A/N: Sorry this took so long. This is technically the last chapter but there is an epilogue that will lead into the next part. Hopefully I'll have it up soon.

It was impractical to think John could visit Moriarty's grave every day. Hell, he couldn't even make it there as often as he would have liked. Since he had started going on cases with Sherlock again, it left very little free time. Then again Sherlock had always had an ability to monopolize John's time without John even realizing it.

So instead John went to Jim's grave once a month, on the 16th, commemorating Jim's death. But when John awoke with Sherlock in his arms, his dark curls tickling his nose, he was almost surprised when he looked at his phone and saw the date. There was no way Sherlock could have done it on purpose, slept in John's bed on the sixth month anniversary of Jim's death.

John carefully disentangled himself from his flatmate and went over to his closet to start putting on his suit. His fingers brushed over the familiar fabric, something in his heart clenching. This wasn't the original suit that Jim had bought him - it wasn't the one he'd worn to the opera on what felt like their first date or the one he'd worn on the rooftop for their first official dinner together – that one had been destroyed when he'd been stabbed. No this was Jim's apology suit and it felt fitting that John should wear it on that day.

Every time he went to Jim's grave, it was to apologize.

The moment he was dressed, he stopped by his bed and couldn't help giving Sherlock a kiss on the top of his head. Sherlock barely stirred, snuffling a little in his sleep and burying deeper into the covers. John gave a small smile before turning to leave, flicking off the light as he left.

John stopped by the florists before heading to the graveyard. He bought a single red rose, the thorns still on, and carried it carefully with two fingers. He decided to walk, enjoying the rather sunny September morning.

When he got to the graveyard, he had the distinctive feeling like someone was watching him. Good, he thought, placing the red rose down at the head of the grave. He wasn't comfortable with this; he had always felt strange trying to talk to the dead as if they could hear you. He knew part of it was to make him feel better but it didn't. All it did was remind him that Jim wasn't there to answer him and that it was all his fault.

John closed his eyes and waited. Come on, John pleaded, knowing Moran must be out there somewhere. Come on you bastard. You promised.

But then he could hardly expect anyone to keep their promises after everything that had happened. It would be too much to hope for.

John opened his eyes and sighed. He supposed it would have been too easy, too much wishful thinking that Moran would be there that day. Trained killers probably had more important things to do. He crouched down and patted the edge of the dirt that made up Jim's grave. "I'm sorry." He whispered and looked up at the sky. He didn't really believe that people who died were up in the sky looking down at you and even if that were true, he doubted Jim would make it into heaven.

John wiped his eyes, he hadn't even realized he was crying, and stood. As he did, a flicker of light caught his eye – a glimmer in the trees - and he smiled. Finally.

JOHN.

John vaguely heard someone calling his name but his eyes were closed as he waited for the inevitable whistling sound of a long range bullet heading in his direction. He felt all the tension bleed out of his body, like a weight being lifted. This was what he deserved and he welcomed it gladly.

"JOHN!" The voice was closer and broke through John's peaceful state. He turned in time to see Sherlock running towards him. "Get down!" he shouted right before tackling John to the ground. John slid across the grass and heard the bullet land right where he'd been.

"Move!" Sherlock yelled, wrapping his arms around John and flipping them over, rolling across the dirt and grass as another bullet was shot at them.

"Sherlock, what the fuck are you doing?" John hollered as Sherlock got to his feet and hauled John up.

"Trying to save your life." Sherlock snapped back and dragged John behind a large oak tree. He peeked around the side, probably looking for any sign of Moran. The shooting had stopped but that didn't mean he was gone.

"Did you think that maybe I didn't want you to save my life?" John whispered back harshly.

"I know, that's why I had to." Sherlock countered, still trying to peer through the leaves to find the sniper.

"What? Sherlock why did –"

Seemingly satisfied that Moran was not going to try and shoot them again, Sherlock grabbed John by the arm and shoved him roughly against the tree. A bit of bark went into his back and John yelped in pain. "Jesus fuck Sherlock, what are you doing?"

"No what are you doing?" Sherlock hissed, his eyes dark and narrowed. "I will not let you kill yourself over Jim Moriarty John. I will stop you by any means necessary."

"I wasn't going to kill myself."

