Previously:

"Don't you remember?"

"No. I clearly don't. I'm wet and I don't know what I'm doing here."

Sherlock looked around.

"The weather is far too good to blame it on rain. Possible conclusion is I fell into the river. Why? And what's more important, who is he?"

He pointed at John


Silence.

Everything turned silent for a moment. Not even a breeze interrupted the tension in the air.

John looked at Mycroft who looked equally confused.

"What do you mean, Sherlock...this isn't a time for jokes."

He couldn't believe it. No. Please don't let it be real. He was so close...so close to getting his happy ending.

It wasn't fair. This wasn't right.

"Do I look...like I'm joking right now?" He knew that kind of tone. It meant determination.

"No. No, please, Sherlock...it's me."

He didn't think twice when he closed his fingers around Sherlock's upper arm in a hard grip.

The only response he got was furrowed eye brows and a distant look on the other man's face.

He moved his had away as if he were burned.


"No. No, please Sherlock...it's me."

Should he know the man in front of him? Everything alluded to it but he honestly couldn't remember. And he would definitely remember a man with golden hair. Not that it was special but it was indeed rare to possess such a hair colour.

Shaggy clothes. Short hair. Short man.

No. The outer appearance didn't really seem to reflect an outstanding personality.

In a matter of seconds he decided: Whoever was standing in front of him, he was boring.

Feeling a firm grip on his arm he looked up. Sad eyes were looking back at him. The corners of his mouth turned down when he didn't react. As quickly as those fingers touched him they let him go.

Should he feel guilty about it?

The truth was he felt...nothing.

"Look, Mycroft...it's really nice to sit here in the sun having a little chat with you and..."

What was he called again?

"The name's John. John Watson." A slight shakiness in the voice was audible. Interesting. Not just a friend then.

"...well, John. But I'd rather prefer to be in a dry place right now. And I hate to admit it but I need someone to explain to me what has happened here."

His brother stepped closer and examined him as if he would break into a thousand pieces any second.

"Oh please. Just spare me your pity. Where's the carriage?"

Is it my imagination or has Mycroft grown rapidly old overnight?

"Oh that's so you, Sherlock...mistaking my concern for pity. Now could you please just be quiet for a second. I swear you're going to be the death of me, little brother."

And suddenly he felt warm.

This time it didn't last long until he recognized that Mycroft was hugging him. Before he could open his mouth in a protest he was interrupted by the other man.

"I said...be quiet." It was a mild whisper but it was enough to surprise him. Never did his brother's voice sound so fragile and...tired. Whatever must have happened here it must have affected him greatly.

Just when he thought it couldn't get any weirder the arms released him. He looked up to an embarrassed facial expression on the older man.

"Well...Hmm...You...had something... your back..."

"Yes of course, wouldn't have thought of it as anything else, Mycroft."

The unusual emotional act from his brother has spiked Sherlock's interest in finding out what truly has occurred. Receiving a hug from Mycroft? It must have been really bad.

He looked at...John.

Blue eyes were looking back at him. Longing and desperate. After seconds though, they looked ashamed on the ground.

Still nothing.


Through the whole ride John didn't know what to say. There were so many questions and so little answers. Mycroft's curiosity about what happened at the river didn't help much either.. How do you tell someone that apparently your ancestors paid you a visit while you were unconscious after being blinded with a mysterious light? Oh, and one of them happened to be Nyota, who was only the world's most powerful Almighty. And here comes the fun part, he is somehow in possession of magic, too...

Right. As if anyone would believe him.

Looking left he stole a glance at Sherlock. For waking up under these circumstances with some kind of amnesia he has handled this situation pretty well. What did you expect? It was Sherlock after all. But still...he wondered if there was some kind of permanent damage besides the amnesia.

John closed his eyes. He was tired.

"Quiet."

He opened his eyes. Sherlock was staring directly at him.

"I didn't say anything."

"You were thinking."

The common man couldn't help himself and snorted. No...there couldn't be any kind of damage at all. Sherlock was still being his old self.

