AN: Told you it was going to be soon. Ah, I'll miss writing this story but I really feel like I should end this here. I hope the fluffiness of the last and final chapter makes up for it.

I don't feel like I should add any warnings here... sex is merely implied.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything,

Chapter twelve: How long will I love you?

John smiles fondly to himself, almost disbelievingly and curls closer to the sleeping figure next to him. He buries his face into the crook of Sherlock's neck, tightening his hold around the slender man's waist. A sigh of content escapes his mouth as he just lays there, pressed up to his lover's back and listens to Sherlock's quiet snoring and soft mumbling.

There's something spectacularly satisfying in having the detective turn completely boneless and unresisting in only a small matter of time, as if it's something they've been doing all of their lives. Right, John thinks as he peers around the room, their clothing scattered and dropped carelessly on the floor, maybe not all of my life, but I will gladly keep doing this for the rest of it. Of course the bedroom is not in its peak of tidiness and they may not look neat or composed either, but there is something wonderful and dissolving about this mess. One can say that they are both quite happy with this tiny addition in their relationship. Of course it has happened far more late than either of them care to admit: a whole month and a week after Sherlock Holmes' dramatic return, if being precise.

However now, as John lightly runs his fingertips down the detective's turned back, making sure to leave a caress on every area he has touched, he finds that he doesn't really care. After a while, he props himself on one elbow, so he's lying on his side and is able to look down and see Sherlock's peaceful sleeping face and reaching a hand, strokes it through the younger man's unruly hair.

A warm smile grazes his features as he admires the fine number of love bites and marks, peppering and covering almost every inch of the detective's long elegant neck, making the creamy skin appear even paler than usual. And here it is again, that possessive and selfish part of John that just wants to mark this man forever as his own and let anyone else dare to even contemplate about attempting to try on his Sherlock.

The good doctor leans in and carefully dots a few soft kisses and nips on the man's abused neck and down to his shoulder, avoiding most of the irritated and darkened skin in the process. He hums under his breath, upon feeling the distant scent of tea, sweat and aftershave.

Then John moves his ministrations upper, kissing his forehead, then proceeding to trail feather like kisses on his cheekbones and jaw line. He knows how this must look. A man who's practically claiming somebody as his and only his, but that doesn't stop him. God, I love this man. The good doctor inhales sharply and as abruptly as the thought crosses his mind. Where did this come from? Has it always been there with all of the women he dated? John digs in his memories, relives some of them, desperately trying to find a positive answer but then gives up.

He sighs and hides his face in the detective's soft curls, nuzzling it with his cheek. Of course it has not existed...could not exist without Sherlock. No closeness and nothing he has ever felt for anyone can even begin to compare to what he is feeling for the detective. Even the word 'love' seems rather poor and abject to describe the strong and powerful emotion that he holds for this man.

A grin creeps into his face, as the detective nuzzles back.

"Mm...G'od mornin'." Sherlock says sleepily, a smug look on his face.

"Morning." John replies quickly and plants another soft kiss on his boyfriend's nose. "Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you."

The detective shakes his head and shifts so that he's lying on his back. He smirks slyly and moves his mouth over to John's cheek.

"Believe me, John..." Sherlock whispers, with his lips brushing the doctor's ear, his hot breath making John shiver pleasantly. "There are worse ways to be woken up to."

A grunt is his only response and once again he's being forced down into the bed, with an insistent mouth connected to his this time. They slip into the kiss as adroitly and fluently as old lovers would, who have already mastered all of the right movements and territories. In the back of their minds they know that they will have to face the world, to follow the flow of the life, but neither of them brings it up. They don't care and they want to cherish the amount of time, no matter how short, spent in the arms of the other.

John is the one to pull away first and almost the same instant his head lowers downwards and the lightest of kisses are being pressed to Sherlock's chest and belly. He can feel the detective literally melt under his touch and he feels encouraged by it, enjoying seeing the stable man squirm under him so helplessly.

"I will marry you someday, you know?" he murmurs his confession softly against heated skin. John can sense the younger man freeze and tense significantly, but doesn't think much of it.

"No. you won't." Sherlock breathes, hoping that his voice is still solid, so he'll get the other's attention. Apparently it works, as the good doctor too stops in his tracks.

"Why the hell not?" he asks seriously, looking the detective up and down, as if he will find something that will somehow explain this odd statement.

"Because."