"No, you were just going to stand there and let Moran shoot you." Sherlock gave him another hard shove and John winced in pain.

"I wasn't –"

"I know what I saw!" Sherlock shouted and John looked away in shame. Sherlock crowded him against the tree so he was whispering into John's ear, his mouth upturned in a vicious sneer. "Do you have any idea at all what my life was like before you came into it?"

"You don't really talk about it." John shrugged minutely.

"For a good reason. I was miserable John, more so than you can possibly imagine. You think I would let you do this? You left me for two months and even that made me so distraught that I planned on breaking into your depressing little flat and dragging you back to Baker street."

"Really?" John looked up with a slightly amused smirk on his face. He couldn't help being a bit flattered.

"But you came back." Sherlock raised his hand and gently caressed John's cheek. John's eyes fluttered closed from the contact. "But you never really did, did you? I kept wondering why you had bothered. You didn't want to be there and you refused to move on. It was because of this, wasn't it? You were never planning on staying."

"Look at where we are Sherlock."

"I'm aware of where we are John, I did follow you here." Sherlock said impatiently.

"Look." John grabbed Sherlock's chin and wrenched his face to the side so he was staring at Jim's grave. "I did this. He's there because of me and I can't –"

John stopped, his tongue suddenly thick in his mouth, the corners of his eyes wetting. "I can't live with myself anymore Sherlock. Do you understand that? I can't have this weighing on me anymore. A man is dead and it's all my fault."

"You know that isn't true."

"Yes it is!" John shouted, his hands clenching into fists, his sadness dissolving into anger.

"So this is your penance is it? A life for a life?"

"Maybe."

"I won't let you."

"Fuck off Sherlock, this isn't about you." John brought his arm back and hit Sherlock square in the jaw, hoping it might solidify his point. Sherlock stumbled, wiping his cut lip on his sleeve before going back. "Do you want to get hit again?" John asked through clenched teeth.

"Yes."

"You want me to hit you." John stared at him disbelievingly.

"If that's what it takes." Sherlock shrugged and put his hands behind his back, communicating that he wouldn't fight John back.

"Come on." John started seeing red, every emotion bleeding away until there was nothing left but anger. John hit Sherlock again, this time punching him in the stomach. Sherlock doubled over but still refused to fight. "Come on!" John grabbed Sherlock's lapels on his coat and shook him.

"No." Sherlock refused to budge.

"Please." John's entire body shook with a sob and he fell to his knees, still clutching Sherlock's coat. "Hit me, punish me, do something." John begged on his knees.

"No." Sherlock dropped to his knees as well and took John's face in his hands. "This isn't what you deserve."

"Fine, then tell me Sherlock, what is it I deserve?" John asked miserably, his hands barely holding onto Sherlock's coat. Sherlock grabbed John around the middle and pulled him close.

"Me." He whispered. "I don't need you to be in love with me John. I just need you to stay with me. I need… I need…"

"What?" John asked softly, burying his face in Sherlock's neck.

"You. I need you John. I don't know if that's enough of a reason for you to stay but it's all I have." Sherlock stroked his hand through John's hair and held him, hoping that it would be enough to keep him.

John brought his face up and kissed Sherlock gently, carefully avoiding his split lip. When he pulled away, his eyes were closed and Sherlock couldn't read anything off his face. His heart pounded loudly as he waited for John's answer.

"It's enough." John nodded, his eyes opening as he gave Sherlock a hesitant smile, which he returned. "It's enough."

XXXX

When they got back to Baker Street, Sherlock instantly set off for the kitchen. "Do you want tea, I'll make it." Sherlock offered. Under normal circumstances this would have made John ecstatic. Instead he just shook his head.

"No thank you."

"Are you sure?" Sherlock looked slightly lost for a moment until he switched tactics. "Breakfast. You left early this morning, you're probably hungry. I could go down to Speedy's and get us something. One of those bacon sandwiches you like."

Sherlock had removed his coat but he retrieved it and slipped it back on. His hand was outstretched for the door handle but John slid in the way. Sherlock's knuckles bumped against the crotch of John's jeans and he instantly removed his hand, looking away in embarrassment.

"Why are you suddenly so nervous?" John asked, his arms crossed over his chest.