"And this is distracting you how?"

"In various ways, for example your constant staring is making me feel uneasy. Staring at someone won't make the amnesia go away, even you should know that. Furthermore every time you're thinking about something, and it must be of great importance or really what your little mind deems important, you tap your fingers against the window. Tapping here...tapping there. Not really comfortable for someone who is suffering from a headache."

"Are you hurt?" Without wasting a thought John leaned over to examine the Almighty ,only for the other man to back away slightly. Right. For Sherlock he was a complete stranger.

Apologetic he returned to his seat.

"Not really hurt. But the thumping in my head would appreciate it if you could be quiet from now on."

"Yes of course sorry."

The rest of the ride was spent in complete silence.


"Oh Sherlock! My poor boy. Are you alright?"

When they arrived in front of the mansion the first thing John saw was Mrs. Hudson chattering about how reckless they were, that she knew something was foul with the competition and how glad she was that none of them was hurt.

She didn't know about Sherlock yet.

He couldn't find his bondmate's parents but he somehow knew that they were relieved about the outcome as well.

"John, look at you. Are you alright? I heard from Mycroft there was an incident. Oh god, how terrible..."

"Yes...I'm fine, Mrs. Hudson. It's..." He didn't have the heart to tell her the truth because he knew how much she adored him and Sherlock being together. She somehow got into her mind that they were a couple.

But now...

"Sherlock, John...we need to talk."

Mycroft appeared between them, pointing at the mansion, where they could talk in private.


The talk lasted only 15 minutes with Mycroft explaining everything to his brother from the beginning where John accidently created a bond between them until the incident at the competition.

Well...he only left out the kissing part.

"So you...I lived with you for the entire time?"

He felt grey eyes estimating him up and down.

"Yes...Mrs. Hudson especially created the house for us...221b..."

"Interesting. Your ramblings I mean." Sherlock approached him; noses were almost touching each other. John felt his heart skipping a beat.

"Is there something you aren't telling me...John?" The common man looked alternately between the two men. Mycroft was eyeing him suspiciously.

"No...I don't think so." Stupid, John. Really stupid.

"In that case, I think I'll go. There is this experiment I have left..."

"What? Are you just going now? I mean...now?" Sherlock, who already walked towards the door stopped in his tracks and turned around.

"Yes. Is there another problem I should be concerned about?"

"Another prob-...Sherlock, what about our bond? Have you thought about that?"

"What bond? There is no such thing between us anymore."

"Don't be ridiculous. Of course there is." He really didn't want to sound desperate in that moment but the bond was the last connection between them. His last hope.

"Is there? I for myself cannot feel such a thing between us. Are you telling me you can feel a...bond?" The Almighty spoke with such a disdain that John was taken aback.

Now that he mentioned it...he realized that something was missing. The constant feeling of another person in every fiber of his body...it was gone.

It totally knocked him out of his mind. How did he survive before? How will he survive with such an important thing missing?

"No...but..."

"Look, John. I can understand your worries and from what my brother has told me I have to admit I'm quite surprised how well you have put yourself together after the near death experience. I thought our main goal was to solve our bond, right? And that has happened. You should be happy. I should be...relieved. I'm going back to how I lived my life before all this happened. It was nice to meet you, John."

"But..." He didn't have the chance to say anything anymore. The Almighty already left.

Sherlock was right. He should be crying with joy after theirbondhas somehow disappeared.

"That went well."

He turned around to face the elder Holmes, who has watched the encounter with interest,

"Why has our bond been solved? I thought there was no flame...nothing..."

"I believe it was you, John."

"Me?"

"Of course you brought my brother back, you broke the bond...now tell me. How did you do that?"

"I...don't know."

Mycroft raised one eyebrow, which was an obvious sign that he clearly didn't believe anything John has said.

"Your magic...I have never seen anything like it before. My brother...he died. I was a witness to it, unfortunately. Even if you had magic in you, it should have vanished with the death of your bondmate. I'll repeat it for the last time. Tell me, John Watson, how did you save my little brother?"

