The return to Baker Street, after everything they've been through, proves to be rather anti-climactic. Sherlock is in a bad mood because he had to spend a full week in the hospital and he's only just been released, while John was only required to stay for a few days before he could leave. Of course, the fact that he spent the rest of the time at Sherlock's side when he wasn't packing up his flat doesn't seem to matter. If not for the fact that John is ridiculously pleased to see Sherlock stalking up the stairs like an offended cat and flinging himself down on the sofa, he might be tempted to turn right around and leave again. Instead, he carefully slides his coat off, mindful of his sling, and hangs it up.

"You alright?" he asks. Sherlock is still far too thin. Part of the reason he had to stay in the hospital for so long is because his body is completely unable to fight against any infection: it's that run down from lack of food and sleep. He starts thinking about what they're going to have for dinner.

"I'm fine," Sherlock says sharply in his 'I hate having to repeat myself' voice. "But I'm bored."

"Of course you are." John smiles affectionately as he hears footsteps on the stairs. A moment later Mrs Hudson bustles into the room carrying a tray with tea and biscuits. For once she doesn't bother to make a comment about how she's not their housekeeper. Her eyes are misty as she sets the tray carefully on the table and glances between Sherlock and John like she's half expecting the both of them to vanish. John knows the feeling. Part of the reason he didn't mind staying with Sherlock at the hospital is because he had the man in reach the whole time. No need to worry about Sherlock disappearing again when he's right there.

"Thought you might be hungry," says Mrs Hudson, turning to John.

"Thank you," John says. "We are."

Sherlock huffs.

John sends him a look. "We are," he repeats firmly.

Mrs Hudson just smiles and pats John on the arm. "If you need anything, I'm right downstairs," she says. "Just this once, mind you, but I'll keep an ear out."

"Thanks," he says again and watches as she leaves. It's a relief to close the door behind her and when he turns around Sherlock has sat up and is staring at him. There's an unusually warm look in his eyes as he silently extends a hand to John, who crosses the room in a handful of steps and gladly takes it. He allows Sherlock to tug him down onto the sofa and they curl up, sliding arms and legs together in every which way until there's no space between them at all except where John has to be mindful of his arm. It feels good to rest his head against Sherlock's chest and hear the steady beat of a heart within.

"Alright?" Sherlock asks quietly. One of his hands lightly runs across John's shoulder, tracing the path of the sling.

"Yeah." John doesn't think he needs to explain just how alright he is. He sighs and turns his head slightly, tilting back until he can see Sherlock peering down at him. His eyes turn out to be at the perfect height to give him an excellent view of Sherlock's mouth and he can't help looking. They haven't talked about the kiss. He doesn't even know if Sherlock remembers it considering that the man was pretty out of it at the time. Granted they've been touching each other a lot more, but still. He swallows and looks away. "I should get the tea. It will get cold."

"John." There's a husky quality to Sherlock's voice that wasn't there before. "Would you… kiss me?"

John stills. A dozen questions rush to his mind but when there's a gorgeous man asking for a kiss, well, John Watson is not the sort of man who hesitates. He props himself up on his good arm and leans up, pressing his mouth to Sherlock's. He keeps the kiss short and sweet, relishing in the soft feel of Sherlock's lips moving against his, the way Sherlock's hand slides through his hair, before pulling away. He's relieved to notice that Sherlock is smiling and feels a grin spread over his face in response.

"Tea?" he says again.

"If you insist." Sherlock says it like he doesn't really care even though John knows for a fact that Sherlock has been craving a good cup of tea since he first woke up in the hospital.

He gets up and moves over to the table, automatically pouring the tea into two mugs and adding just the right amounts of milk and sugar. He carries them back one at a time, handing Sherlock's over before returning for the plate of biscuits and then for his own mug. The look of absolute bliss on Sherlock's face when he takes his first sip makes John feel warm all over. He knows there's definitely a foolish smile on his face but he doesn't care. He sits back down on the sofa, close enough that their shoulders are brushing, and sighs contentedly.

"Sherlock?" he says once they've both eaten a couple of biscuits.

"Hmm?"

"If you ever have to do something like that again, faking your death I mean, I'm going with you." John's had a lot of time to think about how to broach the topic. His initial anger has faded, directed as it was towards Moran, Adair and Gregson, and now he just feels tired about the whole thing. He understands why Sherlock did it but that doesn't mean he likes it. It's pointless to make Sherlock promise never to do it again and there's no sense in threats - they both know John will always be here waiting - but this, this is something he can do.

Sherlock doesn't say anything. And when he finally says "John" he sounds kind of lost again.

"It's alright. I just wanted you to know." He balances his mug between his thighs and reaches for Sherlock's hand, giving it a warm squeeze. "From now on we're going to do things together, got it?"

Slowly, Sherlock relaxes. "Yes," he says and squeezes back.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed and enjoyed this story! Please review one last time.