John trudged through the snow, pulling his parka tighter around him as he walked through the forest. He tugged his hood over his head, teeth chattering as the harsh winds of the snowstorm beat against his face. After that little episode, Sherlock still hadn't returned, and it was nearing nightfall. He was getting worried. She wasn't at any of the other cabins, the main resort, or even the dining hall. She had had on only her bedclothes and coat, and to be in this storm was not going to do her any good.

"Sherlock!" he shouted as loudly as he could manage. "Sherlock, come back please! I'm sorry! Whatever I did, I'm sorry for it!"

He grit his teeth, ducking his head against the storm and continuing his progress. "Damn it, Sherlock! You'll get yourself killed out here! Where in the name of all that is good are you?"

Then he heard it. It was despairingly soft and weak, but he still heard it over all the storm. It was a soft crying, and it made his heart break. "J-John?"

"Sherlock?! Sherlock, where are you? Just keep talking; I'll find you!"

When he found her, he fell to his knees beside her, not even caring about the cold as he examined the horrifying scene before him. She was tied to the base of a tree, forced to sit in the snow that was at her waist by now. She was stripped of her coat and scarf, and she seemed almost blue. Her normally bright eyes were cloudy and dark with pain and cold, and his heart was breaking as he hurriedly worked at the ropes binding her to the tree.

"Oh my God… Sherlock, what happened to you?"

She didn't answer, numbly shaking her head. "M'sorry… M'so sorry, John."

"Sorry? What for? You did nothing wrong! Now just hold still, and I'll get these off you…"

"I shouldn't have left… You didn't do anything wrong." Sherlock stopped, biting her lip to suppress a cry and shuddering from the cold. "M'sorry, John. Please forgive me."

"Sherlock, you didn't do anything wrong- Aha! There we go. C'mon, Sherlock, let's get you out of here." He hurriedly shed his coat, swaddling her in the parka despite her weak protests. "Can you walk?"

She shook her head, whimpering, "John, I can't even feel my legs."

He hefted her up into his arms, hooking his one arm beneath her legs and the other around her back. Her tears continued to flow, freezing against her cheeks as she leaned into his hold. "Ssh. Ssh. Ssh. It's alright. I'll get us back to the cabin. Just relax…"

John winced at the sharp cry of pain elicited as he eased Sherlock's feet into a basin of warm water. She had already been fed, and she was now seated in front of the fireplace, covered in blankets, dressed in the warmest pajamas possible, and clutching a mug of hot chocolate in a pair of freezing hands.

"Well, at least I can feel my feet now," she whispered thoughtfully, teeth still chattering.

"Sherlock, what happened to you?" he whispered softly, massaging her feet gently in the water in a hope to keep the circulation running. He secretly marveled at how tiny she was, her foot being able to be so easily held in his well-worked but still soft hands. He didn't mind giving the massage. In fact, he insisted upon it. Her skin was just so soft, and he couldn't resist.

She was, in reality, his princess. Despite the improperness of it all, he simply loved pampering her. In his opinion, she needed and deserved it more than anyone. She was just so mistreated and verbally abused…

"I- I don't know, John, and I hate not knowing…" Sherlock shivered violently, and he felt his heart break at the look of pain flickering across her features. "There were four men, I think… Maybe. I couldn't tell."

"No, not about that. We'll discuss that when Detective Inspector Lestrade arrives… Sherlock, what happened to make you leave in the first place?"

She shook her head, averting his gaze from his. "It was nothing. Just another stupid mood."

"That wasn't like any of your foul moods before," he denied, slowly and gently releasing her foot. He wiped his hands off on a towel before moving to grasp her hands in his. "Sherlock, please. I want to help, and I can't help unless you tell me what's bothering you."

"I've told you before; there is nothing you can do."

"Really, Sherlock?" He was getting desperate. "Sherlock, if I hadn't found you when I did, you would have died out there. I want to know what made my best friend nearly get killed. Please, I'll do anything, absolutely anything, if you would just tell me!"

She looked up at that, considering the offer carefully. "Anything?"

He nodded fervently. "Anything, Sherlock."

"Do you swear it?"

"I promise you I will do anything!"

"Then don't hate me for this."

John's heart must have stopped. He must have been delusional, dreaming, or maybe hallucinating, because he would have sworn by all that was good that Sherlock's lips were on his.

Of course, he didn't protest it. Even if it were a mere dream, he was not going to miss the chance to kiss the Sherlock Holmes, the love of his life, his obsession, his princess, and besides. Her lips were just so soft and simply demanding that he kiss her back.

So that's what he did.

He slowly rose from his kneeling position, lips never parting from hers, and put his hands on the armrest, pressing his mouth against hers almost ravenously. He sought to learn every curve of that perfect mouth, and that's exactly what he did. He pressed closer to her, slowly guiding his hand along the armrest until it rested on her finely curved hip while he moved his other hand to hold the back of her head.

They pulled away slowly, not wanting to part but needing breath. Her eyes were now an adorable baby blue, staring up at him with more innocence than he had thought possible.

"This isn't a dream, is it?" he breathed in disbelief, forehead pressed against hers as he slid his eyes shut again after watching her pretty eyes close. She shook her head, not even gathering the strength to speak.

"Sherlock, do you really feel this way?" he questioned, keeping his voice soft and loving. When she nodded, he smiled. "Oh, you cannot understand how happy that makes me."

"How did I… How did I do?" she asked rather timidly, her eyes opening so he could get a glimpse of those beautiful sapphire orbs.

"How did you do?" John's brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"The- The kiss," she stammered, nervously letting her hands pick at his jumper. "I've never done it before, and I- I just didn't know-"

"Sherlock… Oh, Sherlock, ssh…" he soothed, gently brushing his hand across her cheek. He couldn't help but smile. He was Sherlock's first love and her first kiss. That was something to relish, and he planned to relish her until the day he died. He did exactly that, placing the softest, gentlest kiss on her lips he could muster. He gazed at her lovingly, whispering, "Oh, Sherlock, it was perfect."

Author's Note: And there's the end! I hope you enjoyed this, and if you could drop a review, it'd mean the world! I'm with the opinion that all criticism is good criticism so critique away (although manners would be appreciated). If you expected a plot, though, I'm sorry. I just needed some fluff. :P