John opened his mouth and then closed it.

Should he attempt to lie? What was the use of it? Mycroft would eventually figure it out. He put on a brave face and began to speak.


"Noyta...was one of your ancestors?"

"That...or I had a really vivid nightmare of strangers telling me how to use my magical resources."

"That is truly remarkable. So the legend was true. There is a flame. We only took the words to literal. That would explain many things...why you were immune to magic, how you were able to revive Sherlock...very remarkable indeed. I think the amnesia was somehow a side effect. Bringing someone back from death...it is a difficult task. I wonder, would you be willing to join the council? With your powers we could do impossible things."

"No I don't think I'm suitable for something like that."

"I knew that you would refuse. What a pity."

"Am I not allowed to stay here?"

"Look, John...I know that you and Sherlock obviously cared for each other very much. But right now… in his state, I fear it would do him no good to be around someone he can't really remember."

"I can help...you said yourself I'm the flame. I could use my magic..."

"It would be of no use. Amnesia cannot be cured with any magic."

"But..."

"I know. You could live here...have your own home, settle down but would you be truly happy? Everyday you would encounter my brother and he won't behave the same to you as he did before. Could you bear that? And besides, your family is waiting for you on the other side. After all the original plan was to get you back when the bond was solved."

John grew silent. Mycroft was right. Seeing Sherlock like that, he didn't know if sooner or later he would fall apart.

"And what about...Moriarty?"

"That's our problem. At the moment we cannot trace him but I have faith that we will, sooner or later. He won't get away."

"I see." Yes, he could see. Of course it was the better option to leave now that everything would be settled.

"Do you mind if I say goodbye to your brother?"

"No, of course not. Take your time."

John turned on his heels. He walked straight towards the library. Why, he didn't know but when he opened the door he knew his instinct was right. Sherlock sat in the corner with a book between his hands.

"Hey Sherlock, I just wanted...to say...I'm going to leave now, you know? Now that we have solved the...issues we needed to solve... I just wanted to tell you goodbye. I don't think we are going to see each other very soon."

As soon as those words left his mouth he knew he made the right choice. Sherlock only nodded slightly with his head but didn't look up to tell him goodbye.

Who knows when or if he would ever remember him?

Before he could regret it he took one last glance at the Almighty and went back to Mycroft.


"So that's it."

They arrived in front of his house.

"I'm afraid it is, John." The common man looked outside the carriage. His house…those grey walls...the little front garden...it doesn't feel like home anymore. But where was home anyway?

Mycroft must have sensed his inner turmoil.

"I know you and Sherlock were...quite attached to each other. And I must admit those last weeks I've never seen my brother so...dare I say, happy. I sincerely hope Sherlock will regain his memory. We will do everything in our power to..."

"It's fine, Mycroft." He sounded tired. Is that how people feel? Weak and tired when the most important person in your life has been taken from you?

"We both know there won't be a way to give him his memory back soon. I'm not saying there is no hope. It's just...It's fine."

He watched the elder Holmes open his mouth in protest but then thinking the better of it.

"I understand. Take care of yourself John Watson. It has been a pleasure."

"Yeah..." With shaky legs he got out. The door was almost closed when he decided to say the last words he feared so much to let out.

"Mycroft."

"Yes?"

"Just...I just wanted to say...I" Loved your brother? Love your brother? I don't want to leave him?

Again he didn't need to finish the sentence because the other man nodded slowly, his facial expression almost sadder than John's.

"I know." Mutual understanding.

"And...take care of him."

"I will." Finally he could hear the door slamming and wheels turning.

John didn't possess the strength to look back. If he did, he knew he would have made a fool of himself. He probably would have run after the vehicle or experience a mental breakdown.

Every step to his front door felt heavy. With hesitation, cold fingers pressed against the thick wood. A long squeak welcomed him home.

"John? Is that you? How was your trip?" Mycroft had mentioned before that for other people he left only for a few days to do a task concerning his work when in reality he was absent for weeks.

Weeks that already felt like a dream.

