Okay so here's the final 'chapter' of this story. There will be an epilogue but this is indeed the last real instalment into the story. I'm so glad I could share this with all of you and I hope you enjoyed it and forgive me for being so busy and not updating in so long.
The Return of Sherlock Holmes 13; Loud and Clear
John's mouth hung open in disbelief. Had Sherlock really just said that? His Sherlock? The clouds that lined his thoughts for so long like the stormy sky over fair London dissipated in that instant.
He'd gotten used to the notion that he would be the only one to ever say it. The only one of them to be able to come out and admit his feelings for what they were.
John loved Sherlock, and Sherlock loved John, but Doctor Watson was as sure as the wind blows that he would be alone in his declarations.
He watched the other's chest rise and fall as he inhaled and exhaled deeply, his lips were moist and his hair a tousled mess – well more so than usual. A languid arm snaked its way around him, pulling him close as the detective inhaled his scent deeply. He wanted to know all of John, and by now his essence was so familiar to him; but not like this. Not after being so intimate, not after sex.
He had sex with John. Something he thought he'd never do in his lifetime, and in anything that came after if such a place existed. Cataloguing the experience somewhere in the vast halls of his mind palace he made sure to remember every excruciating detail lest he ever mistake the experience for something less than it was – which was to say absolutely mind-blowing in every way.
Pulling his face away from Sherlock's chest, John looked at him with a childlike expression of sincere disbelief.
"What?"
The other man looked at him out of one eye, smiling a little in spite of himself.
"What?" he mimicked, lips twitching into a half-smirk.
"What did you just say to me?"
Realising the nature of John's distress, Sherlock looked down at the both of them, and the messy sofa. The feeling of something warm and wet trailing down his inner thigh was distracting him – though it was quickly beginning to congeal. He shifted himself into a sitting position, finding that John was now suddenly embarrassed about his lack of clothes as soon as he could be seen in his entirety.
"Sit sideways." Sherlock commanded, John opened his mouth to protest but thought better of it and complied with the 'request'. Standing up, the brunette slid his arms under the smaller man and picked him up.
"W-What are you doing?!" he asked, exasperated. He didn't like being treated like a little kid.
"I'm taking you to bed."
Silence.
"Not quite John, but I admire your enthusiasm. I'm sure a rest is in order," he paused. "And you asked me what I said to you."
John nodded, lip trembling in anticipation.
"So, every four steps I take I'm going to tell you again."
He began walking, and sure enough after four steps.
"I love you, John Watson."
He really did keep to his word; so much that John was beyond embarrassed, and when they finally fell over together onto the bed, neither bothered to fetch the covers over them.
He wiped his face, tears beginning to form. Sherlock looked at him with a concerned expression.
"Did I land on you painfully?"
Laughing a little, he couldn't stop himself from full on sobbing.
"I love you so much Sherlock." He began through the snot and tears. "I-I thought you were gone forever – oh God what if you had been? What if I never got to, to do this? What if I spent my whole life regretting not telling you when you'd have-
He was silenced by his partner's lips on his own.
"But I'm not gone, I'm here, and you're with me."
It was maybe the tenderest John had ever seen him and they eventually fell asleep in this way, Sherlock holding him as he wept, stroking his back – John even thought he felt a few drops against his back where his detective was crying with him. Of course he could never prove it; Sherlock wouldn't let him see that just yet.
The next morning, they awoke as was usual – that is to say Sherlock awoke long before John. What was unusual was that the detective hadn't gotten out of bed. He simply lounged next to his partner, one arm draped over him possessively; the other was being used to draw little circles on his bottom lip as he stared at the headboard in thought.
It was awe inspiring to watch him when he was deep in thought – it was like he was lost on another world somewhere; which, in hindsight, was probably true mentally. He didn't notice if John stared at him, which was also a bonus because he could admire just how beautiful he really was. Sometimes it made him scared to touch him in case he might break and disappear.
"Sherlock?" he asked eventually, shifting a little under his arm. The detective whipped his head around and put on his usual air of indifference.
"Ah, good morning John."
Smiling, John sat himself up, running a hand through his dishevelled hair.
"We need to get up; Greg won't want us to be late."
Of course, John was referring to the press conference and the final review of all the evidence he'd gathered over the years away – away from his friend, his partner – no. Stop. Filling his thoughts with Doctor Watson would not help him in any way.
It was nice though.
Nodding eventually after he realised how long it took him to respond, Sherlock sat up, paused, and turned to give John a kiss on the forehead while one hand rested gingerly on the back of his neck.
"I will have to shower first."
John smiled nodding.
"Okay, what was that for?"
He was referencing the good morning kiss.
"Was it not appropriate?"
"It was great, but I didn't think you'd be all touchy-feely."
"I'm not; I just recognise that you are."
Sherlock smirked at John's flushed face and somewhat put-out expression.
"I wouldn't have kissed you if I didn't want to John; I'm, 'messing with you'."
He got up and made for the door, but not before a pillow hit him in the back and John emitted a grumbled;
"Arsehole."
Smiling at the two of them, Lestrade handed Sherlock a piece of paper – it was a formality; a declaration to show that any and all charges against him had been officially dropped.
John grinned back at him, squeezing his partner's shoulder in reassurance. They didn't hold hands hug and cuddle up in public – it just wasn't good for their dynamic. Little gestures were all they gave on another, and in many respects it made the time they did share together uninterrupted even more special.
