He's better when his mum comes home later that night and he listens to her story of the date that went so well. He goes to school after the longest weekend of his life but doesn't see Molly. The week drags and he doesn't know how his friends are, though Greg tells him over and over that he had watched them run their separate ways before coming to check on him.

Molly comes back to school on Thursday and they huddle in the library before school. She seems normal again, save that her chocolate eyes are filled with guilt. "John, I am so sorry about last week… I don't know what happened…" She looks him over and quietly asks, "Are you okay?"

John bites his lip painfully, studying her. Her form is back to normal and the malice is completely gone. "Yeah, I am. Are you?"

She hugs him tightly. "Stop that. You're not fair," she mumbles into his shoulder. He's not quite sure what to say so he simply hugs her back and they sit there quietly until the bell rings and they have to go to class.

XxX

On the following Friday, John's almost home when he sees someone leaning stiffly against the pillar on his porch. His heart literally stutters because, even at the distance, he recognizes the deep chestnut hair and the tall form of Sherlock. He pauses for a moment to breathe and then he calmly walks the rest of the way to his house. As he's headed up the drive, Sherlock turns around and watches him with his hawk-like eyes. "Hello," he finally says as John starts up the stairs.

"Where have you been?" John demands, in no mood for niceties. His hands are shaking slightly. He's been so worried about him.

Sherlock doesn't even try to smile, simply stands up straight and never takes his eyes off the blond. "I'm sorry. That was the first night. I don't come back to myself for another thirteen days. If things had gone the way I'd originally intended, I would have told you that…"

"Originally intended?" John frowns and peers up at him, his curiosity putting out the flames of his anger.

A blush creeps up Sherlock's neck and he looks away for a moment before clearing his throat and chancing a glance back at John. "When you told me about your necklace, I was hopeful that maybe things would be...better between us. You know, er, I was going to ask you on a date… But you had a very different reaction than the one I anticipated and it kind of threw me. I didn't get a chance to tell you what I was, or how it all worked… It was going to be planned, and you wouldn't actually have to see me like that…"

John scoffed, blushing and mildly annoyed. "You do realize that, a, that was not the first time I've seen you in your wereform. And, b, I really don't care. That has never been, and probably never will be, why I've ever been angry with you. You realize that?"

Sherlock blinks at him, expression puzzled. "What? What do you mean?"

"I live with monsters, Sherlock. I don't care what you think you are," John huffs impatiently. "The only reason I've ever been upset with you, the only reason I forgot you at all, was because you just left. You never wrote or said anything to me. You just vanished… I know you didn't have too much of a choice; we were kids. But… Never a letter? Why didn't you? Write, I mean."

Sherlock doesn't look too thrilled with this line of questioning, though he also seems a bit too distracted to argue. "I thought you were scared of me. From what I remembered of that night, nothing told me otherwise. My brother wasn't much help, either. I wrote lots of letters, but never sent them…" He sets his hands on the blond's shoulders, then runs his hands down John's arms and intertwines their fingers. "I've always wished that that night went differently…"

Blushing deeply now, John pulls his hand out of Sherlock's and tugs his necklace out from beneath his shirt. He balances the charm on the palm of his hand and looks down at it thoughtfully. "But we're very different people now than we were as kids… After you left, Greg kind of took over as my friend and guardian and… I've grown up. I'm not scared of silly things anymore. And who knows what we would be if you had stayed. Maybe you would never had been brave enough to ask me on that date…" He peeks up at him, smiling slightly. If nothing else, John is very forgiving.

Sherlock's face colours slightly. "I haven't officially done that yet…" he protests weakly, but smiles all the same. "Would you say yes if I did?"

"Depends on the date," John replies, attempting to sound casual. "And on one condition." He watches his friend tilt his head slightly, curious. He literally reminds him of a dog and that's not a very fair comparison. "No more lies. We actually have to get to know each other now."

"I can agree to that," Sherlock says slowly, looking at the charm in John's palm to their tangled hands. "John, I…" He tips his head back up so their eyes can meet and John feels their world tilt slightly. "I look forward to the future. Finally." He gives a sort of smile that the blond returns threefold before he crashes their lips together.

Goodbyes (Six Years Later)

Sherlock leans on the iron gate of the cemetery, watching as John wanders past headstones slowly and uncertainly. He assumes that it's been quite awhile since his partner has been here as he's looking at names and mumbling under his breath. He smiles sadly, having dreaded this day for quite awhile. He's gotten used to Greg's random appearances and John's soft seemingly one-sided conversations in the early morning. He's decided to stay behind and let his friend have his words with as much privacy as the cemetery will allow.

John feels his heartbeat pick up, one hand opening and closing nervously at his side; the other grips a bouquet of daffodils. The air is warm but it seems more suffocating than he imagined it would be. He hasn't seen Greg yet, but knows he's around, watching. Just like everyone else still here, coming to see what John was doing back in the graveyard. He's only visited twice since being dragged to his father's funeral.

He spots the headstone and falters, feeling his entire body tense reflexively. He brings the flowers up to his chest, nose dipping against the petals and inhaling as if hoping that their scent will give him strength. If anything, it makes him weaker. He stands there, staring at the bleak stone.

Unlike some of the other gravestones around with newer death dates, Greg's does not have fresh flowers resting against it. It's nestled deep into the ground with the grass growing merrily around it, untrimmed recently. The ground itself seems to have settled and the bulge that accompanies many other graves as a subtle symbol of what lies beneath the dirt is not as prominent.