Seeing his mother in the door frame he realized how much he missed her. Without hesitation John ran forward, in search of her warm embrace.

She went still for a second before she closed her arms around him and chuckled.

"Silly boy, did you miss your old mother that much?"

He wasn't able to give her an answer so the only thing he did was hold onto her more firmly. Thinking that with every exhale he could maybe forget the tall man with brown curly hair.


Days passed. John slowly grew accustomed to his old rhythm. His mother has fully recovered from the illness; he has made sure of that.

A messenger arrived a few days before with a package saying that it was from a recently deceased family member and that it was his will for them to have it. When his mother opened the dirty package it was full of money and gold. They would never have to fear hunger and illness again.

His mother thought it was a wonder, a miracle.

John knew better.

He was sure that Mycroft had something to do with it. He wanted to look after John's well being. The common man didn't like the charity, as he would call it, but his hunger was bigger than pride. And his mother deserved to be happy for once in her life.

Sometimes he wasn't even sure if his adventure in the other world really took place. But then there were those nights were he would sneak into the forest and practice his magic. Yes. He still was in the possession of the light.

John couldn't figure out what the purpose of his magic really was but he noticed that whatever it touched it left a spur of warmth and beauty. That must be the reason why no one in his world has been affected by it as they normally would with other Almighties.

A few weeks passed and he still thought of Sherlock. What was he doing now? Was he alright? Did he remember him?


"Boring."

"Sherlock, you were confronted by two very powerful serial killers not moments ago! Tell me, how did that bore you?"

Lestrade shot him a glance what could be described as annoyance towards the younger man.

"Redundant. I won in less than a second when I found out their weakness. Which I'm surprised that you and your household didn't noticed before."

"Well sorry...not everyone is as great as Sherlock Holmes."

The taller man let out chuckle.

"Really Sherlock, you were way easier to handle when..." The older Almighty stopped in the middle of the sentence. Was it wise to mention him so soon?

"You mean John?"

Lestrade sighed.

"Yes, I meant John. Look...no one is expecting anything from you."

"I know." Why does everyone think it's his fault that he can't recall anything from the previous weeks? It's not like he wanted to forget.

"But for the sake of everyone...do you still not remember him a little bit? Not even a tiny bit?"

"No."

Lestrade observed him quietly before sighing again

"Okay...just asking. Thank you Sherlock, for today."

He didn't get a reply because the other man had already walked out of the room.

When Sherlock stepped outside he took a moment to look at the sky.

Yes, the constant worried glances unnerved him greatly and they made it sound as if this John was somehow his better half, his anchor in life.

Ridiculous.

If he was he wouldn't have forgotten him that easily, right?

He was still waiting for the moment where he would realize his grave mistake in letting John go.

But it never came.


The market was full of people. Women and men were running all over the place.

John shot an enquiring look at Sally.

"What's going on today? Why is everyone behaving so strangely?"

She glanced at him with shock.

"How can you forget that? Today is the day."

"Right. The day..."

"You know, the day where they pay us a visit every ten winters. You can't tell me that you've seriously forgotten that!"

It took John a moment before he registered what Sally meant with "them".

Almighties.

Sherlock.

He was going to see Sherlock again! The joy only lingered for a short time. After a moment of sobering up he realized he didn't want to let his former bondmate see him like this, dirty, poor, and still hiding underneath his hood.

"What's with you now? Hey, John. What's wrong?"

"Just let him be, Sally. He's always like that." John turned his head to see Anderson standing between some goods made of clay.

Since he and Sally have gotten together he would always annoy him like that. John bet he was secretly envious about how much time he spent with his girlfriend. They do work together after all.

"Don't be mean, honey." The words were sharp but she giggled like a little girl when the man placed a kiss on her cheek.

John looked away.

Memories of passionate kisses...

Suddenly someone was yelling.

"They are here!"

People were frantically returning to their stands and stretching their necks out to get a glimpse of the Almighties.

John saw them first.

The household Holmes came first. Their graceful movements almost making them appear as if they were floating across the ground.

