. But London was still bustling about its daily business as though none of it mattered.

Familiar streets started to pass by and John knew that they were nearly home. The royal blue door of 221B came in sight, and the front door opened when they stopped outside, revealing a beaming Mrs. Hudson in her favorite purple dress.

"John Watson," she enveloped him into a warm hug as soon as he stood from the car, "Come inside dear, everyone is already upstairs waiting for you."

Sherlock was right behind him with his military issue duffel, supporting John with his presence as they ascended the stairs. Mrs. Hudson went through the open door to 221B, but John stopped short just inside of the door.

"John!" everyone smiled when they saw him, Molly coming up to give him a hug. Lestrade approached next to give him a slap on the back, Mycroft nodded from across the room. Mike grinned fondly and handed John a cup of tea.

"How've you been?" Molly smiled, and John noticed how relaxed she seemed in her own skin. He also noted the band on her left ring finger.

"I've been fine, didn't see too much action," the lie came out easily, "I see you've found yourself someone," John smiled at Molly.

"Yes, we met one day at a pub, and hit it off rather well. He and I got married about a month ago," Molly's face was bright as she talked about her new husband.

"I'd love to meet him sometime," John's normal happy smile came easily to him this time. He turned to look at Mycroft, "You look well Mycroft, thank you for the mobile."

"Not an issue Dr. Watson. It was more for our sake than yours and Sherlock's, seeing that he would have been insufferable without being able to talk to you." Mycroft had actually made a joke, John realized and everyone around him laughed. Gregory must have really gone a long way to making Mycroft more sociable with others. Or at least those he sees most often.

Sherlock was back from putting John's bag in their room by the time everyone had finished laughing.

"Oh no, you're not making jokes again, are you Mycroft? How dreadful," he muttered, perching the edge of the arm chair that John had sat down in. He casually draped his arm around the back of the chair, leaning into John. Everyone laughed again at what Sherlock had said, and John felt like he was in an alternate universe where the Holmes' had social graces, and he felt like a social outcast.

"How has the hospital been then Mike? And the family?" John smiled at his fellow doctor. Was this how people socialized? Ask about their lives? He couldn't remember.

"They're fine, we'd love to have you for dinner one night." Mike offered with a smile, "My daughter is headed off to school soon, growing up so quickly, and the wife is thinking about starting up working again."

"Oh that's excellent," Molly put it.

"Good for her," Mrs. Hudson said, "I'd have gone to work again after my poor husband died, but there was no need after I found this place. I make good enough money letting out these flats," she was bustling about, making sure that everyone still had tea and biscuits.

"Do you and your husband think you'll have kids one day Molly," Mike asked.

"I think so," her smile couldn't be wider.

"That's lovely Molly," John intoned, glancing at Sherlock when he felt his body jerk a bit. The consulting detective just shook his head and looked at Molly with a slight smile.

The conversation from that point on flowed pretty smoothly, everyone discussing the larger cases that Sherlock had been involved with over the past nine months, laughing at the random texts that John had received during those times. Sherlock's eyes narrowed at the phone when John first pulled it out to read off some of the funnier messages, and he knew that it was a portrait of what he'd been through while away. John pushed that to the back of his head, not wanting to talk about it.

"Well, we've got to get going," Mycroft said with a polite smile after a few hours, "It's good to have you home John," he shook John's hand as he made his way to the door.

"Glad to have you back," Greg smiled widely, "We'll have to get a pint together soon," he gave John a hearty slap on the back before following Mycroft out of the door.

"I'll should go as well, get back to the husband," Molly smiled widely, hugging John close as she left.

"I'll give you a ride, shall I?" Mike offered as he followed Molly out with a hug to John. Seemed as though Mycroft and Greg had created a wave of everyone leaving, not that John was complaining.

Mrs. Hudson was still puttering about, cleaning up the cups from everyone's tea, chattering on about how she'd been getting on.

"Oh John, it is good to have you home," she had this absolutely adoring look in her eye as she enfolded John in her arms again, "I think Sherlock's missed you very much, but he won't say," she whispered in his ear before letting go and going to her own flat, finally emptying out 221B to leave John alone with Sherlock

He turned to look for Sherlock. He felt overwhelmed at all that he had had to absorb today, what with missing nine months in everyone's lives. Marriage, people growing closer, kids growing up. Molly was a whole new person now, looking more confident with the ring on her finger than she ever had without. Greg and Mycroft seemed to be one person, moving in tandem together, Mycroft kinder than he ever thought was possible.

And now nine months from Sherlock, and there he sat. Across the room from him on the couch. Waiting for John to take those last few steps and come home. How much of Sherlock's life had he missed? What had changed about Sherlock and John had no way of knowing. What had changed in John that he didn't know of, but would be glaringly obvious to the Consulting Detective.

"Stop thinking," Sherlock demanded.

"I can't help it," John replied, still rooted to the spot.

"It's fine. I'm still me. Now come here," Sherlock shifted a bit, looking at John expectantly.

John felt himself move finally, sitting beside Sherlock. The other man let out an exasperated sigh, wrapping an arm around John and pulling him close.

"You're home, it's alright to relax John," he said quietly, shifting to enfold John as close as he could.

Yes. I am home, John thought to himself as he shifted to fit smoothly against Sherlock. John shut his eyes, finally letting go for the first time in the past nine months.

Sherlock looked down at his flat mate, best friend, and soon to be lover and smiled. His Doctor John H. Watson was home, "Welcome home John," he leaned over and pressed his lips to John's temple, enjoying the quiet hum that emanated from his Army Doctor as the other man settled in more solidly next to him.

They were quiet content to stay that way for some time, which was saying something in the way Sherlock's attention span had changed John noted as he felt himself being lulled to sleep by the steady breathing of his Consulting Detective.

Special thanks to descartes-thosecartes for reading over this and helping me to find a title

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