John was standing outside 221b Baker Street. He'd been standing like that for hours now, silently staring up at the flat, not moving, not even blinking. Two years. Two years! He'd thought Sherlock had been dead for two years. John had been crying, screaming and aching for months, not able to function as a human being. He'd been drinking too. A lot. He hadn't shaved or showered for months. Hadn't seen the point? Sherlock was gone and all John could feel was pain. Every Saturday he'd been to Sherlock's grave. Sitting there, drinking, crying and talking. Asking for that one last miracle - please don't be dead. The answer the cold stone had given him was silence, just silence. But that was a long time ago. He'd met Mary. She'd helped him function again. Helped him to feel again. Helped him back to life. He'd moved on. He had accepted that his best friend was gone forever. But yesterday... yesterday when he was supposed to propose to Mary... John couldn't even think about it, it sent shivers down his spine.

Sherlock was not dead. Not dead. He'd been standing in front of him yesterday. Talking to him. And John had been so angry. So so angry. How could he?

John kept on staring at the flat for another half an hour. Then he took a deep breath and exhaled. He shook his head, looked down at his feet - as if he wanted to tell them "it's time to move now". Then he walked quickly across the street and knocked on the door of 221b Baker Street.

Mrs Hudson opened the door. She looked at John with a serious expression on her face.

- He's upstairs, dear.

John walked in to the hallway still not saying a word, looking blankly in front of him.

- Are you alright dear? Mrs Hudson asked

- I'm fine, John answered.

- Are you sure?

- Yes.

- Dreadful business all of this, isn't it? Gone for so long and now he's back. I can't believe it really...

Mrs Hudson talked but John didn't hear a word. He just stood there silent, blank. Suddenly he ran up the stairs, taking every step in a hurry. Mrs. Hudson stopped talking and looked after him. But by this time John had already opened the door to the flat and gone inside. And then John saw him. Sherlock. He was sitting in his chair with his hands in front of his face, like he always put them when he was thinking. Sherlock looked up at John. His face went from thinking to a small smile and then to seriousness in a matter of seconds.

- John... Sherlock said in a whisper, warmth and worry in his voice.

He stood up and looked at John. John could feel how his body was shaking, and he took a step in to the room. John looked at his feet, not able to look at Sherlock. The air in the room was vibrating with emotions and if someone had walked into the room now they would have backed out, leaving the two of them alone. John tightened his hands into fists, felt his body shaking. Not just because he was still angry at Sherlock but also because he felt feelings inside him that he thought were gone forever. Feelings he never thought he'd be able to feel again. Not with anyone else but Sherlock. Seeing him again. His dark curly hair, his mouth, his pale blue eyes that saw through everything and... damn it! Everything. Just everything about Sherlock made Johns body tremble.

- Two years, John said in a whisper, he almost exhaled the words.

- I know. Sherlock answered and took one step closer to John.

- You were gone...

- I know, and...

John interrupted Sherlock.

- I cried for you! Mourned you! Screamed. I fucking sat at your grave, talking to you!

At this time John looked right at Sherlock. Didn't leave his eyes for a second. Sherlock looked back at John, not entirely sure about the situation.

- I'm sorry John! What more do you want me to say? Sherlock said.

- I don't know! I don't know! John shouted. Just one word. That's all that was needed. Just a whisper. Just a small clue that you were alive, that you were ok, that you were still here, with me! That's all! One word!

- There were whispers! There were clues, John. And they were staring right at you. But you're just too ignorant, too ordinary to see them...

Smack! John hit Sherlock right in the face. The nose that was already bruised from yesterday's fight cracked opened again and blood started dripping down onto the floor. Sherlock looked at John. John had frozen. Sherlock took his right hand and put it on his nose, the other hand stretched down for some paper that was lying on the floor. John rushed to Sherlock, helped him with his nose.

- I'm sorry, Sherlock. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I'm just...

- I thought we'd gone through it all yesterday. Why are you still angry? Why did you come here if all you wanted to do was scream at me, hit me, blame me? All I ever did was to make sure you were safe!

Sherlock sat down in his chair. John pulled his chair closer and sat in front of him holding his hand on Sherlock's knee. There was silence between them. Sherlock was holding a hand on his nose, the paper was all red.

- Let me see, will you? Said John

- No.

- Let me help you with your nose, John said.

Sherlock nodded and removed the paper. The nose looked a mess. Bloody and bruised. John went to the kitchen and picked up his case that contained band aid. First he cleaned Sherlock's face with water and soap, gently, slowly. Then he fixed the nose as good as he could with the stuff he had. When he'd finished he looked at Sherlock and then took his hand. Sherlock looked at their hands but didn't move away. Then he looked up at John again.

- You shaved it, he said.

- What? Said John.

- The moustache. It's gone.

- Yeah. It didn't work for me, he smiled a crooked smile at Sherlock realizing that he was still holding his hand. Sherlock smiled back.

- Good, he said, I like my doctors clean shaven.

Five days went by and John thought a lot about what happened that night at 221b Baker Street. He knew that he felt something for Sherlock. He'd known it for a long time. And when Sherlock died he knew that a part of him died with him, he buried the feelings with him. And now the feelings were picking at his heart again, demanding to get out. And he knew he just didn't want to live without him. But he was scared of his feelings too, all the things he felt for Sherlock. It was more than friendship, it was deeper, truer. But to admit that he felt more for him, scared John. So he stayed with Mary. Moved on with his life. Going to work. Making dinner. Small talk and kisses with Mary. Just ordinary stuff. But that night, four days after the night at Sherlock's, he and Mary were having a quiet night in, watching a movie and cuddled on the couch. Suddenly there was a loud knock on the door. Mary and John looked at each other. Who would come over this late? John stood up and went to answer the door. Outside stood Sherlock with a cardboard box in his arms.

