"Sebastian. Let go," Sherlock hissed, immediately kneeling by the doctor.
John felt the pressure on his head and hair release, and he fell forwards onto his hands and knees. "God, Sherlock, I-"
Sherlock hugged John, squeezing him tightly.
"No, Moriarty, he-" began John.
Sherlock froze. "Your memory." He knows who Moriarty is.
"Yes, my memory," John replied. "It's back."
Sherlock slowly released John, his expression unreadable. "You hate me, don't you? You know I'm not human and you despise me. You don't love me; you were just doing what you were told was right. You didn't know any better so you just went along with it. I don't-"
"Sherlock, stop." John rested his hand on his friend's shoulder. "If there's one bloody thing I learned from losing my memory, it's that I do love you. And I still do."
"What?" Sherlock whispered.
Sebastian, the only one still standing, glanced back and forth between his two friends who were sitting on the floor. Intense…
"And I always will," John continued, taking his hand off Sherlock's shoulder and finding the consulting detective's hand instead. "You're human, you hear? You're the most human human I've ever known, and I love you."
"You- you love-" stammered Sherlock. You love me?
"God, yes," interrupted John.
Then there was that awkward moment in which the two couldn't decide on whether to hug or kiss; a kind of confusion. They settled on simply holding hands, and it was enough for both of them.
After several minutes, Sebastian broke their daze. "Uh, sorry to ruin the moment, but there's police officials after us."
"Well, come on," Sherlock said, getting to his feet and pulling his doctor up after him.
"What?" asked John, confused.
Sherlock smiled. "We're going to meet them head on."
And the three walked out the door, the flashing red and blue lights and the blaring sirens not fazing them. The police force had gathered in a semicircle around the house, making it impossible to run. But that, of course, wasn't the plan.
"I know you've all been idiots," Sherlock yelled at the assembled police. "But we're willing to forgive you."
Lestrade took a step forwards. "Why?"
"Because you saved her life," Sherlock replied.
John gasped. "Molly? She's alive?" He began to laugh and cry at the same time, and felt Lestrade fold him into an embrace.
"I'm glad to have you back. All three of you." The DI smiled into John's hair. He stepped back. "Of course you nincompoops are cleared."
"We are?" asked Sebastian, not believing it. "Like, all my murders and all the things and-"
Lestrade nodded, cutting the assassin off. "All it took was a little talk with Mycroft, really."
Sherlock chuckled, his deep voice too refined for an all out laugh. He felt John grab his hand, and he intertwined their fingers. This turned out too perfectly. "How is brother dear?"
"He's fine, thank you," answered Mycroft, stepping out from behind Lestrade. "Sherlock, in the past few nights you've shown what I thought wasn't possible with you. Passion; devotion. Love. And I wish you the very best, hoping you accept this as an apology."
"I accept," Sherlock said, with a nod. "For now."
Mycroft smirked, and walked back, fading into the crowd of officers.
Lestrade smiled broadly, showing them to a taxi which drove off on a route that all three knew by heart.
Back to Baker Street.
"What about Moriarty, though?" asked Sebastian, as they stepped out of the taxi in front of their house.
Sherlock couldn't shake off that smile, the one he was sure made him look like an idiot. "Well, we'll find out when we get there, won't we?"
John nodded, and the three went back home, to where they belong.
Three friends, one assassin, one doctor, one sociopath, two lovers, and a night that none of the three would ever forget.
One perfect DI, one lovely big brother. One welcoming and overjoyed landlady, and, somewhere out there, one dark and twisted villain.
One wish, held by everyone, that the next adventure would be even more crazy than this one. And, to comply with that wish, it most certainly, certainly would.
The End.