A/N: As this is the last chapter, its pretty long. I could have split it but I think that would have ruined the flow. I hope my end doesn't disappoint.

Enjoy.

No Beta-Reader. Probably Grammar/Spelling mistakes. Contains spoilers for season two.


John groaned as he pulled his face out of the pillow and checked the clock. 8:30AM. He smiled at little, for John Watson that was considered a lie in. After years of hardly any sleep while working with Sherlock and now the 6AM call to be at the surgery by 8, it was a miracle his body clock understood the concept at all. He did wish that he could have just another hour or so. He hadn't slept in past 9 since…well, medical school and only then on very rare occasions.

With another groan at the injustice of waking up early on a weekend, John throw his legs out of bed and plodded into the connecting bathroom to deal with personal business which had become a constant necessity over the past few months. His dream taking a turn he would never had imagined possible. After twenty minutes John strolled out via the side door with a flushed staining his cheeks. He passed the fridge and headed for the living room to fletch his mug that he'd left beside his chair the previous night. He was surprise that Sherlock was so quite. Usually the first thing he heard in the morning was that ever constant, comforting voice wishing him a good morning. Which was actually totally unlike Sherlock if John thought about it. Sherlock never wished anyone good morning, unless he wanted something. His mind was solely focused on this as he walked to the small table and reached for his mug. Then froze.

He just stooped there for what seemed like eternity staring at the figure in the chair. The morning sunlight bouncing of his dark curled hair. His slim, elegant fingers plucking at the strings of his violin, his sea blue eyes with flicks of brown staring at him and that smug confident smile pulling slightly at his features.

That's…it can't be.

John of course it is.

Of course its not. - You've finally lost it Johnny boy. It's not bad enough you've spent the last few months talking to yourself, now your hallucinating. Though lets be honest, it was bound to happened eventually. - And its not the first time. Give you credit though, blood convincing. John's hand was beginning to shake as his fingers fastened around the cup, lifting it slowly and cautiously off the table. His gaze never leaving the illusion in front of him. With a deep breath he straightened, shook his head, turned and went back to the kitchen. A cup of tea is what you need…no coffee…or maybe something stronger, except there isn't anything in the house because of Harry. So coffee then. That would be enough to clear your mind. A cup of tea then a call to your therapist. Cause no matter how much he didn't want to talk or think about his issues, seeing his dead flatmate was most defiantly a cause for concern.

"If your making tea John." Sherlock announced behind the doctor, making him freeze again at the counter.

Sherlock couldn't help but smirk at the look on John's face. It was never going to be easy walking back into the man's life. And maybe he could have been a little more subtle, maybe got Molly or Mycroft to talk to him first. As it was, he'd wanted to surprise the man and this was the most fun he has since his self-imposed afterlife. He watched John stand motionless at the cupboard his gaze locked on the shelf. Sherlock couldn't stop the wide grin spreading across his lips. The shock would fade eventually, then no doubt John was shout a bit then demand an explanation and then they could settle back into normal life. The detectives gaze once again swept the room. He'd done it a few times since his arrival three hour ago needed to be sure everything was where he'd left it. He hadn't waited for permission from Mycroft. He didn't need it. He'd promised his brother forty eight hours and that's what he'd given him. He'd hardly slept the night before in anticipation of getting home, back to 221B. - Back to John. He'd been quite tempted on arrival to go wake John but he was a terrible grouch when woken up, not that he was any better when he woke of his own accord. So Sherlock had dropped into his chair, pulled out John laptop and decided to see just what his brother had been up to.

Turned out Mycroft had put a rather impressive if a little implausible spin on the suicide of Sherlock Holmes. No one with a brain-cell would believe the nonsense his brother had begun feeding to the press two days ago, via an anonymous source. Luckily the general population were morons. After laughing at the public's ability to believe anything on a whim as long as it had the words 'exclusive' or 'secret source reveals' on it, Sherlock decided to check both his website and John's blog. It took him two hours to sort out the mess and post an announcement of his resurrection from the dead, playing along with the ridiculous legend Mycroft had put out. He'd then sent of a very to the point email to Lestrade.

You know where to find me.

SH.

Then settled back to wait for John to wake up. And it was the most dull, agonising wait in history. Now John was awake and almost responsive, Sherlock felt finally at ease. He plucked at the strings of his violin as he continued to watch a motionless John in the kitchen. "I emailed Lestrade." he announced. "Hopefully we'll be back to work soon. There's a rather intriguing case I found while waiting for you get waking up…." he rambled on. "…a woman found drowned in the middle of Wimbledon common. - I have a few theories but don't wish to jump to conclusions until I've have all the data." John still wasn't moving and Sherlock finally frowned. "John?"

"Oh." gasped a female voice from the doorway.

