A/N: And here it is, the last chapter! Many thanks to anyone who has read/reviewed/favorited/otherwise given a darn about it. You're all wonderful.
Disclaimer: I do not own, nor do I profit.
As Greg stopped talking, John slumped to the waxed table and put his head in his hands. "Oh god."
Greg smiled. "I'm right, though, aren't I?"
John's muffled voice issued from behind his hands. "Oh god. I am." Images were racing through his mind. Heads in the refrigerator, and putting the milk next to them without a second thought. Being called home from anywhere in the world just to hand Sherlock something, and still giving it to him. Having all his dates wrecked and not really minding because, at the end of the day, he had Sherlock to come home to. The exhilaration and freedom of running through London, of being near to Sherlock and his moods and his mind. Wearing sheets in Buckingham Palace, giggling at crime scenes. The pain he'd felt when Sherlock fell. The euphoria of having him back. The desire he felt to be close to him. "Oh god, I'm in love with Sherlock Holmes."
John raised his head from the table. "I need another drink."
ooooo
Sherlock looked up from his brooding the minute John left. Jacket, but it wasn't cold enough to need one in a taxi, so he was walking somewhere. No changes in apparel, so not a date, but not a heavier coat, so not planning on walking for a long time- the pub, then. No signs of alcohol in the flat, and no evidence that John did anything in the evenings other than stay in, so not going for his own benefit. To meet someone, then. Molly? Unlikely- he could see her at Barts any time, and she usually went to bed very early. But it had to be someone connected with Sherlock's return- why else would John go out tonight and not at any other time for the past six months? Mrs Hudson knew, Molly knew. That left Greg. It was likely that Molly had told him. Given the important topic of conversation and the amount John usually drank, Sherlock could expect John to return at approximately half past nine. Not soon enough.
Despite having deduced exactly where John was going, Sherlock was still disappointed that John had not told him.
Uncurling from the chair, Sherlock frowned irritably. He had finally worked out how to get John speaking to him again. Sherlock had a sneaking feeling that in John's eyes, his strategy would be a bit not good, but he didn't care any more. He wanted John back.
Grabbing his phone, Sherlock began typing out a text.
ooooo
John was interrupted in his drinking by his phone buzzing. Pulling it out, he felt a little flop of happiness.
Baker Street. Come at once if convenient. –SH
Sighing, he picked up his jacket. "Thanks, Greg. I'm going home now. Better not leave Sherlock alone for too long- he might blow something up."
Another buzz.
If inconvenient, come anyway. –SH
"No problem, mate." Greg was grinning. "You go on home to Sherlock."
"Quit looking so smug. I'll see you around." John paid up and headed out the door, waiting for the third text which he knew was coming.
A third buzz.
Could be dangerous. –SH
A wide smile bloomed over John's face, and he started to run. He didn't know whether he wanted to stop ignoring Sherlock, to hit him or kiss him or blank him. At this point, all he cared about was being in the same place as the man he loved.
At the top of the stairs John paused, took several deep breaths and straightened his expression, before pushing open the door to the flat.
The room was entirely dark and silent.
Fighting off a sickening sense of panic, John turned on the light. No Sherlock. No Sherlock in the kitchen. No Sherlock in the bathroom or in either of the bedrooms. No milk in the fridge or flower petals on the floor. No violin. No skull on the mantelpiece. The smiley face had been painted over.
John spun round in a frenzy of panic, holding his head. "No… no…" He couldn't be gone again. John's thoughts were hopping around like tiny frogs, or shards of glass. "Sherlock!"
John's shout echoed dismally through the empty flat. "Sherlock! Oh god. Sherlock!" John sank to the floor in a frenzy of pain and loneliness and despair, unwilling to move or think or even breathe.
There were footsteps on the stairs, and a blurry figure loomed over John, extending a hand.
"I'm here, John." His voice sent tidal waves of relief and fury thundering through John.
John flung himself to his feet, angrily blinking away his tears. "Sherlock! For god's sake! Never- do- that- to- me- again!" Sherlock looked apprehensive, clearly remembering the punches from earlier, as John flung himself towards the detective. This time, however, John's arms curled around the taller man, desperately pulling their bodies together.
Marshaling his thoughts from the explosion of delight which had coursed through them at his flatmate's touch, Sherlock decided that now would be a good time to make another attempt at an apology. "John, I'm sorr-"
He was cut off, as John's lips crashed against his own. "I forgive you, you idiot. I love you, and I always have. Just- never leave me like that again, okay?"
"Yes!" John stared on, bemused, as Sherlock jumped in the air, grinning as though an impossible theft and a serial killer had been rolled into one. "Yes, John!" Leaping over the sofa, he brought his mouth down to John's, then pulled away. "Let's tell Mrs Hudson. No sense in keeping up the rent on two bedrooms any more, is there?"
ooooo
Waking up in the morning beside his flatmate-turned-lover, John felt happier than he ever had in his life. Except for one thing...
Sherlock had not said that he loved John back.
Determined to settle this last anxiety, John prodded Sherlock. "Sherlock…" The words were difficult to get out past John's fear of rejection. He swallowed. "Sherlock, do you love me?"
Sherlock stirred and turned over, mumbling sleepily. "As ever, John, you see but do not observe. As I have told you before, when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."
And as light dawned over 221B Baker Street, and the detective's arms went around the doctor, it felt- to both of them- like the greatest truth of all.
-The End.-
A/N: And there we have it. I couldn't resist giving them a stupidly sappy ending, I'm sorry (no, I'm not really). I probably won't be putting up any more Johnlock for a while, since I feel kind of guilty about my Cabin Pressure fic which I've abandoned, and need to get back to it. All reviews and etcetera go to a very good home, where they are loved and cared for. -Ro :)