John looked down at the two mugs in front of him. Coffee with a dollop of cream and sugar. Strong tea with one sugar and plenty of milk. Exactly the way he drank it, both of them. Which would be fine, except he hadn’t made them.
And then yesterday—last night—came back to him, and he turned around. “Sherlock.”
Sherlock smiled and stepped forward from the doorway. “John.”
“So you’re actually here. Really, actually, here. For good.”
In answer, Sherlock took his hand and pulled him close. “Here is relative, John. If you think—I know it’s hard, but do try to—”
John knew where this was going and felt a smile tug at the corner of his lips. “Shut it,” he whispered, and leaned forwards on the balls of his feet.
The world’s only (newly returned from the dead) consulting detective did as he was told for once, a smile tugging at his lips as well as he leaned down.
“It’s uh… Well, it’s like a best friend, but more. It’s the one person in the world that knows you better than anyone else. It’s someone who makes you a better person. Actually, they don’t make you a better person, you do that yourself because they inspire you. A soul mate is someone who you carry with you forever. It’s the one person who knew you and accepted you and believed in you before anyone else did or when no one else would. And no matter what happens, you’ll always love them. Nothing can ever change that. Make sense?”
