"John," a soft voice said, making me turn my eyes towards the door. Standing there, his hair slightly messy and his coat dirty, was Sherlock.
"Sher...Sherlock? How are you alive? I saw you die! You're dead!"
"It's...complicated."
"Complicated?"
"I'm back, John."
"Oh my God. You really are alive, aren't you?" I said. All he did was nod and hold out his arms, motioning for me. I walked over to him, still in a great amount of shock, and he slid his arms around me in a tight hug. The second his hands touched me I broke, sobbing into his coat.
"I missed you," he said, his arms still around me.
"Why didn't you tell me that you were alive?" I asked, still not pulling away, "The thought of you being dead...it broke me."
"I'm so sorry, John. I wanted to tell you sooner, but I had to protect you. I couldn't have any of Moriarty's assassins going after you."
"I would have rather known you were alive than had been safe, Sherlock," I said, moving away from him and down to the sofa.
"I know. I'm sorry."
"You've said sorry twice in the last thirty seconds. How...uncharacteristic."
"I really am, though. I wish that you could've known," he said.
"Just...never do that to me again, okay? i could never lose you like that again."
"I won't."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
"Good. I'm going to hold you to that one."
"Feel free to."
"Come here," I said, pointing to the spot next to me on the couch. Sherlock awkwardly walked over and sat down, running a hand through his hair. He grabbed one of my hands and started rubbing over the knuckles with his thumb.
"Sherlock, there's something I have to tell you."
"Yes?"
"I...I lo-"
And that's when my alarm clock went off, loud and obnoxious. My eyes shot open with a jolt, and I immediately began to cry, realizing that it was all a dream, a dream I had almost every night. The crushing feeling of knowing that Sherlock was still dead hit me like a ton of bricks, and I laid there, unwilling to leave the slight comfort that the blankets provided. Sherlock was dead, and he wasn't coming back.