A/N: It makes me sad that this is it but… alas my friends. This is it. :(

Perhaps another prompt shall enable me to play with these two characters again… Gosh they have been so much fun! Even when it was all… D: it was still a blast. Perhaps John was just born (fictionally? Lol) to be whumped. XD Thanks for reading you guys! Hope you enjoyed!

Warnings: Definite slash but nothing either explicit or of the porn-y variety. Unfortunately. -.-;

Disclaimer: I don't own jack-shit except my kids. AND EVEN THAT'S DEBATABLE SOMETIMES. :O

"And I'm praying

That we will see

Something there

In between

Then and there that exceeds

All we can dream…

So we can talk about it."

-'So I Thought'; Flyleaf

kiss the stars with me

epilogue: something there in between

A whole month passed after Sherlock's return and John himself didn't even realize how quickly things were returning to… not normal, exactly, but a new definition of normal that surpassed the one they both cherished three years prior.

Not even Moran's capture had put a blemish on their not-quite-new re-defining relationship.

Though the brutality of that night, exhibited by one Sherlock Holmes, perhaps was why that was.

When Moran had been escorted to the police car that night it was with the assistance of two officers, and no one had questioned how the injuries had been sustained or who had given them to him. Lestrade's bloody knuckles, Sherlock's smirking split lips and John's dazed eyes had been bypassed by just about everyone on the force and the doctor was pretty sure that once Moran had arrived at the station he'd have to deal with a whole slew of… special agents if the black sedan parked inconspicuously behind the police vehicles was any clue.

At first, John hadn't been sure what he had expected from the capture. Whether he would be able to contribute much other than standing there like a statue and hoping (at best) not to get killed in the crossfire was something that had lingered in the back of his mind whilst listening to Sherlock plan everything out to the last letter. Surprisingly enough, that had not been the biggest problem.

No, John hadn't had a problem with the fight but the lull afterwards certainly knocked him down a peg or two.

Unlike the certain safety and relative peace John thought he would acquire once the worst had passed things seemed to plateau indefinitely. John still had nightmares and odd mood swings that even he couldn't explain sometimes resulting in some rather uncomfortable shows of emotion that John had silently wished he could've kept to himself. But his best friend had not escaped the endeavor unscathed either. Sherlock re-checked all of the doors and windows at night and crept into John's room at odd hours of the day and evening without even a whisper of sound. The later had, at first, simply consisted of the detective standing next to his bed and watching him unnervingly until one day John had woken up and a pair of gangly arms had held steadfast, the thin body behind him thrumming with nervous energy.

He had not asked what had caused the younger man to climb in with him, letting the quivering hand perched over his heart keep grasping on until the early morning.

Little by little the two men found themselves becoming closer than what was considered close even by their impossibly strained standards until one day John realized that he wasn't just ok anymore. And Sherlock wasn't walking on eggshells every time he said something (though to be fair it wasn't like Sherlock ever censored himself even once he realized he had said something a bit… out of bounds).

When the blond doctor had finally embraced the detective upon entering the bed and placing a small chaste kiss on his lips he was not surprised to see that Sherlock grinned into the gentle press, his brain already working on what next to say and already saying Really John, what took you so long? You really are quite inept at times… perhaps it wasn't me that drove all your girlfriends away if this is the pace you normally keep to!

John was different but he wasn't and Sherlock was adjusting just enough to get by and their relationship, it was blossoming into something that John could see himself cherishing for the rest of his life. Because that's what you do when the person you loved, the person who you would give everything to have back and did comes waltzing back in your life and makes sure you don't forget why it is you never gave up.

Not even once.

However, there was something that niggled in the back of John's mind. Gnawing at the edges of his thoughts as he attended his patients and bid goodbye to his Physical Therapy coach with a large smile (along with that cane, that stupid, utterly symbolic cane), it came to forefront only when John stopped in front of the shop settled next to 221b Baker Street and stunned himself at the brilliance of the grin stretched along his lips.

There was still one last thing to do.

"John," Ella glanced up at her patient, honestly shocked to see him after more than four missed sessions. "How have you been?"

John smiled as he leaned back on his chair, dirty blond hair hanging past his normally trim fringe and hands free of any walking apparatus.

Ella blinked at the transformation one smile, one pure and genuine smile that hadn't been used in iyears/i, could make.

"Better." The formerly somber doctor looked into the therapist's astonished but excited countenance and felt lighter than he had had in three years. "I have been better."