He held his breath.

There. Somewhere in the front line dark hair, grey eyes. Grey eyes that could pierce right through your soul. The Almighty seemed to have lost weight. His facial expression was the same as ever. Slightly bored with a little bit of arrogance seeping through. Sherlock was too busy speaking with his brother to pay attention to his surroundings.

He is still wearing that coat...

He wasn't aware of Sally staring at him.

"John...are you crying?"

No. He was absolutely not. Because that would mean that he was mourning after the presence of his one and true...soul mate. And that is kind of useless, anyway. What did he expect? He was right where he belonged. Here in the village, working at the market. And Sherlock was right where he belonged, in a mansion...doing his...stuff.

He wished the moment would have lasted longer. It was so hard to fight against the urge to run after the crowd of Almighties.

Please. Just only one second more. Just give me more time to see if he's doing okay...

"Hello Johnny-boy"

His attention immediately turned to someone else.

Not far away stood a figure in a black cloak. Even under the shadows of the hood John knew who it was.

Moriarty.

What was he doing here? In a matter of seconds his feelings changed from sadness to panic. Even Sally could sense something was wrong.

"John, do you know him? He keeps staring at you."

"Run, Sally."

"What?"

"Please. Just run. It's going to get dangerous in a few minutes."

The woman eyed him skeptically.

"What are you talking abo-"

She didn't get the chance to finish the sentence because an inferno of fire was aimed straight at them.

Sally started screaming, unaware of her friend, who tried to focus on his magical power to build a shield, which should protect them from the spell.

Just in time John was able build the barrier. The consequence was horrendous. The spell bounced back and the flames were now thrown against the other stands. People began screaming and running.

Within a second all hell broke loose.


"I still cannot believe, you made me participate in this."

Thousands of eyes were staring at them as they were walking down the way.

"Please. As if I could really make you do anything. Just admit it. You wanted to see him. Which leads us to the question, do you finally remember something?"

Sherlock thought it wasn't that obvious why he agreed on visiting the village. Sure, at first Mycroft had used mummy against him to force him to come along but he caught himself giving in far too easily.

Last week something strange had happened. He kept having these dreams about drowning and then being saved by blue eyes. Those nights were often accompanied with visions of strong hands caressing his body and soft lips placing kisses on different places.

It was a good thing he didn't sleep often because those visions were distracting him.

The Almighty was already trying to reply when he felt it, the presence of powerful dark magic.

Suddenly several things took place at once.

He saw people running and screaming, trying to escape from a fire. Following the lines, his eyes rested on two figures in the distance.

One of them was wearing a black cloak.

Moriarty.

The other one was busy trying to shield the running people from any harm. In the chaos the hood shifted, resulting into golden hair peeking through it.

John.

Without thinking twice he ran, ignoring his brother yelling at him.


There were just too many. He couldn't do it.

Moriarty was already preparing his next spell while John tried to prevent as much damage as possible. But the people just wouldn't move.

"Don't just stand there. Run! I can't hold him back much longer."

True, he may possess the power of the flame but that didn't mean he could control it. The magic was dormant for too long in his body. It was new and fresh and he didn't possess the same experience as Moriarty.

Just when he thought his shield would fall apart someone helped him.

Looking left he almost lost concentration due to his surprise.

Sherlock had come to help him.

He heard Jim laughing.

"And here I thought you were dead Sherlock. Thank you for not disappointing me. An interesting turn of events. Your pet has grown some magnificent powers, I must admit. I always knew you had it in you, Johnny."

"What do you want? Revenge?"

John got angrier as minutes passed by. Why couldn't he leave them alone?

"Revenge? Oh, you mean Seb. Nooo...I don't do revenges. Besides, you did me a great favour there. He was getting in my way. Let me see...what do I want...right. I believe what I want is some fun. But you won't understand. The boredom...all those pitiful people out there, knowing nothing but their own little life...Sherlock, on the other hand, you do understand me, don't you? The thrill. The excitement. You know why I have to do this."

John looked at his former bondmate, who spoke calmly but with clear disdain on his face.

