Okay everyone, we made it. This is the final chapter! I didn't get to say it before, but thank you to all who have reviewed and subscribed and favourited and all that good stuff! You all rock. Keep calm and Johnlock on ;)
John was finally allowed to leave the hospital after a week of recovery. His rib fracture was small, and he was told numerous times that he was lucky, and that it could have been so much worse. This combined with his medical background meant that John got to leave St. Bart's weeks earlier than the average fractured-rib person, something which John was deeply grateful for. He didn't think he could stand another crumb of the bland hospital food, though Sherlock's daily presence and home made tea certainly eased the pain.
And so the two made their way back to 221B Baker Street, with John leaning on Sherlock the whole way. They decided against hailing a taxi, for obvious reasons, and had to walk all the way back. Sherlock refused to call Mycroft for a ride, and John, though still in pain, was eager for some fresh air.
When they finally got back to the flat, Sherlock did something completely out of character. Before John could place one foot on the steps, Sherlock tugged him back, scooped him up, and carried him up the flight of stairs.
"Sherlock!" John cried out in surprise. The detective ignored him. When they arrived in the living room Sherlock gently placed John in his favourite chair.
"I can walk you know," John said. He was unable to keep the humour out of his voice. Sherlock had transformed ever since rescuing John from certain death. He was no longer arrogant and cold, at least towards John. There was an incident with a nurse whom he deemed unqualified to perform John's blood test. He ended up doing it himself. John couldn't stop laughing. Poor nurse.
He was much more affectionate, like how he made tea and brought it to John everyday because he knew the soldier could not stand hospital food. And the mere fact that he did visit everyday was a shock to John, though he was not quick to complain. Sherlock was never one to show concern. Ever. He said himself that caring for people would not help to save them. John didn't know why there was a sudden shift in personality, but he was going to enjoy every second of it.
Sherlock brought John a steaming cup of tea and sat down in the armchair opposite him with his own mug. They were finally back to normality. Or so John thought. He was completely oblivious to the inner turmoil of his colleague.
Sherlock was at war with himself. Normally, he tried to keep a cool, weary distance between himself and others, as much for their protection as his own. But ever since the simple, rather dull, capture of the latest criminal, he had been acting more and more….human. Letting his emotions take over, he had become affectionate and caring. Two things he swore to himself he'd never be.
But he couldn't help himself. All of the sudden he had an uncontrollable need to be around John. To help him and nurture him, like a mother hen. It was ridiculous. However, he found that he didn't really mind. His brain said he should go back to his calculating self, but his gut told him that this new relationship between him and John wasn't something to fear. This tug of war was driving him crazy. He needed John's opinion.
"John," Sherlock said quietly.
John looked up from his laptop, where he was posting a new blog entry about his latest 'adventure'.
Sherlock looked into his blogger's eyes. Those eyes that held such tenderness and loyalty, but had seen horrific violence. Those eyes that had just recently witnessed the truth behind human brutality. Sherlock couldn't do it. He didn't want to lose this man. This one was different from the rest. This one was special. His only friend.
"Never mind," he muttered, trying to conceal his emotions with a mask of indifference. But John saw. Of course John saw. He'd been feeling the same way. Wordlessly, he got up and walked over to Sherlock, who was now looking at his feet. John grabbed the consulting detective's hand and pulled him up so that they were standing almost nose to nose. Sherlock said nothing, only looked at him with confusion and curiosity. John leaned in ever so slowly and kissed his best friend. And immediately Sherlock knew the winner of the tug of war going on inside him.
Sherlock curled his arms around the shorter man's waist and pulled him closer. John wove his fingers through Sherlock's curly hair and tilted his head to deepen the kiss. The two fit together perfectly, like the one puzzle piece you can never find until the very end. Sherlock pulled back just enough to smile against John's lips. Yes, this one was a keeper.
It was a Sunday morning. Well, it was more like Sunday afternoon. John and Sherlock were lying in bed, their limbs entangled, enjoying the aftershock. Who knew they were just as compatible in bed as they were in solving crimes? The sun beat down on the sheets, warming their skin. Sherlock was flopped across John's chest, with John's arm draped over his back lazily. There was unspoken contentment in the air, and neither was willing to break the comfortable silence.
Just then, Sherlock's mobile buzzed from the bedside table. With a groan, he flung him arm over and grabbed the phone, reading the text quickly.
Got a nice triple homicide for you. 54 Lexicon Ave. –Lestrade
Sherlock showed the text to John, who sighed with disappointment. He was in no mood to do anything but lie in bed with Sherlock all day. But alas, he knew the detective would hardly be able to resist a nice juicy murder. He made to get up when Sherlock gripped his waist and pulled him back down. With a mischievous grin, he tossed the phone to the other side of the room.
"I could get used to this," he said with a smile.
Sherlock responded by leaning up and kissing his favourite person.
And so the world's only consulting detective and his blogger lay in bed all Sunday, laughing, talking, and loving every second of it.