There is some good angst later on in this chapter, I hope you're ready ;]

Sorry this is late in the day guys. Honestly, it just slipped my mind. I had thought about it in the morning and somehow never did anything about it T_T That seems to be a curse of this story, because it happened once or twice on deviantART as well XD Anyway, it's here now, and I hope that's okay.

Also, I have another story in the works, it's almost three chapters long already, and I'm planning to post it here and on dA at the same time. It's a ghostlock/teenlock, and I really think that you're going to like it because I'm basically writing it from scratch :D So look forward to that soon ^^

And that's pretty much it! Please don't forget to follow sxs-fanfics on tumblr for updates, and I'll see you next week! There are only two chapters left of this story already D: Love ya!

~SXS

Disclaimer: Any and all related elements from the Harry Potter or Sherlock universe are the sole property of their creators. I do not take any ownership of anything except for the ideas of the storyline.

Hi, this is John Watson. Can't get to the phone right now so-

Sherlock hung up before he could hear the end of the recording. Again. He had been trying to get in touch with John for a week now, but it seemed that every time he tried to call, this was what he was faced with. He had half a mind to Apparate to the school and hex John for ignoring him, but he didn't even have the drive. He was just so tired. So...lonely.

.~.OMWF.~.

"Hello?"

"Oh, you're still alive. Good to know," Sherlock said sarcastically.

"Sherlock? It's three in the morning!"

"I'm aware," he said, glancing over at the clock on the wall. He finally decided that if John was too busy during the day, that the only time to guarantee that he would be by his phone and not doing anything would be in the middle of the night.

"Then why are you calling me?" John asked.

"I can't sleep," he lied, although it was partially true.

John sighed, and Sherlock could hear that he was moving around to sit up in his bed. "Look, I'm sorry I haven't been able to talk to you lately. It's almost time for final exams. The professors are squeezing in everything they can and I have so much work."

Sherlock was silent for a moment. "I'm sorry," he murmured.

"Sherlock, this is as hard for me as it is for you. Do you think I don't want to see you more? I mean, God, I miss you. But I have things that I need to get done."

"I know," Sherlock said, like a child being scolded by his parent.

"It's almost Christmas you know," John said. "I get a full month off from Uni, with no homework or anything."
Sherlock perked up a bit. "Really?"

"Mhm. And since I don't plan on going home to visit my family, I'm going to be pretty lonely." Sherlock chuckled slightly.

"If only there was someone who could keep you company," he said, finally smiling for the first time in a while.

"My bed's big enough for two."

"What day should I get there?"

.~.OMWF.~.

The morning of December the 23rd found Sherlock Apparating to John's flat with a loud crack. He looked around as soon as he arrived, expecting John to come running when he heard the sound. But when he spun halfway he saw his boyfriend, lying on his back on the couch, asleep. A book was open across his chest, and one hand was still loose around the bottom of the spine. He hadn't even stirred from the noise.

Sherlock shook his head. Even when he had a break where he didn't have to worry about anything, John was still trying to keep ahead of the game. He knelt down next to the couch, removing the book to the coffee table before giving John a kiss on the forehead.

Now John stirred, making a small noise. His eyes fluttered open and widened at the sight of Sherlock, before crinkling at the corners with a smile. "I was just dreaming about you."

Sherlock smiled softly. "Looks like your dreams just came true."

John reached up and tugged Sherlock to lay on top of him, and the taller boy shimmied down so that his face could press into John's neck. "I missed you," he murmured against the skin, taking in the familiar scent and taste that he couldn't recreate in even his most elaborate dreams. Even with the most powerful spell.

"I missed you, too," John murmured, squeezing him around the waist. He kissed the top of Sherlock's head and let his cheek rest there after.

"One of these days we won't have to say that anymore," Sherlock said.

"I only have a little more than a year. Then I'll be going to medical school," John said quietly. He closed his eyes and yawned.

Sherlock kissed John's neck. "I'm sorry I woke you up. Do you want to finish your nap?"

"That would be nice," John admitted. "Do you mind being my blanket?"

Sherlock chuckled. "It would be my honour, Mr. Watson." He tilted his head up enough to give John a kiss on the lips. "I love you."

"I love you, too," John replied, before nestling back into Sherlock's hair and letting himself drift back to sleep.

.~.OMWF.~.

"Sherlock! Sherlock! It's Christmas!" John shook his boyfriend, grinning.

Sherlock groaned a little, swiping at him. "Bugger Christmas," he muttered, before having de ja vu. Had it really been so long since their first Christmas?

John laughed and kissed Sherlock's ear. "I bought you a present." In response Sherlock smiled, eyes still closed. He held out a hand. "No, no. You have to get up and out of bed," the blonde said, and Sherlock heard his footsteps heading out of the room.

With a groan, the dark-haired boy forced himself up and out, though he was still smiling faintly. He wrapped himself in his dressing gown and headed out into the kitchen where John was already making tea. "Want some?" he asked.

"Yes, thank you," Sherlock said, and sat at the table with a yawn. He watched John flit about, making himself some breakfast too in the process. He finally sat down with his plate and slid Sherlock a mug of tea. Then he pulled a box up from under the table and handed that to him as well. "Happy Christmas, love."

Sherlock perked a bit seeing the gift and excitedly unwrapped the box. John's gifts were always thoughtful and special, and he still had each one. Out of all the very few possessions Sherlock still had after selling most of his things to pay for his shoddy flat, those were the most precious.

