Yet another Reunion!fic because they are the only way to handle all the Reichenfeels. This one is pretty fluffy and also angsty, so I hope it appeals to a lot of you :)

I like the cell/mobile phone angle just because I thought it would be interesting to know what happened to all of Sherlock's personal effects. I thought this one up at work..

Warnings: slashy Johnlock kissing

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock. Big shock there.

Edit: Just made a few small edits to clean it up.

It was only a few days after the funeral that Molly swung by the flat where John was staying with Greg for a bit. He couldn't stay at Baker Street, not so soon after the Fall, not with so many memories of his best friend. She came bearing a large box labeled 'HOLMES, S.' She did not smile as she handed it to John.

"His personal effects," she stated.

John's chest was suddenly inexplicably tight as he pulled the lid off the box and peered inside. There were all Sherlock's things from that day, his clothes, his wallet, his shoes, everything. He carefully replaced the lid, thanking her softly. He couldn't go through Sherlock's things in front of Molly or Greg.

"Oh, his mobile's in there somewhere," she added before leaving.

"His mobile? Didn't it brea-," he choked on the last word, couldn't say it.

"No… it wasn't even in his coat when he… he left it on the roof. He wanted you to have it, along with his other things. Mycroft told me. Well… um… see you."

John retreated to his room once she left. His hands shook as he opened it again. This wasn't a case. This wasn't a stranger. This was Sherlock. Nestled on top of everything was the blue scarf, the one he wore everywhere. He felt a bit stupid for pressing it to his face and breathing deeply, but he didn't care, not when he had Sherlock back for a few moments. He set aside the carefully folded shirt and trousers (Molly's doing, no doubt), going right for the coat, running his fingers over the familiar wool, the red buttonholes, the remembered stains. Again, he buried his face in the fabric, the scent overpowering him, and it was like Sherlock was there until he remembered he was dead or he wouldn't have his nose in the coat. He cried, the dark wool soaking up his tears. He didn't recall laying down with Sherlock's coat pressed to his chest and falling asleep, but it's a credit to Greg that he didn't mention it when he woke John to eat.

It was only then that John noticed some extra weight in the coat, and he started digging in the pockets until he found it. Sherlock's mobile phone. He held it in his trembling hands like a relic, almost afraid to hold it. Gently, he put his thumb to the power button. The screen blinked into life with a little tune, and John was confused. There was a four-digit passcode to Sherlock's phone. Oddly enough, Sherlock had never had a passcode to his phone. Its sudden appearance perplexed him. There wasn't even a real clue for him to try and guess. Just four empty slots and the words 'DO NOT FORGET' over them. John nearly chuckled at the thought of Sherlock forgetting his own passcode. There were still some unread texts and a voicemail. He wondered who they were from.

John kept the phone close at all times, just like his own, sometimes just staring at the screen for hours at a time, wondering what was so important to Sherlock that he would make it his passcode in the last moments of his life. One day, after much internal debate, he picked up the phone and typed in the letters 'W-O-R-K'. Nothing. He sighed. He didn't really think that was it. A month later he tried '2-2-1-B'. Not it.

After that it was '1-8-9-5'. He didn't think that was it, either.

Next came 'S-H-E-R' from The Woman's case, followed by 'S-R-L-K'. Neither of those.

It was a long time before he punched in the letters 'H-L-M-S'. Wrong.

Over the course of three years he tried various codes.

H-D-S-N.

0-6-0-1.

B-A-K-R.

I-R-E-N.

A-D-L-R.

K-N-O-W.

B-R-T-N.

N-S-Y-D.

0-7-0-7.

A-S-I-P.

B-L-B-R.

G-R-G-A.

A-S-I-B.

T-H-O-B.

Nothing ever worked. Sometimes he repeated himself, just praying it would work. Once, in a fit of grief and frustration, he put in 'D-E-A-D'. He nearly threw it across the room before remembering how precious it was to him.

There was a day where he considered his name as the code briefly before removing the thought from his head. It was a silly, stupid idea. A month before the third anniversary of the Fall, John was becoming rather fed up. Why did Sherlock leave him the bloody phone if he couldn't use it?

"I should just put it in a bag and leave it on your sodding grave," he muttered, his face in his hands.

"Well, it wouldn't be of much use to us there, would it?"

John's head snapped up at the familiar baritone. Before him stood Sherlock Holmes. He looked a little worse for wear: thinner, paler, nearly fragile. His hair was shorter and a bit lighter. He wore an oversize jumper, jeans, and dirty old trainers. John did the only thing he could think of to do. He strode across the sitting room and punched Sherlock in the face. The taller man reeled momentarily from the blow, waiting for more to rain down. John swung wildly, his blows not even close to landing, all the while shouting, "How could you? You stupid, son-of-a-bitch, bastard! How could you?"

