I love the idea of this so much so I just had to write a story about it :D Enjoy!

John sighed as he sat down heavily in his armchair. He hadn't bothered to take off his coat or the scarf he'd inherited when his flatmate and best friend had died. He hardly ever took off that scarf. It was one of the most prized possessions of lost friend.

John was exhausted. It'd been a long day at the clinic, and what he needed was a hot cup of tea. His bones creaked as he stood. He set up the kettle and grabbed two mugs out of the cupboard (that hadn't held body parts in nearly a year). He always made Sherlock a cup of tea out of habit, and it felt like he was honoring his friend in a way. He realized that it was foolish but John just couldn't move on. It'd been a year to the day since he had watched his best friend plummet from the roof of the hospital.

Just as the kettle came to a boil, the doorbell rang. Making an irritated sound in the back of his throat, Watson descended to the front door. All the way down the stairs, the person kept ringing the bell.

Finally, Watson shouted, "I'm coming!"

Unfortunately, the person didn't stop ringing the bell. Reaching the door, John yanked the door open, fully expecting to start a shouting match with whomever was at the door, but his voice died in his throat when he saw the person who'd been waiting (rather impatiently) at the door.

It was Sherlock. He was wearing coloured contacts, so instead of their normal dazzling blue-gray they were a dull brown and his hair was blonde but those cheekbones and sculpted cupid's bow were unmistakable.

"Hello, John." He said, as if he hadn't just returned from the dead. He did the cursory inspection of his blogger, and a slight smile graced his perfect lips when his gaze came to rest on his blue silk scarf currently cinched around the doctor's neck.

John couldn't find his voice, it was as if he'd suddenly become mute.

"I brought the shopping." Sherlock continued. He raised his arm, and sure enough he was carrying two or three plastic bags full of groceries.

"Can I come in?" Sherlock asked.

Mutely, John nodded and opened the door a bit wider to allow Sherlock to pass him.

As Sherlock brushed by John, the latter caught a whiff of that well known Sherlock smell, and suddenly, he was able to talk again, "How the he-" He started.

"I'll explain in a moment." Sherlock cut him off.

Sighing, John closed the front door and started up the stairs behind the consulting detective.

When John reached his flat, he was alone. He had only just started to question his sanity when he heard rustling in the kitchen.

He went to investigate. There he found the blonde Sherlock putting away the shopping, and the two mugs John had gotten out early were steaming.

John's brain raced as he tried to piece together what was happening. Sherlock's alive, and blonde. He had done the shopping and he was actually putting it away (properly by the looks of it). He'd made the tea and most importantly, he was alive!

"Can you please explain everything to me?" John asked.

"In a moment. I need to take out these damn contacts." Sherlock replied, heading off in the direction of the bathroom.

John, who was afraid he'd lose Sherlock again, followed and stood just outside the bathroom door, listening to the faint sounds Sherlock was making.

John saw the doorknob start to turn so he quickly attempted to seem like he was nonchalantly waiting for Sherlock's explanation.

Sherlock didn't say anything as he finished making the tea. He then handed one of the mugs to John.

John suddenly lost his patience, "EXPLAIN. NOW!" He bellowed in Sherlock's face.

Sherlock took a sip of his tea and sat down in his normal black chair, "Molly helped me. She gave me some medicine to slow my heart rate so that it was almost nonexistent. I know a martial arts move that allows me to fall from a great height without gaining fatal injuries. The blood was applied by the crowd when you were hit by that bicycle. Simple, really." Sherlock rattled off, staring at his scarf that was still secured around John's neck.

"THAT'S IT?!" John yelled, "WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT TO ME?!"

"Did I mention snipers? If I didn't fall, the three people I care about most would have died."

John was still angry but instead of punching Sherlock in the face, he grabbed the consulting detective's collar and pulled him (forcibly) to his feet.

"I hate you." John spat, and abruptly turned on his heel and ran up the stairs to his room.