"Don't compare yourself to me. You will fail miserably."

Moriarty laughed.

"We will see." And then the look changed into seriousness. "I will destroy you."

Without a warning he fired a spell. John was just quick enough to avoid getting the brunt of the attack. But not fast enough to avoid being grazed on his side. The pain was almost unbearable though. Moriarty smiled knowingly in triumph.

Dark magic.

Sherlock hadn't noticed it. He was still trying to dodge the attacks.

"Mycroft! Help the people. They are getting in our way. And if I should get in heat..." He didn't have to finish. His brother understood and with the help of other Almighties they tried to evacuate the place.

"Sherlock, are you sure..."

"Yes. I can handle him."

John wasn't very confident about that. His side was on fire and pulsing. Whatever Moriarty did to him, Sherlock should avoid getting hit by a spell if possible.

"John."

It was enough. The mention of his name was enough to clear his mind.

"John, listen to me. We have to combine our magic. Concentrate. I know it's very hard to focus right now but this won't be a success if you are not absolutely concentrating on your power. Do you understand?"

He nodded slowly. He could do that for Sherlock.

"Now I want you to fire with all you've got. We've only got this one chance."

Focus, John.

He looked at the taller man and they silently came to a mutual understanding.

"Boys, I'm getting bored now. Is that all you've got?"

"Take that."

And he released everything.

All those years living in fear and sadness and he never knew he had it in him. The light. It was now showing his true power. He was not afraid anymore. It doesn't matter that Sherlock won't remember their time together as long as he could stay by his side and fight with him.

His magic painted everything golden. It was living and pulsing.

This was the true flame.

His side felt numb but at the same time he was consumed by a comforting warmth, which let him feel every of part of his body.

John saw Sherlock adding his own magic to his. Silver blended into gold.

It looks pretty.

Closing his eyes he was sure Moriarty was screaming in agony but it didn't matter. He did his part. Sherlock would make sure that the enemy would be defeated. He trusted him.

But right now he felt too tired to continue fighting. Sleeping sounded much better.


It was a great risk to combine their magic but there was no other way to win this fight.

Sherlock was informed by Mycroft that John had the light in him but he didn't know what that really meant until he finally saw it.

The presence of the ancient magic was thickening the air.

He almost forgot to do his own part. It was his luck that Moriarty seemed to be taken aback by the sudden change.

With the last bit of strength he directed their magic towards the enemy. Moriarty never stood a chance.

He saw the golden light spreading and closed his eyes because of the luminance.

A familiar warmth seeped through his body.

"My name is John Watson...For god sakes, you have to eat!...Sherlock...I've got him, Sherlock. Run! I love you, John..."

And something in him snapped.

Of course. It was always John. And it would always be him.

He remembered.

The first time he saw John. He was slightly annoyed. Having a bond with this man? Impossible.

John cooking in their home for the first time. He could recall feeling completely comfortable and secure in the other man's presence. He never felt like that with another person before.

The training.

The first round. The anger and sadness. The...kisses.

Red wine. Passion. Regret. Fear...

It all came back, overwhelming him for a moment before he could collect his thoughts together.

"We did it, John! What a great -" If he would have been more observant he would have seen it sooner. The way the other man clutched his side as if he was in great pain. He would have seen the ashy colour on John's face and notice his breathing that came in short and choppy gasps. And most importantly...he would have noticed the blood stain on the side of his shirt.

But he didn't.

So it took him by surprise when the shorter man suddenly lost his balance and collapsed against him, seeming to lose all energy to stand on his own.

"What -" And finally he noticed it, the reason why John looked as pale as a ghost.

The wound wasn't very deep but the trace of dark magic in it told him that it was serious.

Cradling his head in his arms he tried to speak to the other man, who had already lost focus on his surroundings.

"Hey...no. No, John. Look at me. Look at me, John. Now is not the time to lose consciousness."

He took his face in both of his hands and was taken aback by how cold the skin already felt.

No.

"You have to fight this, do you hear me? Use your magic. Come one, John."