Sherlock turned to stare at Harry, his gaze making a quick sweep of her as she stood gaping at him. "Huh, Harry. - I'd say it was nice to finally meet you but I'd be lying. - I'm glad you've stopped drinking, though I'm sure that John would tell you that replacing one addiction for another is not really the wisest option. Of course you already know that. Your councillor told you, was it before or after you began having sex with her." his gaze narrowed look at her more closely. "…before of course."

"Your…Your?"

Sherlock smirked and turned his gaze back to John. "Yes." Sherlock lifted his bow from his lap and began to swing it aimlessly as he watch John finally move.

~ Holmes Is Where The Voice Is ~

John just stood staring at Sherlock's mug, his mind a buzz of nonsense and noise. He had to admit it now that despite his believe that Sherlock had faked his death, deep down in his heart he knew it wasn't true. Which meant that he'd been clinging to a dream for the past few months. Which also meant he was actually in deep trouble. Maybe he should have continued with his therapy, then he wouldn't currently be losing his marbles.

John. His mind announced. You know that's really him, right?

Of course its not him. He's dead. You saw it with your own two eyes. It was all very nice fantasising that it was all some grand trick but I think it's time to face reality now John Watson. That is not Sherlock Holmes, because Sherlock Holmes is dead.

He isn't.

Fine. I'll prove it.

John wasn't even aware that he was moving again. His mind was arguing with itself. He didn't feel the mug he'd pulled absently from the shelf. He didn't feel his arm rising or the snap of muscle as he flung it across the room. All he was focused on was the illusion of Sherlock. Waiting for the object to pass right though him and land in an empty abandoned owner-less leather chair.

Sherlock hadn't expected to be bombarded with kitchen ware, so he hadn't had time to react. Instead the red cup collided with his forehead painfully, breaking the skin beneath and resorting in a barrage of curses from the usually composed consulting detective as he leapt to his feet. "What the hell are you doing John!" he yelled. "For God sake!" his hand probed at the wound, where it began to coat his fingers in blood, that was now making its way down his face.

"Your…." John gasped, physically shaken. "You're not dead?"

"Obviously. - Though I may end up so." he snapped, waving his bloody fingers at his flatmate, while fishing in his pocket for a handkerchief. "What did you think you were doing John!"

"I…" John just stood, frozen once more at the realisation.

The two men stared at each other. Harry stared at them and in the distance there was the sound of running feet, breathless pants and words. Then Mrs. Hudson rushing into the room and skidded to a halt next to Harry. Looking pale, breathless and shocked beyond recognition. Sherlock turned his most warm, charming smile on the older woman.

"Mrs. Hudson."

There was a long silence in which Harry half expected the other woman to faint, instead she just heaved a heavy sigh and shook her head. "Oh, Sherlock."

Sherlock strolled over to her, gripped her shoulder and pressed a kiss to her check. "Its good to be home."

Tears pooled in the old woman's eyes as she looked up at the man who'd become the son she'd never had. Her shaking hand raising to brush at his cheek maternally, before swatting at his shoulder. "You shit, Sherlock." she laughed though her tears. "You broke our hearts." she sniffled, looking up at his apologetic smile. "Don't you ever do that again, or you'll find yourself out on the streets."

The pair laughed at the irrational statement. "What happened to you?" Mrs. Hudson added after a few moments.

"It seems John doesn't take all that well to surprises." Sherlock smirked, turning back to see John glaring at him dangerously.

He's real. It's really him. That's all that went through his mind for a good few minutes. He hadn't even noticed Mrs. Hudson's arrival, or Sherlock moving to greet her. He was just in complete shock. Sherlock Holmes was alive. Actually alive. Living, breathing, alive. Bastard!

"John. There are ladies present." Sherlock smirked, knowing Mrs. Hudson had used far worse language.

"You bastard!" John yelled this time, his gaze turning hard as his brain cleared of confusion and was swamped with anger. "You arrogant, smug, upper class wanker. How could you!"

"Come dear, I think we should leave them to it." Mrs. Hudson whispered quietly, almost dragging a still stunned Harry out of the room.

"What? - why?"

"I don't think you wanted to be here when…." she didn't get to finish her statement as a thump hit the wall and Sherlock shouted.

Mrs. Hudson and Harry made what would be considered in military parlance as a tactical retreat.

John reached for the first thing he could find, which happened to be one of Sherlock's books. It flew through the air and missed Sherlock's head by about three inches.

"John! That's a first addition!" the detective yelled.

"Like I give a flying first addition I thought you were dead! We all thought you were dead! - I watched you jump!"

"It's complicated John." Sherlock said calmly. "I will explain the whole thing once your calm."

"Calm! - If you're going to wait for me to be calm, you'll have a long fucking wait!"

