This is it, folks, for my first Sherlock fanfiction. I loved it all along. Like I said, I already have another written. I just need to correct it. Hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I did in writing it. If you have suggestion or comments, please do send them. I take any constructive comment. I want to get better.
As for this last chapter, I was aiming for a nice ending without the Walt-Disney-perfect-ending. So enjoy and see you at the next story!
Both men were face to face, sleeping. John woke up, but did not move. He kept his eyes closed. But he started being cold and he wanted to get closer to the person next to him. That is when he remembered it was Sherlock at his side. A grin illuminated his face. He relaxed completely, smelled Sherlock's aroma and felt heat waves emanating from his resting body. However, when he listened to the breathing, it was not regular and profound as sleeping respiration.
"How many lovers have you stared at like this?" John said.
Sherlock opened his eyes. "Staring implies looking, but my eyes were closed."
"No, they weren't." argued the former soldier.
"I'm always impressed at how you manage to avoid questions. How you divert the conversation… Can I ask you something, Sherlock?"
Sigh. "Can I stop you?"
"Can you not cut again? For me. I don't like it."
"You don't like it or it's bad for me?"
"Both, but do it for me."
"You're playing the empathy card." Sherlock stated annoyed and he looked away.
"And you're playing the diversion card." retorted John.
Sherlock looked down, probably ashamed.
"Obviously, you won't do it for yourself, but maybe you'll do it for me?" he implored.
Sherlock looked straight into John's eyes. John suddenly pitied his friend and lover. Yes, inspector Lestrade is right. Sherlock is a child. Some see arrogance where there is courage, some see cruelty where there is terror, and some see indifference where there is… love?
"Testing psychology 101 with me, John?"
"It has yet to be proven right on a specimen as unique as you. What do you think?"
"It might work." and his hands joined to think properly. But John saw the hands trembling and the tears forming in Sherlock's eyes.
"Aw, come here." John said to the tall man grabbing his head and bringing it to his chest. Sherlock's arm slipped around John's body, his fists clutched on himself. Sherlock clasped very tight to John who wrapped his hands around his vulnerable lover. John felt warm tears streaming down his bosom. He did not say anything, but when Sherlock's body started jerking and he heard sobs, he administrated little kisses of consolation on Sherlock's head and whispered reassuringly: "It's all right."
"I'm sorry." Sherlock cried. "It's so strong in me." Hiccups.
"Ok. Ok. It's all right now."
"I'm sorry, please don't go."
Gotcha! John had put his finger on it: solitude. Sherlock was afraid to be alone. Yet, this was exactly what he provoked by his character. How can human being be so contradictory? Especially Sherlock when he tries so hard to put on this façade. John smiled. He had realized how much Sherlock needed him. He had just realized… how he felt about Sherlock.
"Did I mention I'm yours?"