Theirs

AN: I don't own Sherlock or BBC.

Warning: Season 3 Spoilers and M/M relationship

And so, here they were.

Sherlock and John, the invincible pair, faced with unavoidable death. With all the things they had done, everything they had been through together – and it was all going to end in a split second, at the hands of a bomb.

"Is this it?" John whispered. "After everything that has happened. Is this how it ends?"

"I… I don't know."

John felt himself flush with anger. "What do you mean, you don't know?"

"I…"

Sherlock fell to the floor, face to face with the bomb. "I don't know."

"No," John said. "No, you're Sherlock Holmes, you always know!"

"I'm sorry," Sherlock rasped, throat clogged with tears.

"I'm going to die," John muttered to himself. "I, John Hamish Watson, am going to die."

"Leave, please. Get out and run, you could ma-"

"Won't make a difference, Sherlock. I'd have stepped outside the moment it would go off, and be caught up in the blast."

They both looked down, desperate for an answer to reveal itself.

"I really am sorry."

John looked at the other man. He had never seen Sherlock so lost, so scared. His hair was plastered to his face which glistened with sweat, and his eyes were wet and red. In his mind, John had built him up to be some kind of super human; a man who would always have a plan. In building that idea, he had forgotten that Sherlock was undeniably human, and was not invincible.

"I forgive you," John said."

His words seemed to make Sherlock cry harder, and John witnessed his best friend at his most vulnerable; helpless and alone.

Alone.

No, Sherlock was not alone. John was not alone.

With a sigh and a dry sob, John sat next to Sherlock, and put his arm around him.

"We had a good run, you and me," he said.

Sherlock looked up at him, mouth wide open. "Thank you."

He pushed his head onto John's shoulder, neck bent awkwardly.

"Before we…"

"Don't say it."

John rubbed Sherlock's back slightly, before continuing.

"I want you to know that I loved you."

Sherlock said nothing.

"When I first met you, I can honestly say a part of me loved you, loved life with you. And when you left, I thought I was at my end. There were numerous times where I considered putting a bullet to my head."

"But then I met Mary… And things were ok. Things are ok."

Sherlock let out a sob.

"I want you to know that I loved you, love you, and will always love you."

"I loved you too. As a brother, a friend, a lover, and a colleague," Sherlock whispered. "Because that is what you are, to me. A brother, a friend, a lover, and a colleague."

John wasn't sure how it happened, but he found Sherlock's fingers clasped around his own. As the ticking got faster, he pressed his lips against Sherlock's cheek clumsily, and rested his head on Sherlock's, eyes squeezed shut as they waited.

They died hand-in-hand, embracing for all of eternity.

Many people died in the explosion, but only two mattered to Mary.

As she stood in front of their graves, which lay side-by-side, a tear rolled down her cheek.

'Here lies Sherlock Holmes,

The world's only consulting detective.

Brother of Mycroft Holmes,

And lover of John Watson.

Here lies John Watson,

Army doctor and silent hero.

Brother of Harriet Watson,

And lover of Mary Morstan

And Sherlock Holmes'

As Mary walked away, she understood.

John was never hers,

Or his.

He was always theirs.