Sherlock heaved a sigh. "John, Moriarty had people watching you, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade. If I didn't jump then they would have killed you all. I made the only logical decision."

This did nothing to easy the tension.

"And making me watch was what?"

"I knew you'd never believe it unless you saw it yourself. - And who better as a witness that my blogger."

John's face reddened and his hands were shaking. He could feel his heart slamming mercilessly against his ribs. "So you put us all though this to save our lives?"

"Of course. - You're the only friend I have John."

"Nice way to show it. - Do you know what I've gone though. Do you! - the nightmares, the counselling, the questions and allegations."

"Yes, it was rather ridiculous of TrueCrime84 to think you were involved. As I clearly stated in my post."

John glared at him with fire. "Screw defending my honour to some idiot Sherlock! I was pulled in by the police. They actually thought I was your accomplice."

Sherlock hung his head, shaking it. "I know. I'm sorry, I always knew they were morons but even I wouldn't have though that they were that thick. - You realise it was Donovan who put them on to you."

"Yes. - She never liked the fact that I sided with you. - She's been transferred you know. Cardiff."

Sherlock gave that satisfied smirk and John knew instantly that he'd been behind Sally's sudden departure.

"Of course you know." he sigh, shaking his head.

"Well, I've been waiting for long time to pull that one." Sherlock laughed.

John dropped his head and stared at his feet. He knew he should he happy Sherlock was alive. That he was home. It had all been some kind of awful dream they could put behind them. But he just couldn't wipe the memory of watching Sherlock topple to his death from his mind. "So how did you…? Actually, forget it. I don't want to know." With that he turned around and marched, back ridged, straight to his room. - Sherlock's room.

Sherlock watched him go with a frown. This had most certainly not been the reunion he'd expected. He'd thought there would be shouting, John always shouted when Sherlock had disappointed him. But John whole manner seemed off. Different. Hard to analyse. He was clearly happy he was alive but there was something playing behind his features Sherlock couldn't place. Walking over to his chair he fell back down into it and steepled his fingers, wondering if maybe he should have let John know earlier. Maybe by trying to protect his friend he'd actually destroyed him. His thoughts were interrupted by the reappearance of said friend as he walked through the kitchen with his emergency first-aid kit in hand. It hadn't been the first time John had had to patch him up, and hopefully it wouldn't be the last.

John pulled the chair from the table/desk and positioned it in front of Sherlock. Placing his first-aid kit on his lap he started to riffle though for the antiseptic and butterfly stitches. His gaze never meeting Sherlock's. He worked on autopilot while his mind sorted through the new situation he found himself in. Sherlock's reappearance was probably the best gift anyone could have given to John but with it came complications. Namely those surrounding John recent realization of his feeling. It had been easy to come to terms with the fact that those feelings went far deeper than friendship when he thought Sherlock was dead. Probably because it meant that he didn't need to actually face them. They were just a bitter sweet regret that kept him warm at night.

He'd come to the conclusion a while ago now that while he would have the occasional date, even the odd one night stand he wouldn't be able to settle down. He just couldn't see that in his future. - Though if he was truthful, he'd stopped seeing the wife and two point four kids in his future not all that long after moving in with Sherlock. But with Sherlock back it opened up questions he didn't want to answer, like just how serious was he about Sherlock? Could he change everything in his life and take a chance? Were his feelings even real? Maybe they'd just been a reaction to his grief and the loss of someone he'd been so close to. Months pinning away for the man and a few hot and heavy dreams weren't exactly a reliable indicator of ones deeper emotional state.

And then there was the issue of Sherlock himself. Ever since the day they'd met, he'd made his stance on relationship's clear. "married to my work" he'd said and after a year of living with him, John knew that hadn't been a let-him-down-easy comment. He'd meant it completely. So what if John did want to move forward? It wasn't wholly down to him. Sherlock had a say too. John sighed sadly to himself, surprised at the disappointment he felt knowing that no matter whether or not he wanted a future, a more personal future with Sherlock it was never going to happen.

I guess that your answers John. Now the question is can you live with it?

Sherlock watched John as he tended his injury. There was something troubling him. It was written there in his tired pale face. Sherlock tried to deduce what it could be but it was hard. There were a few theorise. He could just be trying to sort everything out. He could be trying to control his anger and frustration. He could even be suffering from something like flu or a hangover. It wasn't till John glanced up for a split second that Sherlock was hit square in the chest by the answer. He stared at the doctor as the man's gaze was fixed on his wound. He could feel his hand shaking still, could see the way his lips were pressed together and his chest was heaving as he breathed. Sherlock even caught the slight small head shake, but it wasn't until their gazes met that he saw it. The dilated pupils followed by the swift break of eye contract. Sherlock swallowed. John had never not looked at him before. Not unless he was trying to hid something. Like his secret stash of cigarettes. So his sudden reluctance to look at Sherlock was alarming and intriguing all at once.

