Sherlock sighed. "As I think I have explained to you many times before, romantic entanglement, while fulfilling for other people-"
"Would complete you as a human being," John declared.
"That doesn't even mean anything," Sherlock retorted.
"Just text her. Phone her. Do something while there's still a chance because that chance doesn't last forever. Trust me, Sherlock. It's gone before you know it. Before. You. Know it," John scolded.
"I don't want to," Sherlock asserted.
"And why bloody not? She's smart. She's beautiful. She's into you. She's-"
"A woman."
"Yes, I know. She's The Woman. The only woman that ever really mattered, the-"
"A woman, John. A woman," Sherlock pressed, looking at John in the eyes hoping, pleading, that he'd understand.
"Oh." Johns eyebrows raised, his face becoming less tense. "So... you mean…" John hesitated.
"Yes," Sherlock pressed.
"Right, ahem, well still." John tugged at his button down and straightened his back. "You have a chance to find someone and be with them. Mine is over."
"No, I don't."
"Yes, you do," John insisted. "You just don't give anyone a chance."
"Mine ended long ago," Sherlock murmured, his eyes drifting towards the window.
"And what exactly do you mean by that?" John quipped.
"Nothing. Forget it. See you tomorrow, John."
"No. No, you don't get to do that," John demanded.
"Do what?"
"I say all that. I tell you everything. And you close yourself off?"
"I... I can't," Sherlock urged.
"Please, Sherlock. We have to be better. For her. For us." John clenched his left fist, his arms straight at his side.
Sherlock stood there shaking his head, running his hands through his hair, pulling. "I. Can't. John...please."
"Right, well then I better get back to Rosie. See you tomorrow." John pivoted towards the door and began walking.
"Wait," Sherlock urged. "I need to show you something."
John turned back around. "Okay then, what is it?" John questioned.
Sherlocks fingers reached up to the buttons of his shirt, shaking and scrambling to undo them.
John's hand reflexively moved to his eyes as he turned his head away. "Jesus, Sherlock what are you-"
"John."
The sternness of Sherlock's voice snapped John out of his flustered state. "Ahem, right."
Sherlock looked unlike himself as he pulled at his buttons. He was unsteady, unhinged.
"Well, what is it? I've seen your torso before," John jabbed.
Sherlock took a deep, unsteady breath, dropped his shirt and dressing gown to the floor, and turned around, his head lowered. His face hidden.
John took a step back, his hand grasping at his mouth and pulling at the side of his jaw. His eyes dashed around every raised line on Sherlock's back. "Jesus, Sherlock," he whispered. Suddenly he felt his whole body boiling. "What case could possibly be worth this?" he sneered, his left fist clenching and unclenching rhythmically.
"Yours," Sherlock blurted. He began quickly covering himself back up and re-buttoning his shirt.
"I-I don't understand," John stammered.
"Clearly."
"When...how?"
"When I was...gone," Sherlock explained. He turned around to face John, his head too heavy to lift up and look at him.
"Explain, Sherlock. Right. Now," John choked.
"Moriarty...there were snipers when I was on the roof. I had to jump or…"
"They'd shoot me," John registered.
"That's why I had to die, John. That's why you had to think...If they realized you weren't mourning they might have..."
"Shit. Yea. Okay," John sighed. "But what does this have to do with…" he motioned vaguely at Sherlock with his hand.
Sherlock stiffened, managing the strength to raise his head and read John's face as he talked. "When I was away I needed to destroy Moriarty's web. I couldn't risk coming back to Baker Street until this was done in case there was a chance that… well I'm sure you can deduce that on your own. So I spent two years wandering the world, dismantling pieces of the web one by one until...Serbia. I'm sure you can-" he gestured vaguely back at John.
"So all of this was for me?" John marveled, meeting Sherlock's eyes with his own.
"Yes," Sherlock breathed.
"But...why? Why do all this just to come back to Baker Street with...me? I'm sure there are plenty of other cases elsewhere," John challenged.
"Why are you here?" Sherlock asked.
"Wh-what?" John replied, cocking his head.
"Why are you here? Why are you watching over me? Why do you care about my drug use? Why did you save me?" Sherlock demanded.
"Because you're my best friend," John stated incredulously.
"I faked being dead for two years. I'm an addict with an overactive trigger finger. I almost shot our landlady, John. I tried to stab a man with a scalpel and no proof of his guilt," Sherlock rambled. "Your wife died for me. And before you go on saying none of that was my fault or it was for a case or whatever it may be, we both know that humans are much more complicated than that and I am a flawed man. So please, why are you here?"
John stared at him in shock. "I told you. You're my best friend."
"I don't know much about people, John, but I do know that most people would stop being friends with someone after all...that," Sherlock retorted.
"But you...I…" John tried, stumbling to find the words, looking into himself finally begin to realize...
"I don't know," he stated.
Sherlock took a deep breath and looked at John in the eyes. "John, I need you to make one more deduction," he implored, his heart racing, his hands becoming ice cold, nausea building up as the room began to spin. "Please."
John stared at him frozen for what felt like an eternity, their eyes unable to retreat each other's gaze.
John inhaled deeply and began to walk closer to Sherlock.
Sherlock remained frozen, every muscle in his body stuck in place as John grabbed him by his hair and pulled him in. Their lips met, brushing gently, hesitantly, Sherlock's barely moving, his body unable to catch up with his mind as John's parted lips pushed against his own.
John let go of Sherlock and stepped back to observe his face. His heart was racing as well as his mind as he wondered if he made a terrible mistake. Sherlock was completely unmoving, paralyzed. John had no idea of wondering if this was a good thing. He wanted to run, to walk out, go home to Rosie, but he knew if he did he could never come back. He could never face Sherlock after this. So he waited.
Sherlock came to after several drawn-out moments, overly aware that he was being scrutinized by John. John who just kissed him.
"So you...:" Sherlock began.
"Yes, you git," John stated. "And you…"
"Oh God, yes," Sherlock proclaimed.
John reached around Sherlocks neck feverishly, bringing him closer once more.