John Watson sat dozing in his chair. He spent a lot of time dozing nowadays; without Sherlock, he was finally getting the relaxing lifestyle which had been proposed after he had returned from Afghanistan. He wasn't sure he liked it very much.

He was roused by the doorbell. "I'll get it!"

He grabbed his walking stick and limped across the room, down the stairs and to the door, which he opened.

Sherlock stood in the doorframe.

Sherlock.

Actually Sherlock.

A minute passed. Two. John just stood there, staring. Sherlock stared back. Silent. Brooding. Just as John remembered him. Three minutes. Then, John cleared his throat.

"The kettle's just boiled."