- Eh, hello, said John, what are you doing here...?

- An experiment, John! I'm doing an experiment.

Sherlock walked through the opened door, not looking at John and went straight in to the kitchen. The kitchen had a kitchen island in the middle of the room and by the window stood a table. Sherlock started to unload the things from the box on the kitchen island. There were books, three cages with some bees in them, honey, sugar, flowers, three small bowls, toilet paper, a microscope, tweezers and a pack of rubber gloves. He took off his coat and then marched over to John and gave it to him. John took it and put it on a chair by the kitchen door. Sherlock was dressed in his usual black suit and white shirt.

- Sherlock, what the hell are you doing? John said irritated.

- I'm working.

- I can see that. But you're in my kitchen. Why aren't you in your own kitchen?

- It was messy.

- Messy?! Oh my God Sherlock! You could just clean you know.

Sherlock looked up from the box.

- Clean? Clean?! He shook his head. I'm a scientist John, a consulting detective and a high functional sociopath - but I'm not a maid. Get your facts right.

Then he went back to unloading more books, now putting them on the table. Mary had appeared behind John and put her hand on his shoulder. John exhaled loudly. He'd seen this before. There was no stopping Sherlock at this point.

- What is he doing John? asked Mary.

- An experiment... John sighed.

- With bees?

- It looks like it.

- In our kitchen?

- Yeah...

- For how long?

- God knows!

They looked at Sherlock. He took one of the cages with the bees and put them under the microscope. Then sat down on a high chair and started to examine them. It was all quiet in the kitchen, all you could hear was the clock ticking and a small buzz from the bees.

- Why do you need a kitchen for this Sherlock? You could just look at the bees in your living room.

Sherlock looked up with a puzzled grin on his face.

- My living room... Dear God John. I need to feed them. And tell me, how can I make a proper meal for the bees without a proper kitchen?

- I don't know...?

- Exactly John! You just... Can't. Do. It.

There were a silent pause.

- So you're gonna feed the bees...?

- Well yes. I'm not gonna starve them. I'm not cruel.

- Alright then...

John turned to Mary and rolled his eyes. He took her hands and whispered.

- I am so sorry Mary.

- No it's fine. It could have been worse actually. I think he's kinda cute, getting all excited.

- So I'm not cute then, John said with a crooked smile.

- You know I think so, silly!

She leaned in to kiss John but before their lips met Sherlock spoke up and interrupted the kiss.

- John.

John sighed.

- Yes.

- Some tea would be lovely, thank you.

The evening passed by quietly. John and Mary continued with the movie, cuddled on the sofa. But John felt stiffer knowing that Sherlock was in the other room. Half an hour later Sherlock appeared in the doorway, holding a tray with freshly made toast, cut in small small pieces, and a small jar of marmalade. He looked at John and Mary. Mary moved away from John, both sitting straight up on the sofa. Sherlock walked through the room and squeezed by Mary. When he was between them he sat down and put the tray on the small table in front of him. Then Sherlock looked at Mary on his left side and then over to John on his right side.

- I've made snacks, Sherlock said in a deep voice.

- You've made snacks? John asked and looked at the tray with toast.

- Yes.

- You know, people don't usually have toast for snacks.

- They don't?

- No.

- But I googled "food to eat in front of a movie". And it said: "Usually small pieces of food you eat in company with others, like potato chips. Sometimes there's dip too" You don't have potato chips. And this is small pieces of food. I have fixed dip too. See!

He picked up the small jar of marmalade and held it under Johns nose. John wrinkled his nose and pulled his head back.

- Jesus, Sherlock.

Sherlock looked hurt when he put the marmalade back on the tray. Mary leaned forward and put a hand on Sherlock's knee.

- It looks lovely Sherlock, she said looking straight at John her eyes demanding him "please be nice, he's trying!".

- Don't lie to me Mary. I'm not cut out for the ordinary, Sherlock said.

- We know that. But we appreciate you trying. It was very kind of you. She smiled at Sherlock who took a piece of toast and chewed it loudly.

- And the experiment? John said to change the subject.

- They weren't hungry.

- So...

- Gonna continue tomorrow.

- So you're gonna stay?

- Yes. I can sleep on the couch.

- Okay then.

Mary and John looked at each other but didn't say anything. The movie that had been paused was on again. Sherlock ate the toast and sat awkwardly between Mary and John. Mary sipped her wine from time to time. John stared at the tv with his right hand in front of his face. His left hand laid beside him on the couch. After a while the tray was empty and Sherlock moved back on the couch. Sherlock's hand landed right beside John's. John could feel the warmth from Sherlock's skin burning on his. But he didn't move his hand. Instead he moved his hand a bit closer to Sherlock's. John could see how Sherlock frowned from the corner of his eye. Then he moved his hand closer to John's. Now their hands were actually touching. Sparks flew from Sherlock's skin into John's hand. The spark flew right through his body and then landed in his heart. John lost his breath for a second, hoping that Mary didn't notice anything. Something was bursting inside him and it was impossible to hide. His pulse was speeding up and he looked away, not able to look at Sherlock or the movie. But he didn't move his hand. Sherlock didn't move his hand either. John realized that he didn't want to move his hand. He wanted to feel this. He was confused and mad as hell but suddenly he was free.

- Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant! Sherlock gasped.

John quickly drew back his hand looking at Sherlock. Sherlock stood up and walked quickly out into the kitchen. John sat and looked after him, not able to say a word. Mary came closer to him once again. But John felt an aching emptiness in his body. The moment was gone.