John watched eagerly as Sherlock opened up the gift. He lifted the lid of the box and inside found books of different shapes and sizes, paper, not parchment, and not a quill but a fountain pen. "They're Muggle science books. They're the ones I used for my classes. I kept the ones that were the most interesting."

Sherlock smiled, pulling out each one, flipping through. Just the diagrams inside were enough to entise him, let alone the fact that it was Muggle science in the first place, something that he'd been wanting to learn for a while now. "This is wonderful, John. Thank you!" He leaned across the table to kiss him. "Stay right here. I have something for you too." He got up from the table and ran into the bedroom. He'd brought his violin, but only now was he bringing it out to play, and a box as well. He handed it to John. "This first."

Inside was a cassette player with a tape already inside. "I know that Muggle technology is far beyond this, but for some reason magic won't work on any of the newest gadgets." He set his violin between his chin and shoulder. "But I managed to record a few of my favourite songs from the wizarding world onto that tape. Along with this." Sherlock put the bow to the strings and started to play a piece that he had written for John.

The whole world seemed to slow down as Sherlock started to play. He closed his eyes, falling into the the spell he usually did when connected to his instrument. The piece had been completely inspired by his feelings for John and he tried to send that emotion through the melody so that he could hear it. The things he couldn't express with words he found easiest to express with music. It lasted for a few minutes before he hit the final note, letting it ring when he was finished.

"Sherlock..." John whispered. But, he didn't have the words, he couldn't find the words to express his feelings. That was just beautiful, absolutely beautiful.

Sherlock stayed quiet for a moment, then opened his eyes. "I wrote it myself. About you."

"It's fantastic," John breathed. He got up and went over to Sherlock, taking the violin from him and putting it on the table temporarily so that he could kiss him. Sherlock smiled against his lips and wrapped his now-free arms around John, holding him close. When John pulled back, he looked up his boyfriend with sparkling eyes. "I love you."

"I love you, too," Sherlock murmured. "I've missed you so much." He gave him another tender kiss. "When can we live together, John?"

John sighed. "I don't know Sherlock," he said. Then he hesitated. "I..." He swallowed. He hadn't told Sherlock this yet, because he knew that it wasn't going to go over well. "Sherlock, listen. I don't want you to overreact to this."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, looking down at John. "To what?" He looked into John's eyes and saw that he looked guilty. That was not a good sign.

"Sherlock...I got wind that the Army is looking for good doctors and I think I'm going to enlist to go help."

"What?!" Sherlock pushed him back by the shoulders and looked into his face with wide eyes. "The army!?"

"It wouldn't be until I finish my medical degree." John said, "But I want to help. There are good people out there dying."

"And you'll be one of them! John, why do you do this? Don't you care what this is doing to yourself?"

John looked away. He almost seemed ashamed, but there was still a strength in the way he held his shoulders. "I was going to ask you to move in here while I went to medical school... But if you don't want to..."

The words went right over Sherlock's head. "John, please don't do it. Please."

"Did you even hear what I'm asking?" John grabbed his hands. "Move in with me. It'll save you money and we can see each other every day."

It must be said that Sherlock had about as much patience as he could in this situation. He'd bottled up his feelings for years now, and this was the final straw. He just couldn't hold back anymore. "Don't try to distract me, John!" Sherlock snapped. "You're completely selfish!"

"Selfish?" John said, stepping back and frowning. "I'm working myself into the ground to help others and you call that selfish?"

"Yes! Because you don't care how I feel about anything! We hardly see each other, every time we do you look that much closer to an Inferi, and now you want to voluntarily put yourself in an environment where you're likely to get killed! You care more about those stupid Muggles than your own boyfriend! Don't you care what happens to me? Without you..." He swallowed, feeling the sting of hot tears in his eyes. "I don't have anyone without you, John."

John looked just about as close to exploding as Sherlock was mere moments ago. But when he heard Sherlock, his face softened, and he stepped closer again. He put a hand on his boyfriend's cheek, wiping at his eyes gently to remove the tears. "Sherlock, love...I don't care more about them. Not at all. I just..." He shook his head. "It'll only be for a year. I swear. I purposely looked for the shortest enlistment time."

"John..." He knew that there was no convincing him otherwise. This was John Watson, the most determined and stubborn person he knew. A few words weren't going to stop him, even from Sherlock. But why did his determination have to lead him into something so dangerous?

"I want to help them," John said quietly, as if that was an explanation. He looked away from Sherlock again, the weight of his guilt clear in his eyes.

"You can't help everyone," Sherlock said. "You're already helping people by being a doctor. Let some other sod help the people in the army and work in a bloody hospital!"

"Sherlock..."

Sherlock pulled his face up, forcing John to look at him. "At least think about it. Please."

Finally John nodded slowly. "I'll think about it."

John met his gaze and for a moment they spoke silently. Sherlock sought the truth of John's feelings, that he really did care about him enough to know how much this was hurting him, imploring him to reconsider. The colour of John's eyes had dimmed considerably since the last time he looked so deeply into them. But somewhere, buried deep in the fatigued blue, there was that old truth that Sherlock had come to accept many a time before. And now was no exception.

Sherlock let his hands drop. He knew that John would never give up on something he'd planned to do and Sherlock wouldn't make him. That was just how things worked between them.