"I fear speaking to him won't help in this case, Sherlock."

He didn't notice his brother approaching them.

"I don't need a lecture right now, Mycroft. Help me. He is slipping away."

The older man grimaced at the urgency and terror in his little brother's voice.

"There's not much we can do but hope. Moriarty concentrated his last resources of magic on the wound. Even John, with his powerful magic, is having trouble rejecting the foreign substance."

"So what are you saying?"

"Let's pray that he will pull through." Sherlock grew angrier by seeing how calm the other man seemed to be about the situation.

"I don't believe in praying, Mycroft."

Focusing his attention on John again he noticed the man has become unnaturally still in his arms.

He slapped one of his cheeks lightly but was not rewarded with much of a response except with random mumbling. Paralyzed with fear his own breathing stopped for a moment before he decided to whisper in John's ear.

"Listen to me. You won't give up. Molly won't forgive you if you do. Mrs. Hudson won't forgive you. Lestrade won't forgive you. And I'll never forgive you if you should decide to leave me alone now. Please...John....I need you. I...love you."

He couldn't control the shaking that has overcome his body, anymore. Like a mantra he repeated John's name over and over again.

And suddenly the breathing stopped all together.


"Please...John...I need you."

He opened his eyes and immediately regretted the decision. Pain flared up everywhere and the light was blinding. Even with the pain he felt very comfortable. Giving it a second thought he realized that he was in a bed. Was he in the sick room?

God, my side is burning.

With a whimper he tried to get up. Where was he?

"Lie still. You will tear everything."

Sherlock.

"Mrhmm…Sh..."

"Don't speak. You have to save your energy. The magic in your wound is still affecting you greatly."

"Wh-What happened?"

Finally he could blink the sleepiness away and get a good look at the Almighty. Concerned grey eyes were anxiously looking at him. Sherlock's face was contorted into a grim and serious facial expression. In a matter of seconds snippets of the last event were rushing back to his mind.

Moriarty. The fight. Sherlock....he remembered! He finally remembered.

"What happened is that you're an idiot, John."

His heart jumped at the mention of his name. It felt so good to hear it again from the Almighty's mouth.

"You could have died."

John didn't know what to say. Sherlock's voice sounded so...sad and horrified at the thought of losing him.

"If you had died...I don't know what I would have done to myself, John." Long fingers were caressing his hands. He felt shivers going up and down his spine. He tried to lighten the mood and smiled.

"Well, you certainly wouldn't have had to worry about some strange man accidently creating a bond and leaving nothing but chaos behind you, anymore."

John wasn't prepared with the angry reaction that followed.

"I would have died with you! Do you now how I felt when I saw you there, lying on the ground with blood seeping through your clothes and I could do nothing. I wasn't even powerful enough to close a stupid wound. I felt helpless, John. I was terrified. Do you know what that feels like?"

John closed his eyes and took one shaky breath.

"I do." He felt Sherlock's eyes on him.

"I felt the same when I pulled you out of the river. And I felt even worse when I found out that I was erased from your memories."

He swallowed the knot in his throat down, waiting for the taller man to respond.

"I'm...sorry."

Did Sherlock just tell him he was sorry?

"I've caused you so much pain in the last few weeks. Of course I should have remembered, How I could have not..."

"Stop, this wasn't your fault. I was just glad that you were alive...everything else was a minor matter."

"I feel the same."

After some seconds of silence John cleared his throat.

"So...how long was I out?"

'Three days."

"Three days, Sherlock! What about my mother...the people in the market..."

"Don't worry. If you won't calm down I'm afraid we will have to give you a sedative. We explained everything to them. Your mother...she seemed quite upset and shocked that you knew about your real family background."

"You told her?!"

"Well, after hundreds of people witnessed our fight against Moriarty there was no other choice. Mycroft is good at replacing memories but not that good. And I have to admit that the sheer number of replacements would have been difficult even for me to do."

"And how did they take it?" He cringed at the thought of Anderson's reaction.

Sherlock smiled.