Taking a deep breath, John steps forward and stands beside the grave, looking down at the name. As if on cue, Greg appears, standing on the other side of the stone. "Ya know, you could wait another year or two to publish the book…" he suggests weakly, eyes on the fading engraving as well. John snorts softly but says nothing. "I don't think I'm really ready…"

At this, John looks up at his friend. The man who had been watching over him since he was young, never letting loneliness seep too deep or danger creep too close. He sighs, attempting a laugh and failing because tears are threaten to spill over. "Greg, you've been my dearest friend for so many long years. I think I've begun to feel tired for you. You've done so much for me, from making sure I never touched the hot stove to making me laugh when I'd been crying for ages after Harry left… I want you to go. Go rest."

Greg shuffles his feet, eyes slowly looking up to meet the blond's. Then he turns his gaze to the stones that scatter the plot, the one or two cars that pass through the bi-street. "I've been awake for so long, I don't know if I remember how to sleep," he whispers distantly, shoving his hands into his pockets. "It's such a strange thing… When you die, you can choose to stay or go on. And I didn't know what staying would entail. I was so angry, so curious, so...not ready to leave. Some people have more purpose, you know? Keep a relative safe, watch over a lover until they can reunite. But me? I didn't know… I just wasn't ready to be dead yet…" His eyes shift to John's again, surprised to see his friend crying softly. "Maybe I was just waiting for someone to make me better."

John shakes his head and swipes his free hand across his eyes. "You're a sap. A huge sap and absolutely ridiculous. I didn't make you a better person; you must have been good to begin with…"

"We all know that's not true," Greg remarks sternly, as if reminding himself as well as John. "Would you do something for me, though? One last thing, if you're very sure I can't stick around to keep you safe for another few years? I mean, you are now dating a werewolf…"

"Engaged now, in case you forgot," John replies, wiggling the fingers of his left hand in the air. He smiles as Greg grimaces. "And I am sure. As much as I wish you could stay for the rest of my life, I wish you peace above all else."

Greg nods uncomfortably, shrugging his shoulders and glancing around as if his nerves are getting the better of him. "Would you find my parents? I don't know if they're still alive or not. Chances are, they're both too stubborn to have died yet but maybe I'll beat you to it." He attempts a smile that falls a bit short. "But if they are alive, would you send them a copy of that book? I want them to know what they meant to me… What I did and I've been doing. I think it would make them proud to know that I've been a sort of guardian angel to someone like you…"

John blushes slightly, shifting his weight from one foot to another. "Of course. I'll find them and make sure the book gets to someone in your family. I promise." Greg nods distractedly and steps forward, cringing as he stands above his grave. The lack of shadow seems particularly obvious. "Will you rest for me? Go sleep for a few years, Greg, okay?"

"I'll do my best, John," Greg mutters, reaching out to rest one translucent hand against his friend's cheek. "I wish you the best of luck in life, John. I mean that. Think of you more often. And be smart. I swear, I will come back to haunt the shit out of you if you break even a toe. Do you hear me?" John laughs at that through his tears and nods weakly. "Good. I'll be watching."

"And waiting with baited breath to return to scold me for that scrape on my knee, I'm sure," John chuckles, rubbing at his eyes. "God, I'll miss you." Greg opens his mouth with a slightly hopeful glint to his eyes and John shakes his head. "No. Don't start again. I'm not going to let this be harder than it already is. I'm afraid that if you ask again, I'll cave. Please, let me give you the peace you deserve."

Greg runs a hand through his hair and gazes over John's head for a moment before nodding absentmindedly. "Okay, yeah. I'll rest… I'm going… I don't know what will happen when I close my eyes, John, but…" He looks back at his friend with a hint of fear in his eyes. "But I won't forget you. No matter what happens or where I go." He gives him his best lopsided smile and then sits on the ground, crossing his legs. "Will you remember?"

John sits on the grass beside him and smiles softly. "How could I forget the most important man in my life?"

"Don't you have Sherlock for that?" Greg asks skeptically, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, but you were first," John tells him, setting the flowers beside the stone. Greg glances back at them and then at the blond and the reluctant acceptance in his eyes absolutely heartbreaking. "Go to sleep, Greg. And have wonderful dreams, yeah?"

Greg closes his eyes and leans back with a slow nod. "Yeah… Dreams…"

John watches his friend fade into the ground, his form disappearing with no warning. There is no light to take him away; no other spirit comes to fetch him. There's nothing like the movies portray. He's simply there one moment and gone the next, never to return in that form again. John stares at the spot where he'd seen his friend's face last for a very long time. Eventually, Sherlock wanders over and rests both hands on his shoulders. "John?" he mumbles, the deep baritone of his voice waking him from his stupor. Blinking back to reality is hard and he feels himself shaking with silent, dry sobs. They stay for awhile longer, until Sherlock coaxes John to his feet and guides him away. It's a happy parting, for the most part. John knows his friend can sleep and finally have the peace that had been deprived of him for so long. But he already misses him. The constant that has been in his life for so long.

When they get home, Sherlock makes them food and convinces his partner to eat a little before they retire for the night. As days go on, he finds that the blond begins to come to himself more, seeming to accept that he's done something good rather than something that would harm their future. Instead, he forcefully turns his attention to their upcoming wedding.

Molly arrives a few days before the wedding and the three of them visit Greg's grave one last time. Both she and Sherlock are relieved at the jokes John makes during and after their visit, keeping things light. He's determined to ensure that his friend's happiness does not leave his own lacking.

It would be another six wonderful years- full of happiness, arguments, surprises, and love - before John and Sherlock would consider the adoption of a baby boy with the cool brown eyes so similar to Gregory Lestrade's.

~Fin~

A/N: Thanks for reading! I hope that you've enjoyed this journey and that you have a spooktacular Halloween! Please leave a note if you feel so inclined. I appreciate any and all visitors, followers, and favorites that have been reading this. Thank-you for your support!