John was pressing butterfly stitches to Sherlock's head when the man gripped his wrist. Holding his long fingers against the pulse point. John tried to stay calm, tried to keep his heart and blood from giving him away, but he knew it was useless. Biology never lied.

Sherlock was surprised by his own reaction to the evidence of John's attraction. He'd been on the receiving end of this before with 'the woman' and he'd thought that it had proven that he really didn't have a heart. But now feeling John's blood race under his fingers and his face becoming flushed with each passing seconded, Sherlock realised that John had been right - as he always was. - he was ignorant of a lot things. Namely himself.

John could feel Sherlock staring at him and it was making him uncomfortable. He knew Sherlock was going to give him the 'I'm flattered' speech any second and part of him wanted the ground to open up and swallow him up. But another part of him. The brave, foolish part that had lead him into this life with Sherlock when every instinct had told him it would bring nothing but trouble, was telling him to take the chance. That if Sherlock was going to give that speech at least give him a solid reason to do so, not just a suspicion. After all, what did he have to loose?

Your best friend.

And what did he have to gain?

Your best friend.

Exactly, but at least he'd know. One way or the other and if after Sherlock did give that speech. They'd just move on, chalk it up to a heat of the moment, glad your alive thing that would be swept under the sofa. They'd carry on as they always did because that was just the way they were. Because Sherlock and John could survive without sex as long as they didn't have to survive without each other. With that in mind, John took that leap, just as Sherlock had done three years ago. His fingers wrapped into the collar of Sherlock's black jacket and pulled him forward until their lips met. Sherlock's own fingers tightening around John's still captive wrist.

A kiss that began with fear, trepidation and a gamble quickly became one of forgiveness, passion and a promised future. Both men finally embracing what everyone had known since the day they'd met. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson were always going to be a couple. It was a while before John pulled back with surprise in his gaze and met Sherlock's smiling blue eyes.

"Mycroft always said we moved fast."

"John. I don't think five years would be considered fast by anyone's standards, not even Mycroft. - Now where's my tea."

John got to his feet with a grin. "Back to normal I see."

Sherlock snorted as he picked up his bow and violin once more. "As soon as Lestrade get here with a case it will be." pulling the bow over the strings gently, a smile in his eyes as he watched John stroll into the kitchen with his blood stained mug in one hand and the first-aid kit in the other.

John was feeling remarkable at peace and looking forward to many more adventures with the worlds only consulting detective Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

"Oh John.?"

"Yes Sherlock."

"You better not hog the covers or you'll be sharing a room with your sister."

THE END.


A/N: Ok folks that's it. (sniff sniff) I've actually enjoyed writing this, which is a little weird considering when I started it I had absolutely no idea where it was going. But I think it came out relatively well. Ending are my worst part. I always try to avoid the whole slushy, cliché type and end as upbeat as I can. Sorry if you were expecting at little bit of Sherlock/John action but I just didn't think the story called for it. - and I'm terrible at writing smut. It's just not my thing. Much prefer the build-up/emotions. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this finale and it wasn't a let down. This whole scene was actually meant to begin far funnier than I think it came out. In my head I had a picture of the John throwing the cup at Sherlock's head that was making me laugh over and over but as I wrote it I'm not so sure it came over as light-hearted and silly as I intended.

I didn't go into detail about Mycroft's plan to restore Sherlock's reputation for two reason. 1) I didn't want it to go against whatever the geniuses that are Moffat and Gatiss have in store, because I'll guarantee that it is going to leave anything I write in the dust. 2) Because I actually had no idea what to write. Rofl.

Sending Donovan to Cardiff well, lets face it the woman deserves to be sent somewhere and if I could have thought of somewhere really, really horrid I would have kicked her arse there myself. As if was I couldn't so went with Cardiff as its where most of Sherlock's filming… along with Doctor Who and Torchwood. Probably should have send Anderson alone with her, but then that just too much punishment… for Cardiff. Rofl. - besides, I imagine him suffering more with Sherlock back and without his bootcall around to back him up. - In case you haven't already guessed I REALLY HATE Donovan and Anderson, though her more than him. - I also can't watch Malteasers adverts anymore because of the reporter…what's her name, you know who I mean.

Well as always I'd like to thank you all for taking the time to read and review. I've really enjoyed reading them and they actually kept me focused so THANK YOU. Also a huge hug to everyone who's faved this story, I'm totally honoured.

So. There you have it the end of another Sherlock story. I don't know what else to say but that you've all been wonderfully supportive and I hope that your check out my other work. (not saying you have to of course rofl)

See ya next time and don't forget "Stay Calm and Believe In Sherlock"

Cyber-hugs to you all

GATERGIRL79 signing off.

(looks around) now what do I do?