The flash drive had contained a lot of information; bank records, conversations with Moriarty himself, and after some digging they found the evidence that showed that James Moriarty had indeed been a real person and not some actor Sherlock had paid to fob everyone off.
It was a good step for them, Sherlock and John; everything could go back to normal now. Well as normal as a dead man and a socially deficient army doctor living together could be.
For all of their flaws, they matched each other perfectly.
"All right, the press are waiting for you; you'd better get out there." Greg held out Sherlock's old deerstalker. "Wear this too, they love it."
Sherlock snorted, brushing past the now superintendent and ignored his offering. John took the hat and followed after him, placing it atop his head with a little hop.
"Congratulations, inspector." Called the brunette from up ahead. Greg simply sighed in response, no matter what he did with his life he would always be detective inspector Lestrade to Sherlock Holmes. And Sherlock Holmes would always be a reckless man-child to DI Lestrade.
No sooner had they walked out onto the podium than cameras were flashing, practically blinding John in the process.
Questions came from left and right;
What was the outcome of your hearing?
Did you have any secret romances?
Does Doctor Watson have a wife yet?
Who was James Moriarty?
What is your opinion on Greg Lestrade's promotion?
The list went on and on. John sighed as they waited for the crowd to settle and took their positions in front of the microphone. A hush descended, and Sherlock picked people at random to talk to him by gesturing disinterestedly.
A young woman with blonde hair pulled back into a tight sheer ponytail was the first.
"What was the police's ultimate decision on your charges today, Mr Holmes?" she asked, and Sherlock simply held up the piece of paper he'd just been gifted with a bored expression.
"Revoked." He stated, waiting for another round of muttering to dissipate and the cameras to finish taking their photographs. The video broadcasts would have to make do with some intensely boring television. A woman in her late forties at least was the next to speak.
"What can you tell us about James Moriarty, who was he?"
"He was a criminal – a brilliant one, and fooled you all. That's as much as you need to know."
A young man jumped up from behind her – a fire in his eyes and a pen in his hands.
"Did you know about the 'believe in Sherlock' movement?"
Sherlock paused, looking at John out of the corner of his eye who smiled sheepishly.
"Yes, it was flattering but unnecessary."
He turned to John now.
"You started the movement Doctor Watson, what was your reasoning behind this?"
Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself. He didn't like speaking in public situations and all of this was a little much for him. All cameras focused on him now.
"Well, Sherlock has always been a good friend of mine ever since we met." He looked at the brunette for reassurance that he wasn't saying anything he shouldn't. "I knew he wasn't some crazy man who wanted to make everyone think he was brilliant – he just was."
Once he had started he found that he couldn't stop – what he'd wanted the world to see in Sherlock for three long years, what he always wanted them to see in him, and what he'd wanted them to hear about him was finally being broadcast on major news stations.
"I live with him as you all know; we work out of our apartment. I lived through his ridiculous habits and unbearable mannerisms. But I also saw the magic at work, when he deduces – that is when he works out the answer you can see the information coming to him, see him process it in an instant and then he comes out with something so simple and obvious and yet no-one else in the world would have seen it."
Taking a pause, he looked around the room at the stunned faces.
"I knew Sherlock Holmes was not a fraud, and if it was the last thing I did I wanted to make sure everyone else knew it too."
There was silence, and it reigned for far too long for John's taste. He worried he might have said too much; if he did Sherlock's expression gave nothing away.
"Excuse me, Doctor Watson?" the blonde girl called out to him again, giving him some respite from the crippling lack of conversation that was passing between all of the people in the room.
"Ah, yes?" he asked, extremely put out.
"I think we all want to know; what is your relationship with Sherlock Holmes?"
Again, that horrifying lack of sound filled his ears and John found himself gaping like an idiot.
"Well we're partners."
The blonde girl rolled her eyes, and he could feel the collective holding of breath around the room.
"Yes, but are you partners in more than just work?"
She was prying deep and John was useless at lying, he looked at Sherlock in desperation who regarded him with that same unfeeling expression until eventually he took a determined step a little closer to John, placing a reassuring hand on his back.
"John is my good friend." He told the crowd, who – as to be expected – were not entirely happy with this response. "He has proven to be trustworthy, and loyal."
John could swear he heard someone mutter 'he just got rejected on national television', so they were sure that he was interested in Sherlock even if he seemed uninterested the other way around.
"If you're looking for a label to define our relationship," by now John had tuned Sherlock out and was just waiting for this moment to be over so they could leave. "Then I believe the common masses would say we were a 'couple'."
There was a sharp intake of breath and an audible gasp from one or two members of the press.
"That is to say, romantically involved."
Now it was John's turn to remain quiet while all hell broke loose, people were shouting, asking all manner of questions about their lives together, but all he could focus on was Sherlock. And the fact that he'd just told the world what they were to each other.
Taking John by the hand, Sherlock lead them out and they were soon running along the streets back towards Baker Street. It was reminiscent of the night they spent handcuffed to each other, traversing the back-alleys of London; except this time their palms were clasped together, sweaty with exhilaration and they both felt truly alive.
"Why did you tell them, I thought you were worried I'd be used against you?" John called out as they ran.
"John, you're far too strong for me to worry too much – I have to trust you. Besides which, I thought you'd find their reaction 'priceless'."
Now they were both grinning like idiots.
"It was pretty funny."
Followed by some subdued laughter.
And just like that they were home again, the two of them together as if nothing had ever changed; and if either one had their way, nothing ever would.