A/N: This is a prompt response for week 7 of Tumblr's Let's Write Sherlock! Community, it's a songfic prompt with my song choice being "Cassandra" by Two Steps From Hell. I highly recommend that you youtube this beautiful piece of music so that you can listen along as you read to get the full impact of the story!
John had performed his duties well. Almost flawlessly really. He'd carried himself through the whole thing as a Captain of the RAC should, with dedication and strength.
But God, how it had hurt. And while outwardly he'd appeared as the very picture of a loyal Best Man, inwardly his soul had been screaming in exquisite agony as thoughts and feelings of Sherlock were dredged up during the wedding ceremony.
The exchange of vows between Mycroft and Greg had been profoundly heartfelt. And despite his torturous suffering as he was forced to acknowledge what, or more specifically who, was missing from the joyous occasion, John's heart couldn't help swelling in mesmerized awe at the true beauty of the men's soul-deep bond of love and devotion.
Mycroft and Greg were so elated that they were now married, even John smiled in happiness when they took to the floor for their requisite first dance as husband and husband. Even so, John could not truly dispel the shadows that clouded his spirit. Watching the two men wed each other had re-opened the gaping wound that was Sherlock's death. Sherlock should have been Mycroft and Greg's Best Man. He should have been given the chance to stand beside his brother as Mycroft legally bound himself to the man who possessed the key to his heart. And despite Sherlock's constant hatred of sentiment, John had a feeling that not even Sherlock would have had a dry eye as he watched the two men kiss soundly as the minister pronounced them married.
And though he would never admit it to anyone, for saying anything about it now would only worsen the pain, watching the two men break apart with radiant, positively beaming smiles on their handsome faces was akin to throwing salt on the raw hole in his heart. It had been three long years since Sherlock had jumped from the hospital roof. Yet now, his high emotions made him feel as if it had only been yesterday. He felt the sting as tears welled in his eyes. He didn't even try to hide his emotion. After all, people bloody cried at weddings all the time, didn't they?
The music was heart-wrenchingly majestic, all sweeping choral arrangements and violins. The sound of the strings made John's heart twinge in sorrow. He could only think of Sherlock as he listened. He stood at the edge of the grand ballroom entranced as he watched Sherlock's older brother waltz in smooth cadenced unison with his new husband.
John did not notice as the door beside him opened and a tall dark haired man slipped behind him. The room was full of guests watching the touching spectacle that was Mycroft and Greg. Besides the closest lavatory was located directly across the exit door in the rich burgundy carpeted corridor. It wasn't unusual for people to be coming and going.
It wasn't until he heard a familiar soft baritone say his name that his mind snapped to attention as if cracked with a whip.
"John," the voice said beseechingly.
John's stomach did a somersault at the deep timbre of the sound. And then as if in a dream, he pivoted on one foot and turned to meet the speaker. His heart sprang into his throat as he set eyes on a bright eyed and very clearly breathing Sherlock Holmes.
"Oh, John," Sherlock said meaningfully. The consulting detective's eyes sparkled with unshed tears. "I've missed you so."
With a shaking hand, Sherlock reached out and ever so gently ran his knuckles over John's left cheek in a whisper soft tentative caress. The army doctor's eyes closed and he leaned into the physical contact.
"Sherlock," he said softly, reveling in the other man's reverent touch against his skin. His eyes opened and he stared up into Sherlock's eyes, searching them and seeing straight into the core of his very soul.
John laid his palm over Sherlock's hand where the detective's thumb was slowly stroking his cheek and without hesitation he closed the remaining distance between them. His action spoke louder than a thousand words ever could and Sherlock settled his other hand against John's hip, his long fingers resting against the edge of the doctor's back.
"I've dreamt of this moment, John," he said, deep voice full of unspoken emotion. "Every day and every night. You were always in my thoughts."
John swallowed hard, blinking back the remaining tears of despair that had now become tears of utmost joy. He smiled at Sherlock.
"I asked you for a miracle, you know," he said softly. "Well, more like begged. Begged you with every fiber of my heart and soul for you not to be dead."
Sherlock's mouth twitched into what was for him, a true and genuine smile.
"I made it through everything because of you."
"I believe I owe you a confession," John said, staring into Sherlock's blue-green eyes. His smile deepened into an expression the doctor had never witnessed on the detective's face before, and expression that three years he would have sworn up and down was impossible to appear on Sherlock Holme's face.
"I've got a feeling I know precisely what it is," Sherlock told him. "And in truth, I owe you the same confession."
A happy ragged laugh escaped John's chest. "You . . . you do?"
"Indeed, John. I do."
The doctor leaned closer to the consulting detective. He gently pulled Sherlock's hand away from the side of his face and guided it to his lips. He placed a kiss to the pulse point at Sherlock's wrist, his eyes focused on the detective. Sherlock's eyes darkened beautifully. John smiled in gratitude to whatever deity or cosmic force that had allowed this man to come back to him.
John then brought Sherlock's hand down to settle over his heart, cradling it against his chest, as the detective felt his heartbeat.
"It's yours," John whispered fiercely. "It's always been yours. It only took me believing you were dead to realize it."
There was a powerful look of awestruck wonder in Sherlock's eyes as he regarded John.
"Whatever lies ahead, whatever waits over the horizon, we'll face it together," John said with deep feeling.
"May I please be permitted to kiss you now?" Sherlock asked reverently.
The question touched something deep inside John. It stirred a little piece buried within him he never even knew existed. Oh, how he loved this man. It struck him how incredibly stupid he'd been not to understand his feelings before now.
He smiled in open invitation and tilted his head back. Sherlock bowed his head and gently met John's lips with his own. The kiss was slow and sweet, sending a fresh wave of emotion through John's body. He opened his mouth at Sherlock's gentle unspoken instruction, his arms settling against the detective's lean sides. Sherlock took time tasting him, savoring the sensation of John's tongue moving in unison against his own. John's hands tightened on Sherlock's body as if a stronger grip would serve as greater proof that Sherlock was real.
At length, when finally they'd reached the point of time where kissing in public was no longer appropriate, Sherlock smiled in gratitude against John's lips and pulled back to look at the one man who'd done the impossible and captured his heart.
"I'll never leave you ever again," he said, his tone ringing with stark honesty.
"Promise?"
"I promise, John. From this moment forward we'll be together. Always."
"I love you, Sherlock. More than words can ever possibly convey."
The consulting detective graced the army doctor with a handsome smile.
"I love you, too, John. And while I can't say I'm used to openly expressing such sentiment, I feel more than willing to at least try. For my heart burns for yours, and no other being in this world is more worthy of my efforts than you."
John smiled at Sherlock lovingly and in that moment his heart and soul were completely and utterly whole again.