By the next morning, John had convinced himself that the blonde Sherlock was just a dream, but Sherlock was there, waiting for him in his normal chair when he came into the living room that morning. He was wearing a plain white t-shirt, his blue robe and matching pajama bottoms.

"John.. I'm.." Sherlock started, standing up when his blogger came into the room.

"Don't Sherlock. I don't want your apology if it doesn't mean anything."

"But... I.." Sherlock started again only to collapse backwards, clutching his side.

John forgot his anger and bitterness when he saw the pained look on his friends' face.

"Sherlock? Are you ok?" He asked frantically, as he knelt down next to his friend.

"Obviously not, John" Sherlock managed to gasp.

John was scared (and surprised) when he say the red that was seeping through Sherlock's shirt.

"Come on, lie down." He said, helping Sherlock to his feet and moving him over to lie down on the couch.

John carefully removed Sherlock's hand from were it was clutching his side.

"It's worse than I thought." John said, the worry evident in his voice. He ran to get his first aid kit from where he kept it under the sink in the bathroom.

Kneeling down next to Sherlock again, John cut off his shirt and started to examine the wound, "What happened?" He asked as he held a piece of gauze to the wound, trying to staunch the bleeding.

"I was shot." Sherlock replied, gritting his teeth.

"Oh, my god. Did you get the bullet removed?" John asked.

"The bullet just grazed my side." Sherlock replied, "The wound must have reopened."

The bleeding had stopped and John saw that he had overreacted. It would give Sherlock a scar certainly but it didn't require stitches. So John cleaned it and applied a bandage.

"How does it feel?" John asked Sherlock once the wound was dressed.

"Hurts like hell." Was the reply he got.

"Yeah, I can imagine. Here take these," John said as he handed Sherlock two pain killers and a glass of water, "You can sit up now."

Sherlock slowly sat up and winced slightly.

"You're an idiot, Sherlock Holmes." John said, sitting down next to his friend.

Sherlock just smiled and didn't bother rejecting the statement.

"I gotta get going." John said, glancing at his watch.

"Have fun at the clinic." Sherlock replied sarcastically.

John chuckled and went to get dressed. Coming back downstairs he put on his jacket and, out of habit, he cinched Sherlock's scarf around his neck.

He heard Sherlock scoff behind him. Turning around, John blushed and started to take off the scarf again.

"No, keep it. It looks good on you." Sherlock blurted out quickly.

"Ummm... Thanks?" John replied awkwardly before slipping out the front door.

Sherlock spent the entire day lying on the couch in his mind palace. He was in the room marked 'John'. Every little thing John had every said or done was cataloged there. Sherlock realized that he had way too much information on John in this room, so he started to go through everything, deleting everything he thought unnecessary, but as soon as he deleted something, it would come back.

When John came back from the clinic, Sherlock looked at him, and told him, "John. I have sentiments for you."

John was in the process of taking off Sherlock's scarf, and he stopped, the scarf loose around his neck. "I'm sorry, what kind of sentiments are we talking about here?"

Sherlock huffed as he stood up and stalked towards John, forcing him backwards so that he bumped into the door, "I'm in love with you." He stated out right. His mouth mere centimeters from John's.

John's sexual identity crisis came and went within seconds, "I'm in love with you too, Sherlock Holmes." He replied. And he meant it, with all his heart.

A sly smile fluttered across Sherlock's lips, as he reached up and stroked the scarf that used to be his, "You know you really do look handsome in this."

John hummed, and looked mildly confused. Usually, a declaration of love is followed by a good snog.

"And it benefits me greatly that you are going to wear it now." Sherlock continued.

John cocked his head to the side, afraid to break the spell that Sherlock's icy eyes and sweet baritone voice but him under.

"It gives me something to pull on." He replied slyly.

Sherlock's words didn't even register in John's head before the former pulled on the scarf. Even if John wanted to, he wouldn't have been able to pull away from Sherlock as his lips crashed against his.

I hope you enjoyed this :D Let me know what you thought!