Hi guys, this is just a short send off into the new year. I am completely ignoring day eleven's challenge and replacing it with this. I hope you guys enjoy. If you would help me to end the year on high note with a review, I would be so very happy. Thank you to everyone. Especially MorMor wth a's.

Make 2014 amazing !

Until next year, all my love.

Chapter 11

The moments in which Sherlock couldn't feel a pulse, those were the longest and most terrifying in the life of the world's only consulting detective. The moments in which he felt a pulse fluttering weakly under his fingertips, those were the happiest moments in the life of the world's only consulting detective.

Suddenly, with those few feeble beats of John's heart, Sherlock's way became clear again. His mind opened and he knew what to do. And if that was what just a few beats of the heart he loved could do, imagine what a lifetime of them could do. That heart would live, it needed to.

When John Watson opened his eyes, he was on the couch in 221B, staring into the eyes of the man he loved.

There was an ocean in those eyes. Not a calm ocean, they had the temperament of a ruthlessly stormy sea; crashing into the beach with unbridled passion. Behind those eyes raged battles unlike any that were ever seen in this world. Those eyes that John knew instantly, those eyes, with their ethereal grace and immortal beauty. If this was heaven, John thought, he would be absolutely fine.

As soon as the fog cleared from his thoughts he managed to learn from a very subdued Sherlock that he had been delivered to the front door with a note: "You took mine, I take yours, SM." Sherlock had then called Sarah, who had taken care of all John's injuries and told Sherlock to let him rest. He knew John wouldn't want to wake up in a hospital.

Then John told Sherlock everything. Once he started, he couldn't stop. It was like trying to tame a river, it couldn't be done. The words just poured out of him. He told him of the choice, the torture, of wishing he could see Sherlock just once before he died.

He delivered his entire speech looking at his hands. And he still refused to look up. He did not want to be witness to the change in Sherlock's eyes. He did not want to see pity, fear, anger, disappointment or hate in the eyes of the man he loved.

Sherlock carefully placed a hand underneath John's chin and gently helped him to look up. Because that was what Sherlock was, among so many other things, he was the strength John needed when he didn't have his own.

There was nothing in Sherlock's eyes that John expected, only sadness and love. Tears shone on his cheeks. "John," his voice was hoarse and soft: "Why didn't you tell me?"

John tested his own voice: "I couldn't. I didn't want you to be disappointed in me." His voice trembled. He sounded so childish. How could he expect Sherlock to love him? "Sherlock, I love you, but I'm broken. I want to be whole for you. So I pretend." Sherlock smiled sadly: "John, that is exactly why I love you, we are broken, both of us. Together we are whole. John, it is going to be a new year in a few minutes, I started this year incomplete, but I am not ending it so."

John stared, wide-eyed. And the only possible words in his mind, as he realized that every single word Sherlock had said was true, was all that was necessary: "Yes, love."

And so, together, the detective and the doctor shared an ending and a beginning. An ending of a year and of two separate pieces. A beginning of a lifetime as one.