"I'm not." Sherlock shook his head, still unable to meet John's eye.

"Sherlock…" John said patiently while waiting for Sherlock to explain.

"I'm concerned you might kiss me." Sherlock informed him curtly.

"So…?" John asked, confused. This would hardly be the first time.

"So it might progress beyond that."

"And that would be bad because…" John prompted helpfully.

"I might be bad at it." Sherlock bit his bottom lip and turned away his face away, rubbing his hands together nervously. John couldn't help the giggle that escaped his lips. Sherlock frowned at him. "It is perfectly valid to be nervous about something one has never done before."

John's laughter was cut dead as his mouth dropped open. "Never as in –"

"As in not once."

"Oh." John looked dumbfounded. "You had said it had been ten years but I had sort of assumed there had been someone before the very large gap."

"There was." Sherlock cleared his throat nervously. Victor wasn't exactly a topic he mentioned often. "There was someone but we never…"

"Slow is good." John laced his fingers through Sherlock's. "I wasn't going to rush into anything like I did the last time."

"I would… appreciate that." Sherlock let a smile slowly spread across his face, watching the one currently taking over John's.

"But I can kiss you, right?" John asked, licking his lips.

"Of course." Sherlock nodded.

John tugged on their hands and led them to the sofa. He sat down first and then pulled Sherlock to him, having him straddle his thighs. John kept his hands decidedly on Sherlock's shoulders, safe where they wouldn't wander.

John was good at kissing. He knew he was good at kissing. It took him less than a minute to make Sherlock moan before turning him into a veritable puddle in John's hands. He had his hands resting on the back of the sofa but they soon found their way into John's hair.

Licks and nips with tongues and teeth had Sherlock whimpering. A possessive spark lit inside John and he growled in the back of his throat, grabbing Sherlock by his magnificent bum and pulling him down hard. Sherlock gasped into John's mouth as his cock made contact with John's stomach.

"Do that again." Sherlock instructed, his voice deep and gravely with arousal.

John grabbed him around the middle and practically threw him onto the sofa, landing flat on his back, before John crawled on top of him and captured his lips. Sherlock felt his cock leak a bit and discovered that yes, he did like being manhandled by John.

John ground his hips down and Sherlock keened, letting out an embarrassingly loud groan. "John please, before I die of sexual frustration."

"No such thing." John kissed his way down Sherlock's jaw and settled at his neck.

"John…" Sherlock half moaned, half whined.

"I thought you didn't want to –"

"I changed my mind."

"Positive?"

"Yes." Sherlock nodded and John propped himself up to look into Sherlock's eyes. He didn't see any flicker of doubt there so he conceded and reached down between them. He unfastened both their trousers and pushed them down to mid-thigh. Taking them both in hand, he began to thrust. Sherlock threw his head back, elongating that perfect neck, and Christ was that a sight. John pressed his lips to that pale throat as his cock rubbed against Sherlock's.

"John." Sherlock moaned wantonly, wrapping his legs around John and pushing him to keep going, as if he had any intention of stopping.

"Jesus. Fuck. Sh – Sherlock –" A thin sheen of sweat broke out over John's skin from the effort. Sherlock's cock was leaking heavily, his eyes glazed over. He dragged his fingernails down John's back and John could feel it even through his layers of clothing.

John could only hope Sherlock was close, his own orgasm fast approaching. His balls had tightened and he felt on the edge. Sherlock looked ready to come but for some reason he wasn't. He looked almost frightened and something in John almost broke at the sight of how vulnerable Sherlock looked.

"I'm here." John said quietly, raising his hand to cup Sherlock's cheek. "I'm not going anywhere." John kissed Sherlock deeply, feeling Sherlock's chest heaving against his own. "Please give me this. You don't owe me anything Sherlock and I don't deserve it but please. I love you."

Sherlock dug his nails into John's shoulder as his body quivered and his release spilled between them. John let go of his own cock and took Sherlock's in hand, gently stroking him through the after shocks.

Sherlock had his eyes closed, his face turned away as if in shame. "Hey, hey." John gently pressed his lips to the corner of Sherlock's mouth. "What is it?"