The doctor frowns as Sherlock doesn't justify him with a proper answer and instead burrows his face into a pillow, refusing to look him in the eye.

"Oh no. Don't be like that." John says gently and guides Sherlock's face away from the mattress to meet his gaze. The detective rolls his eyes in annoyance.

"Let me guess, my face is doing a thing." he says matter of factly and is about to return to his previous position, but his boyfriend doesn't let him to, holding his face firmly trapped between his hands.

"Exactly. So will you be bothered to tell me what's this all about?"

"John, do you hear yourself?" Sherlock snorts, sitting up a bit and leaning his back on the headboard of the bed. "I don't mind you or me getting sentimental, but this... this is a madhouse. You may want to run till you've got the chance."

The detective carries on talking, chattering about the most absurd things possible and John can't formulate a worthy come back, he's left listening with his mouth agape.

"You..." he swallows a lump and points an accusing finger at the detective. "You better stop this nonsense right now...or I think I'll just punch you again."

"Problem?"

"Oh no. Everything's absolutely fine."

"Sarcasm."

"Nice deduction."

"I just don't understand..." says Sherlock irritably, switching into a sitting position and taking John's hands into his, bigger ones. "Why would that upset you...Why would you want to marry someone.." like me.

He doesn't finish the sentence and he doesn't need to. The good doctor understands anyway and the only sight of Sherlock, looking at him with those sad puppy eyes, honest confusion shown in them, is enough to make John's heart swell with an aching emotion. So much for being the most observant man in the world.

"God, you're just too thick, are you?" he murmurs with a small smile and moves closer to the younger man. The detective doesn't shift away but doesn't react in any way either.

"Because I want this, you idiot. I want you. I need you. More than you'll ever imagine." John speaks with new found passion and envelopes the skinny man into a tight embrace, proceeding to whisper his words softly against the other man's ear. "Last night...I want to spend every night like that. Here and with you. For the rest of my days."

"John..." Sherlock gasps quietly his hands gripping frantically at John's forearms. He has never suspected for the good doctor to be the talkative type and...how do you call this? Romantic? Sentimental? Whatever name the display goes by, it is making Sherlock heady, for each word is filling a hole in his soul.

And just like that he realises that spending and sharing every second of his time with this man, might be about the best thing in the world. Definitely better than anything. But for now he shuts up, letting the good doctor speak and list the ridiculous number of things they will surely do in the future. God, he hopes so with every aspect of his body.

"When we're old and grumpy and retired..." John continues, stroking the side of Sherlock's neck with a thumb."...we'll get a cottage in the out-town or something, you'll keep bees... just as you wanted..."

"Please I have to..." The detective whimpers under his strong hand, trying to express a coherent thought. Dating really is not his area but now even he feels obliged to at least participate in this conversation. Or else he's risking to lose the one person that matters the most.

"And for God's sake, Sherlock, stop wondering how long I will love you!" The good doctor breaths a laugh and presses a kiss on Sherlock's curls. "I know that I'll love you till the very end and longer if I can."

Sherlock's bottom lip quivers uncontrollably and a sob like sound escapes his mouth.

"Oh John..." How does one resist upon hearing something like this? How can you conquer your own body's weaknesses? Does it always feel like this? To have someone rather than yourself to care about?

By this point John has him gathered in his lap, with his arms snaked around Sherlock's middle and makes soothing noises, trying to calm his dearest friend's nerves.

"I need you Sherlock, and I'll need you as long as you need me too." He pronounces into the detective's shoulder, glad that his words are not entirely muffled and blocked out by it. John lets out a contented sigh as Sherlock's lips travel down and to the sweet spot on his neck.

"I'll always need you, John." the detective whispers huskily, but there is not a trace of doubt in his statement. His voice doesn't waver now and the doctor knows that he means it completely.

"Good. Yes." John gurgles and kisses Sherlock tenderly on the lips. "That's very good."


They don't make it out of bed after all. A dreamlike peace overtakes them as they spend their time enjoying and coaxing in the presence of the other. And if in the pit of the day, Sherlock mumbles, half sleepy and half conscious, that he reciprocates the sentiment, John finds that he could not have been happier elsewhere.

AN: And they lived happily ever after. It's fair to say that I could've done a better job at it. Hope you liked it anyway.

Once again tones of thank you to everyone who read this fic and not to mention your amazing and flattering responses. Writing Johnlock truly is something remarkable and I'll surely try it again in the future. [btw. do you perhaps know how one gets a beta reader?]