It was a while before Sherlock finally grabbed John's wrists and held them apart and still. John just collapsed to the floor, taking Sherlock with him, and began to sob in earnest.

"Why?" he choked, "Why did you do it? Why did you leave me?"

"I had to protect you," he answered, his eyes shining, "I left you messages."

John quieted, sniffed. Sherlock continued, "I left them for you on my mobile. Didn't you get them?"

"No, because I couldn't get into the damn thing!"

"Why not?"

John wrenched his arms from the man's grip, half-shouting, " How could I? You put a bloody passcode on! I couldn't get past it!"

"But it was so simple. I thought you would get it right away. May I?"

He reluctantly handed the detective his old mobile. With a small a smile, he typed in the code and handed it back. The doctor gave a small gasp.

J-O-H-N. Just his name. Do not forget…

He looked back to Sherlock, who simply nodded, and pressed 'Enter'.

John, I'm so sorry. –SH

I owe you a thousand apologies. –SH

I've only been gone a week, and I miss you John. I want to come back. –SH

Please forgive me. –SH

I can't wait to see you again someday. –SH

John, I want to come home more than anything. –SH

I miss you. –SH

I miss you. –SH

I miss you so much. –SH

John's breath caught in his chest as he read them. Sherlock watched anxiously. When John made to hand him the phone back, Sherlock said, "No… there's more."

"There aren't anymore texts."

"I know. I left you voicemails."

The doctor went to the phone's voicemail, but Sherlock gently took the phone from him and set it between them, putting it on speaker. Sherlock's voice filled the room.

"John, I wish so terribly that I could hear your voice, but you're in enough danger as it is with my just leaving a message. I only want you to be safe, and if this is how it must be done, so be it. It's enough just knowing you're alive."

"Oh, John, I want you here with me so much. I wish you could see all the sights I've seen. There are just so many wonderful things in this world, and I'm rather upset that I have don't have my blogger beside me to share them with. You would love it."

"I think you would like Tibet. The people here are wonderful and very kind."

"I just miss you so much."

"I wish you were here. I miss you."

"I miss you more than anything."

"You would love Cairo."

"You would love Philadelphia."

"You would love Vancouver."

"Today, I rode an ostrich."

"I climbed a mountain."

"Have you ever ridden a horse?"

"I just miss you so much. I can't bear it."

"J-John, b-been wounded prett-pretty badly. I-I j-just want you t-t-to know that m-my biggest regret at-at this point is th-that you aren't be-beside me… s-so I c-could say that… that I love you. I-I love you m-more than anything or anyone. In f-fact, y-you are the only p-person I th-think I have ever l-loved… and I-I am so sorry that this is how I m-must say… say g-goodbye."

"I'll come home soon. I love you."

"I can't wait to come back. John, I love you."

"I just love you so much."

"I love you more than anything."

John felt tears rolling down his face and looked at Sherlock, who was quaking with silent tears. The doctor didn't hesitate in reaching over to the taller man and pulling him into a tight embrace, crying into his shoulder.

"Oh, God, you're home. You're really here," John murmured.

"I don't intend on leaving ever again," he responded, "not without you."

John pulled back and looked at Sherlock, saying, "Good, 'cause I won't let you leave."

He put his hands on either side of Sherlock's face, wiping away his tears with his thumbs.

"I meant it, John. What I said."

"What was that?"

"I love you more than anything."

The doctor saw nothing but sincerity in the pale, tear-filled eyes and leaned in, whispering, "I love you, too," pressing his lips to Sherlock's gently. He pulled away after a few seconds. Sherlock said, "Oh, I missed you so much," and leaned in to kiss John again. John's heart soared, nearly beat right out of his chest, with the joy he felt. How he never knew he wanted this, he will never understand. He flicked his tongue over Sherlock's bottom lip, asking for entrance and receiving it. He felt a pair of hands snake up to grasp at the nape of his neck as he slid his tongue into that perfect mouth. John simply let his tongue explore, trying to memorize all he could. Sherlock kissed him back clumsily, clearly having done this little to no times; it was endearing. The doctor made sure to keep gentle control of the kiss, keeping it slow and loving and passionate. However, at one point, Sherlock broke away and began raining kisses all over John's face (to the corner of his mouth, his cheeks, his nose, eyelids, forehead, temple) all while murmuring, "I love you," between each one. John's hands remained on the detective's face.

"I want you to sleep with me tonight, John," he whispered.

"Of course," John answered, "I'm going to want to make sure you're here when I wake up. That this is all real."

"I'll need to do the same."

"I've been praying for this day for so long, Sherlock."

"Me, too."

John kissed him again, his heart full of joy. He felt Sherlock smile.

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