"You are officially their hero and everybody is very eager for you to wake up so they can show you how thankful they are."

"Really?" It felt as if a big weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

"Before they get the chance to show their gratitude, I will be the first to show mine."

Before he could realize it John felt familiar soft lips pressing against his. It was way too short.

He felt himself grinning like an idiot.

"So...I guess this means you won't push me away?"

"It was never my intention to push you away. But at that time it was necessary because of the effects of our bond."

"Does that mean I can stay here, right by your side?" He knew he was pushing his luck. God knows he was in pain, he was tired and the only thing keeping his eyes open was in front of him.

Sherlock looked straight into his eyes.

"Stay. Forever."

And without another word, they began to explore each other's mouth again.

John could feel his heart pumping in his chest. His hands were sweaty and his throat was as dry as sandpaper...


Epilog:


"Where the hell is he, Mycroft?"

Has he changed his mind? In the end did Sherlock change...

"Be quiet. I can hear you thinking, John."

The common man turned around to see a tall man with curly brown hair grinning mischievously at him. In an instant he breathed a sigh of relief before he looked sternly at the Almighty.

"Sherlock! Where have you been? I was seriously considering calling this thing off."

"Exaggerating as always, John. I don't think your temper suits the festive mood." As an apology for his delay Sherlock cupped his hands gently around John's face and pressed his lips against the other man's in a light kiss.

Seriously. How was he supposed to be angry with him when he does things like that?

"Please boys. Is it too much for you to spare me the sight? Just save it for later. We're already late."

"Your brother is right, Sherlock. They are waiting for us."

"Two more minutes won't harm them. And besides...it's not my fault that you look especially good in that ceremonial suit." Mycroft rolled his eyes and pretended not to see the expression of lust on his brother's face.

Long fingers were fumbling at John's collar and he felt his pulse quicken.

Memories of last night came to his mind. That bastard. He knew exactly what he was doing.

Not a year ago he would have called the person crazy who told him that he would some day bond with an Almighty. Let alone possess magic himself.

But now...everything has changed.

Few weeks ago he finally mastered it. He was able to build up a mental shield strong enough to shield Sherlock from any harm his magic could do to him. At the same time they would be able to benefit from their combined powers.

That meant they could bond again.

At first he was quite unsure if Sherlock was open to the idea but when he told him about it, all he received was a broad smile and genuine enthusiasm.

They have both changed.

John wasn't the man hiding underneath a big hood, anymore. He was now full of confidence and pride.

The government of the Almighties began considering the idea of accepting common people in their world. The only difficulty was that exposing them to magic could do harm to them. But John was sure they could find a solution for this. He already talked to Mycroft about using his magical powers to help them.

Yes...everything has changed and is changing now.

With Sherlock by his side John stepped out.

They were rewarded with a cheering crowd.

He looked around, spotting familiar faces here and there.

God...even Anderson and Sally were present.

Good old Mrs. Hudson… Molly...his mother...Lestrade...they all came together to be a witness of a ceremony.

Their bonding ceremony.

The clouds opened and the sun shone directly on their faces. He was sure that his hair sparkled gold.

"God...you're so beautiful." Sherlock's whisper gave him shivers.

"You're quite a catch too, Mr. Holmes." He let his mouth form into a grin.

"Now shall we begin?"

"Oh god, yes."

Whatever he would do, wherever he would go...from now on it would be with Sherlock. And it would stay like this forever...


The end


Soo...this is it. The final ending. I´m sorry you had to wait so long for it. It´s been a busy time for me but now it´s finished.

This was my first fanfic and I never thought it would be 12 chapters long...it feels like a dream to me, the moment when I first had the vague idea of the plot.

Thank you so much for staying with this little story of mine the whole time. Even when updates were such a slow progress.

People wrote reviews saying they cried at some point or stayed up very late to read this fic and I´m so happy and thankful that I was able to give them such feels ;)Thank you Serenityofthematrix for being such an amazing beta!

I hope we will such each other soon in my future stories. Lots of love, Y.