Figured You Out

by Broken Daydreamer

John thinks back on the years with Sherlock to help him make a decision that will effect him forever. Songfic, mild slash.

Sherlock and John:

Figured you out by Nicklback

John stared into the mirror, fiddling with his tie trying to ignore his nerves. The fear that this was it, today was the day. Some part of him still doubted his decision, but this was it, and he knew he couldn't live without him. Exhausted he collapsed back onto the bed, his radio playing softly in the background. Curiosity and a need to escape made him lean over and turn the radio up, the music flooded the air around him and he waited, listening. Hoping that something would give him the sign that he was making the right decision.

I like your pants around your feet

Their first night, they'd been chasing a killer. They cornered him in an old warehouse, the second floor. He must have been on steroids, because when Sherlock jumped forward he swung out a fist and sent Sherlock flying out the window, John didn't even think he pulled his gun out, fired three bullets in rapid succession and ran towards the window. Sherlock was lying on the ground, blood pooling on the ground. John ran down the stairs, his heart in his throat. Sherlock was conscious, no injuries besides a large scratch across the back of his thigh and bruises all over his body. When John finally got him home he dragged Sherlock to the bathroom and pulled off Sherlock's pants to stitch up the scratch.

And I like the dirt that's on your knees

The dirt on his legs contrasts with his pale skin, the moment John tied the stitches off his hands began to shake. Sherlock looked down at him, something akin to confusion in his eyes. John slowly stood up, his face mere centimetres from Sherlock's. Sherlock opened his mouth, John blatantly stared at Sherlock's lips, Sherlock began to speak.

"Joh-"

John leant up and cut Sherlock off with his mouth, Sherlock froze, then, hesitantly, began to kiss back.

And I like the way you still say please
while you're looking up at me

John found himself pressed up against the bathroom counter, Sherlock grabbed his legs and hoisted him up so that John was sitting on the counter with his legs open, Sherlock stepped forward, pressing their bodies together. John's hands dropped down to toy with Sherlock's underwear band, Sherlock pulled away and kissed his way down John's throat, pulling a moan from the army doctor's throat.

"John, bedroom, Please." Sherlock groaned into John's ear.

You're like my favourite damn disease

And I love the places that we go

Going to the morgue, Scotland Yard, running all over London after deranged murderers. It was never boring being with Sherlock, it was always amazing.

And I love the people that you know

Almost every restaurant owner owes Sherlock a favour at one point, Mrs Hudson was one of the few people who could handle Sherlock at his craziest. DI Lestrade, one of the few men brave enough to let Sherlock into a crime scene. Molly, the puppy faced coroner with a crush, how she annoyed John, didn't she know that Sherlock wasn't interested?

And I love the way you can't say "No"

An interesting crime would draw Sherlock out like a fly to honey, it didn't matter if the crime was at the other end of the world, if it was miles away or even what John was doing before being dragged across the world, Sherlock would still go.

Too many long lines in a row
I love the powder on your nose

Sherlock's experiments usually ended with a bright flash or an explosion. John's favourite memory of Sherlock's experiments was the morning of his birthday; John woke up to hear a loud crash. Running downstairs, gun in hand. Only to find Sherlock standing in front of the sink looking shocked, he was covered in white powder. John walked over and wiped some of the powder of Sherlock's nose, examining it he discovered it was flour… Looking around John realized that Sherlock had been trying to make pancakes, grinning he reached up and kissed Sherlock hard, trying to convey his love for the man before him.

And now I know who you are
It wasn't that hard
Just to figure you out

John lay, staring at the ceiling, thinking over everything he and Sherlock had done together, all their adventures.

Now I did, you wonder why

I like the freckles on your chest

The way they lay together after making love, curled up, holding each other. The light brown freckles that spatter his pale skin, they fascinated John, small markings that made Sherlock seem more human, less perfect.

And I like the way you like me best

The way Sherlock listens to John, how John can calm him down when no one else can, the fact that Sherlock will go out of his way to please John. He will ignore Anderson rather than berate him if John wants him to, he will be polite to people if John asks him to. All because he loves him.

And I like the way you're not impressed
While you put me to the test

Sherlock will be completely unimpressed by the things that would amaze other people, but the simple things, like John getting Sherlock's skull back from Mrs Hudson or standing up to Mycroft just makes Sherlock love him more.

I like the white stains on your vest

The time he was late for their anniversary dinner, and when he did arrive, there were white chemical stains on his good vest. Rather than get angry, John laughed, hard. Before pouring them both a glass of wine, and asking about the experiment.

I love the way you pass the check

Sherlock almost never paid for dinner, preferring instead to pass the check to John. Like paying for Taxi cabs, Sherlock ran out, leaving John to pay the bill.

And I love the good times that you wreck

Christmas last year, John took Sherlock to the Christmas party at work. Everyone was having a good time until Sherlock showed up; in five minutes he outed three affairs, two alcoholics and informed everyone that the head nurse was stealing from the surgery.

And I love your lack of self respect

The clothes Sherlock wears, the tight shirts, the tight pants. Not to mention showing up a Buckingham palace in nothing but a sheet.

While you're passed out on the deck

When Sherlock's body finally revolts against his lack of sleep and nutriment, he almost looks angelic. Like he is finally at peace, John only sees that expression when he is sleeping or dosing in John's arms.

I love my hands around your neck

When Sherlock holds him, wrapping his hands around John's waist, John's arms around Sherlock's neck.

And I know who you are
It wasn't that hard
Just to figure you out

John Watson, the only person who can say with any degree of truth that they know Sherlock Holmes.

Now I did, you wonder why
Why not before, you never tried
Gone for good, and this is it

I like your pants around your feet
And I like the dirt that's on your knees
And I like the way you still say please
While you're looking up at me
You're like my favorite damn disease

And I hate the places that we go

Getting rained on, beaten, and chasing people all over the world.

And I hate the people that you know

Some of the people Sherlock knows are insane, Mycroft, Moriaty, Anderson, Donavan, Mycroft's minions.

And I hate the way you can't say "No"

The dates John lost to Sherlock's crazy, the relationships Sherlock ruined, the polite conversations that changed to tears and anger.

Too many long lines in a row
I hate the powder on your nose

The time Sherlock accidently exploded Cocaine through the apartment, covering himself and everything near him. John made Mycroft pay for the cleaning because as he put it, "The one time you decide to not bloody follow every single fuckin move we make and this happens."

And now I know who you are
It wasn't that hard
Just to figure you out

Now I did, you wonder why
Why not before, you never tried
Gone for good, and this is it

Who was John kidding? He needed Sherlock; he needed Sherlock's crazy, Sherlock's body, and Sherlock's lectures. He needed everything that was and every will be Sherlock. John sat up and walked over to his door, Mycroft stood outside.

"Ready?"

"As I'll ever be"

Mycroft nodded, and led him down to the black car. The drive lasted five minutes, but it felt like hours.

They pulled up outside a garden, John stepped out and walked towards the middle of the garden, a small pond lay in the centre. Standing underneath a willow tree, in a suit that made him look absolutely handsome, stood Sherlock Holmes.

And the moment John saw him he knew, he knew that it was all going to be fine, as they had said so many years ago in Angelo's "It's all fine"

In fact, it's better than fine, it's perfect.