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John H. Watson (doctor_watson) wrote in thedoorway,

"Yeah, yeah that's fine," John said, his voice close to cracking. He must look a right mess, he realized. Grinning and closer to crying than he'd like to admit. Letting go of Sherlock, he sat down across from him, already slightly embarrassed at his reaction. He supposed that even if Sherlock didn't know about his suicide, it would have been fairly easy to figure out that he'd been here for a while and didn't know if he'd ever see him again . . . which was also true. It was a bit hard to feel that his actions were unjustified, though, when he felt this . . . light. Because he had the second chance he'd wanted, to not let his friend down where he'd failed him before . . .to just have his best friend back. And all the little doubts he'd started having over the past few weeks about himself, about letting Sherlock down, about whether he really should feel so intensely about this without it bordering on unhealthy, about who he really was without Sherlock Holmes in his life . . .were as insignificant as dust floating through the air.

Now just where to begin with everything. John actually laughed at the feeling of having as much time with Sherlock as he wanted now. Completely impossible... five minutes ago? Maybe best to get the more serious things out of the way first, though. He calmed himself down as much as he could in a few seconds.

"When was it back home, before you were pulled through?"