Chapter Twenty Five

Sherlock was asleep. John could sense it even before he opened his eyes. Judging by the weak light he perceived through his eyelids it was almost 4 o'clock in the afternoon. He opened one eye and took in what he saw. Boxes and boxes of cases stacked up by the window. Sherlock must have moved them from the door to the other side of the room. John wondered if Sherlock had gotten any sleep at all - except for the few hours the night before - since all of this had started. He must have been exhausted, and judging by the deep breaths that tickled his neck, he was clearly in need of sleep.

Only slowly did he allow himself to realise in what position he was in. Sherlock must have held him without moving the entire time, because his arm was still there, right there, his hand splayed on his chest protectively. Had he always felt this protective of him? He knew he would wake him up if he tried to move. And, being honest with himself, he did not want to move.

He could feel Sherlock's chest against his back, a steady heartbeat drumming against him, calming him. And then, somehow, their legs had been tangled, and one of Sherlock's legs was more or less comfortably resting between his. John could feel his own heart hammer away. He had never imagined to be this close to Sherlock, to be this intimate with him, and yet it felt so right. In all this confusion and fear, he had slowly started to understand what Sherlock really meant to him. He was his friend, certainly an annoying and helplessly nitpicking one, but a friend nevertheless, and most probably the best he had ever had. And he trusted him, and that was a feeling that John had missed greatly since leaving the army. He had missed someone who would take what he said as a given, no doubts, no second guesses, someone who took him seriously. And Sherlock liked him, he revelled in his compliments, and he never told John to shut up, always considering his opinion, no matter how wrong he might be. And Sherlock had been worried about him, and he had been worried about Sherlock in ways that he had never experienced before. Just the thought that something could have happened to the man sleeping peacefully behind him now had made him feel physically ill and even now, just thinking about it, he felt pain in his chest, finding it difficult to breathe.

John inhaled deeply to defy that restrictive feeling, causing Sherlock's arm to hold on tighter. He had to smile, and, pushing aside his fears, he focused on what was happening now. Had Sherlock known? Judging by his behaviour he had, and, more importantly, he felt the same about him. Only that Sherlock probably didn't know how to react appropriately. John laughed out loud. He hadn't really acted appropriately either. And Sherlock had watched him, he had known, he must have know, because he was fearlessly going where John was still internally pacing around, trying to find excuses.

The laugh woke Sherlock up. A small grunt from him made John smile, and then he could feel Sherlock's realisation that he was holding onto John for dear life. He froze for a second before he relaxed again, exhaling slowly.

"Morning." John couldn't keep the smile out of his voice, feeling Sherlock relax even more as he heard him speak.

"John?" His voice was heavy with sleep.

"Yes?"

"Are we okay?" There it was again, the insecurity, and yet there was more, there was hope in that little phrase and John wanted to kick himself for not realising that sooner.

He lifted Sherlock's arm and disentangled his legs from Sherlock's and he could feel his body tense against his, but when he turned around to face Sherlock, he relaxed again. John noticed that it was extraordinary that he should have such a strong physical effect on Sherlock, as if he was still afraid he might just get up and leave. Didn't he remember that it had been him who had come to him for comfort; didn't he remember that he had admitted to needing him before falling asleep?

Sherlock's face was right there, only inches away, his eyes wide.

"Yes, of course we're okay."

Sherlock's lips stretched into a small smile.

"I'm sorry I woke you up." John's eyes moved over Sherlock's face and then back to his eyes. Sherlock was calmly watching him.

"It's okay."

John couldn't resist the urge to push his face against Sherlock's chest, keeping it there for a while, hiding from the world. He had had no idea that there was a place on earth where he could completely let go and still feel safe, but apparently, of all possible places, it was Sherlock's chest. His arm slid over Sherlock's stomach and wormed its way under his arm so he could hold him. In turn, Sherlock wrapped his arm around John again. John's left hand came to rest on Sherlock's chest, under his own chin, feeling Sherlock's skin and heartbeat against his palm. For a moment he wished that he didn't wear a shirt either, so he could feel the immediacy of Sherlock's skin against his, but he ignored the urge to remove his t-shirt and settled on feeling happy and safe in the state he was in.

"John?" Why did he still sound so unsure? "John, you said I wasn't ready."

"What?"

"You said I wasn't ready for something new."

John looked at him, pushing himself up to be on the same level as Sherlock's face.

"Sherlock." He tried to sound as affectionate as he felt towards the man who seemed to see through everything, who could figure out anyone within seconds but who seemed unable to understand John.

"I meant a new case. I didn't want you to get dragged into another case while you were still hurt and you hadn't slept and I wanted to make sure that you're safe and … and I wanted you to stay."

"With you?"

"Yes, with me."

"So you didn't mean us?" How in the world could Sherlock misunderstand something that couldn't have been clearer?

"Of course not, idiot." And John smiled and moved closer, placing a single gentle kiss on Sherlock's lips, something, he figured, he should have done a long time ago.

It was just a chaste kiss, but he could feel Sherlock respond immediately. He pulled him closer with a small whimper that touched something deep down inside of John. He looked at Sherlock's face and there were tears in his eyes, real tears.

Sherlock never cried, unless it was a method to get someone to talk. No, these were the first real tears he had ever seen in Sherlock's eyes. They made his eyes impossibly bright.

"John?" More hope.

"Yes?" Another smile.

"Can I kiss you back?"

And John laughed and so did Sherlock, tears spilling as they both moved in, at first only testing, their lips barely touching, but then Sherlock's hand came up to grab John's head and he pulled him in and kissed him open-mouthed and hot and sweet and John thought he had died and gone to heaven. He could taste the salt of Sherlock's tears and his smile and the hand tugging at his hair was incredibly distracting in a way that he wanted him to keep doing it forever.

This was definitely new, and yet it felt so good and so right that it also seemed as if they had done this all their lives. When they broke the kiss, John gently wiped away the tears that were glistening on Sherlock's cheeks.

"I was the case, wasn't I?" he asked, shyly.

Sherlock smiled, licking his lips. "Of course you were."

"And?"

Sherlock grinned and moved in for another kiss.

"Case solved."

FIN

A.N. Sooo, that's it for now. I'll have to re-read the sequel, cause there are still some bumps in there. It might be a few days until I start posting. It also only has nine chapters, so maybe I won't post every day to keep up the suspense ;p

Thank you, everyone, who took the time to comment on this. I really do appreciate your feedback and your little love notes made me very very happy :) This is for all of you! xxx