When Sherlock opened his eyes, his face was blank, unreadable and John knew instantly that it was a mask. "No." he shook his head. "Don't you do that. Don't you dare hide from me after everything that's happened."

"I don't know what you mean."

"You bloody well do. Now talk to me." John said with his jaw clenched.

Sherlock maneuvered his way out from under John and redid his trousers. He paced the sitting room, careful not to look at John with his fly still open and his penis still somewhat erect. It had waned slightly but was still there, present in Sherlock peripheral vision.

Finally Sherlock stopped moving and took a deep breath through his nose. "I don't like sex."

"You didn't enjoy it?" John's brow furrowed and Sherlock looked away, disliking making John feel as if he had done something wrong. It wasn't John's fault that Sherlock was wired wrong.

"I – "

Sherlock looked slightly helpless, standing in the middle of the room with his shoulders slumped. John wanted to close the space between them but he wasn't certain it would be a welcome gesture.

"I kept thinking about Moriarty, at the end there."

"Oh well that's nice to hear." John snorted.

"About what he said." Sherlock clarified. "He was right. You did manage to turn off my brain. I just… I didn't like the feeling. And I knew, I knew you'd expect this of me. That's why I said no in the first place, why I turned you down. I knew I couldn't give you this. But you want it and I can't give it to you. I don't like having my brain shut off. I don't like being unable to think."

"Okay." John shrugged and sat back against the cushions.

"Okay?" Sherlock stared at his flatmate incredulously. "That's it?"

"Sherlock, if you don't enjoy sex, there isn't much I can do about it, is there?" John stood up and refastened his trousers, tucking himself back in. "I'm not going to force myself on you. I'm not going to make you have sex with me just so we can be together. If you just want to be friends then we can just be friends."

"I don't want to be your friend." Sherlock spat back indignantly, his hands clenched into fists.

"Then what?" John challenged, coming over to Sherlock and invading his personal space. "What is it you want from me Sherlock? You said sex was what you wanted, you begged me to touch you and the second you lose a tiny bit of control you're calling it quits. So what am I supposed to do?"

"I don't know!" Sherlock shouted. He grabbed two fistfuls of his own hair and started yanking in frustration.

"Hey! Stop it. Sherlock stop!" John cried out desperately, grabbing a hold of Sherlock's arm and trying to get his hands out of his hair. Sherlock grabbed him in return and spun him until John's back was pressed up against the wall and Sherlock was kissing him hard.

Sherlock made a needy sound in the back of his throat and pressed his body so close to John's it felt like he was trying to meld them together. John broke away, gasping for air as Sherlock buried his fact in John's hair.

"Sherlock, if this is going to work you have to trust me."

"I do."

"Maybe you don't trust me as much as you thought you did. I saw your face and you were terrified to let go in front of me. And maybe I don't deserve your trust after everything I did. But we can rebuild it."

"So what does that mean?" Sherlock murmured against John's hair.

"It means we're friends."

Sherlock pulled away and checked to see if John was joking. "But –"

"Let me finish. We're friends but you can kiss me whenever you want and you can also sleep in my bed whenever you want."

"How is that different from being together?"

"Because I'm not going to touch you again in a sexual manner until you decide you can trust me enough to let go."

"It's not about trusting you. I don't like losing myself. My brain is the most important part everything else is – "

"- Just transport, I know. You've said before. But Sherlock, you're not going to lose your mind from an orgasm. I may be good in bed but I'm not that good." John gave him a wry smile, trying to ease the tension.

"That's what it felt like though." Sherlock told him quietly.

"Sex can feel like that sometimes, like someone is taking you apart, unraveling you."

"Yes. Yes exactly."

"But if you trusted me, you'd trust me to put you back together again. I hope some day you can." John blanched at the odd expression on Sherlock's face. "Why are you smiling like that?"

Sherlock put his lips in between his teeth but even that could stop him smiling. "You're in love with me."

"Yeah, so?" John asked in confusion.

"I don't know, it just – it feels good."

John chuckled and shook his head in amusement.

"You said I could kiss you whenever I wanted right?" Sherlock asked, his smile turning a bit mischievous.

"Yes." John said slowly, smirking knowingly.

"Can I now?"

"No one's stopping you."

John was still grinning when Sherlock's lips pressed against his.