Final chapter! It feels like forever since I started.
The first thing he noticed when he woke up was warmth. He hadn't been this warm in weeks, kipping on people's sofas and spare beds were not this luxurious to say the least. And then he remembered.
He remembered all of the previous night. Of checking on Sherlock. Of finding him kidnapped. Of going to the church. Of nearly dying. But most of all of Sherlock saying he loved him. It brought a warmth to his chest, something he couldn't quite describe and a need to find the man.
It wasn't until he tried to shift that he realised that he'd already found him.
John wasn't sure entirely how it was possible but the detective had managed to curl himself entirely around John. He didn't just mean the usual sprawl over him, even spooning didn't seem enough to describe it.
When he'd moved the detective had gripped tighter in on him. And he could feel limbs everywhere. A chest against his back. Legs curving around his sides to lock in front and keep his legs in their foetal position. Arms clutching his chest in place. Head positioned so there was a chin on the top of his head.
There was no wonder he was so bloody warm. Sherlock was practically acting like a heated blanket wrapped around him. But he couldn't bring himself to really mind.
The breathing he could feel blowing through his hair didn't change but from the slight squeeze he felt showed that his partner was awake.
"We need to talk."
There was a mumble above his head. It took him a few minutes to decipher the negative reply. He couldn't even really bring himself to really argue the point. He was so warm and so comfy he didn't want to move.
It wasn't long until the heat and the feel of Sherlock's heart beat against his back lulled him back to sleep.
As he sat on the sofa in his own clothes, he'd been borrowing other people's for the last week or so, and a cup of tea in hand he couldn't suppress the content smile which crept up onto his face.
It had taken him half an hour to convince Sherlock to release him long enough to get out of bed and to his great amusement he noted that the man hadn't let him out of his sight the entire time. Then as soon as he'd sat down he found a head on his lap. It was rather amusing.
"Sherlock. Are you ready to talk?"
His eyes fluttered open and looked up at him. "Yes."
It was a such a small sound that he almost didn't hear it. His hand moved on its own as it moved to run his fingers through the unruly mop of curls on his lap. If he didn't know better he'd have said that Sherlock purred.
"Did you mean it?"
He could feel the tensing of the detective's body as he said the words. The eyes were open again and looking at him seriously, a rather funny look considering his current position.
"Yes." He could see the emotions behind the man's eyes as he thought it through, him incredible mind unable to help him with the emotions.
"And before then."
Silence set in as he continued to stroke the man's hair. A hand came up to halt his fingers. "I do not handle emotions well. I think I loved you...but it was new...I didn't know, not until you left. I didn't know what to do when you weren't coming back. I couldn't concentrate. Couldn't work. Couldn't think. I knew Sally had drugged the water but I drank it anyway. I just wanted the feelings to stop for a bit."
John turned the hand over in his.
"I'm here now."
He could see the determination in Sherlock's eyes. "And you're not going away again. Ever."
He didn't even bother to point out the impracticality to Sherlock, he knew it would have no effect. Instead he just nodded and took a sip of tea. It was best to humour the detective, after all he'd like to get a bit of privacy back before the man felt the need to follow him into the shower.
Somehow he thought the man would probably do it anyway.
Lestrade turned up late in the afternoon. He brought a tape recorder along and various official forms so he could take their statements in Baker Street without dragging them down to the station. It was probably a good thing because John knew Sherlock would have out right refused.
He really hadn't wanted there to be a confrontation between the two men, especially as Sherlock had shot Anderson dead. While it would probably be passed off as self defence in a court, which it was, they really should have been looking at least at a charge for the illegal possession of a firearm. If not worse.
The DI raised an eyebrow as Sherlock settled on the sofa next to him, arms around his waist but John chose to ignore it. He was becoming rather used to the supposed sociopath's newly found affection and had to admit that it was rather nice.
The interview all went rather well until it came to the part of Sherlock shooting Anderson. As it turned out John had been right and while it was classed as self defence the fact that they'd, or he'd, been carry an unlicensed gun on the streets could not be ignored.
Lestrade gave him this overly sympathetic look. He realised that the DI obviouslywasn't aware of how many people he'd shot to keep Sherlock safe but it was best unmentioned, especially as he was being asked to go down to the police station.
They'd managed to get half way through him being cautioned when Mycroft walked in. He had to admit this was the first time Sherlock had even looked remotely happy to see his brother, the incident of drugging him excluded.
"I do think you'll want to stop that now Detective Inspector Lestrade." He didn't think he'd ever seen Lestrade so surprised. "After all you would be arresting two of MI5's highest ranked agents."
John had to be hearing this wrong. "Highest ranked...what?"
Then again Mycroft was a Holmes.
He was almost grateful for Lestrade's stuttering as it stopped him doing exactly the same. Sherlock, unflappable bugger as he was, seemed to be taking it all in his stride. Although he'd probably just worked it out.
"An early Christmas present. After all I can't have you arrested, who would stop Sherlock causing trouble."
The warning growl got Mycroft back onto the point.
"Anyway, you are now high level agents of MI5 working independently, entitling you to carry firearms. It's back dated to the day I first kidnapped you John." He could practically hear the creepy smiley face at the end of the comment.
Sometimes Mycroft scared him more than Moriarty. Still at least he wasn't going to prison. And he could carry his gun legally. Reluctantly it had to be the best (early) present he'd ever got, even if it did come from someone he found slightly disturbing.
Hours later they were back on the sofa, watching crap telly with Sherlock shouting the answers and plots out. They'd got through six different movies and Sherlock had guessed the plot to them all, it really did amaze John.
He couldn't help but smile as he watched Sherlock watch the telly. He was so beautiful, if a little clingy still.
The break came on and Sherlock turned to face him, catching him watching. John felt his breath catch at the smile the man gave him. They were suddenly very close and getting even closer. He wasn't sure who was moving but he could feel Sherlock's breath against his face.
Heat flushed through his body as the arms already around his waist pulled him closer until they were pressed against each other. He felt almost overcome by the sensation.
Their lips touched and it felt like the world ended leaving just the two of them in their own existence.
This time when Sherlock pulled away it was only to pull John towards their bed.
Hope you've enjoyed this as much as I've enjoyed writing it. I've considered doing a sequel eventually, although not until I settle in at uni. What do people think? If you say yeas then what would you like to see in it?