Chapter 6 – Epilogue
Several weeks later
"What about him?"
"Comfortable as a Beta, almost unhealthy addiction to romance novels, two small dogs, will propose to his girlfriend within the next few weeks."
"And the woman in the red dress?"
"Clearly overcompensating. Omega, been a slave until recently, her hands keep darting to her neck, she's not used to the world as it is yet, though she tries to fool everyone present into thinking she has adjusted well."
"And that one?"
Sherlock raises an eyebrow. "Someone's PA, diligent, hard-working, fears now that Omegas are equal, they will become his competition." He sighs in exasperation and shoves his hands into the pockets of his tuxedo. "These people here are all boring, John, this whole event is tedious – when can we leave?"
"We've only been here for an hour, we can't leave already. Sherlock, this is important."
The Omega looks as though John has grown a new head and John brings up a hand to massage the bridge of his nose, thinking of a way to make Sherlock understand the significance of this night.
"It's merely a celebration," Sherlock states, disdain audible in every syllable.
"It's not just a celebration, Sherlock, this is the celebration! We have a new government, even an Omega Prime Minister, that's huge, even you have to see that!"
Sherlock huffs. "I concede that this evening is of historical significance, yet I fail to understand why it's vital to drag me to this party with you."
John can only shake his head. "People expect us to be here, Sherlock, after what you did to help win the civil war. Can't you just accept that everybody is happy that you're attending and quit nagging?"
Sherlock glares at him some more, but John can see that he is finally won in the way Sherlock's body shifts slightly towards him.
"Fine. But the promised compensation better be worth it."
John smirks suggestively as he adjusts the collar of his uniform. "Oh, don't you doubt me…" His thoughts wander back to some equipment he recently purchased but before his fantasy is allowed to run away with him, he sees the familiar figure of Homi Bhabha approaching.
The leader has regained a bit of the weight he lost during the war while he was campaigning for the voters' favour these past weeks and his torso is straining against the fabric of his three-piece suit like it did when John met him for the first time.
"John, how nice that you came! You even brought Mr Holmes."
John moves to shake Bhabha's offered hand. "I had to come, it's not every day I can congratulate you on becoming Prime Minister."
"The people have spoken, I am pleased to say so. All the people," he adds, giving Sherlock what seems to be a solitary nod that the man fails to acknowledge.
"So, how are things?" John asks instead before Sherlock has the chance to say anything inappropriate.
Bhabha sighs, though it sounds mostly content. "Fairly well, I have to say. Most colonies have already declared independence, yet some want to remain under our sovereignty. The Americas have split completely, and it seems that separating themselves from us and his predecessor Bush is Obama's greatest goal. But our country is up and running again, as the young would say," Bhabha smiles.
"That's great to hear," John answers emphatically.
"We couldn't have done it without you, John, don't forget that," Bhabha insists, then continues, looking at Sherlock, "nor without you, Mr Holmes. That was quite the brilliant scheme you came up with."
"I certainly like to think so," Sherlock replies and John resists the urge to jab him in the ribs with his elbow.
"He means thank you," John explains, yet Bhabha doesn't seem to be upset.
"Have you visited your brother in prison?"
"Once. To gloat." Sherlock's voice is cold but John remembers that day, how emotionally draining the experience was for Sherlock even though he never let it on.
I know him better than he does himself sometimes, John muses with a rush of affection.
Meanwhile, Bhabha is laughing but he doesn't get a chance to reply as some other politician whisks him away, leaving Sherlock and John alone again.
John can't help but smile at the sight of the crowd: Alphas, Betas, Omegas, all there as equals, celebrating the dawn of a new era.
A few times during the execution of Sherlock's plan, John almost believed they would fail. It had looked bleak. But then, with several ploys executed at once, they destroyed everyone and everything that was holding up the old Empire. Except Mycroft Holmes of course, who stood trial and would now rot in prison.
John would have loved to see him hang, would have gladly shot the bastard himself but he couldn't do that to Sherlock.
Sherlock.
The Omega's piercing blue eyes are lazily scanning the people closest to them, taking in every little detail. His body is relaxed under the fabric of his tuxedo, his stance communicates boredom to everyone willing to listen.
John smiles as he remembers the day Thoreau, Bhabha, Adler, and the leader of the students named the Empire a thing of the past, declaring a democracy in which every citizen would have the same rights, no matter their status. Both John and Sherlock were exhausted, worn from days of fighting and not knowing whether they would be successful.
It still puzzles John how he ended up at 221B Baker Street, in Sherlock's flat, in Sherlock's bed as if it were the most obvious thing in the world and perhaps in Sherlock's eyes, it was.
John still had work to do, organising a new nation in terms of security, freeing the last slaves, helping rebuild London and from time to time help Sherlock with a case he received – stole might be the more accurate verb to use, John is sure – from Lestrade.
What John will do now that the nation has been reorganised is beyond him, though. He hasn't had much time to think about it yet.
A while later both John and Sherlock find themselves alone on the balcony, away from the crowd and the cheering and the music, and John feels safe to wrap an arm around Sherlock's waist. The Omega leans into the touch, closing the distance between them, and buries his face in the crook of John's neck.
John inhales deeply, the spicy-sweet scent so familiar by now because it is part of his scent, too, and every time he smells it, his heart jumps and the Alpha in him purrs contentedly.
"John," Sherlock begins, drawing back. His eyes focus on John's. "Do you like events like this?"
He opens his mouth but Sherlock answers for him, of course deducing his thoughts before they have even formed in his head.
"No, of course you don't, you've been on edge for the past hour. Obvious, of course, you're a soldier, have been fighting for the past years and now the thrill is over and you're left with cocktail parties and politics. Tedious."
John narrows his eyes. "What are you implying?"
Sherlock sighs and steps back, separating them, and John immediately misses the heat of his body against his own.
"What will you do now that your mission is complete and the Reformists have won?" Sherlock's face is blank again, like a mask, and John hates it. He has become very capable of reading Sherlock in the past few weeks, but whenever he schools his expression into this stoic mask, John is grasping at straws.
"I'm not sure," he answers after a long silence. "I'll probably await new orders."
"No. My idea is better." Sherlock smirks. "Obviously."
"What idea?" John considers Sherlock, looking for any kind of clue that can tell him what the other man is up to.
Sherlock steps closer again but doesn't reach out to touch him. His gaze is lowered and he seems to be considering how to go on. When he looks up, his expression is still stoic but it doesn't reach his eyes.
"We are a good team, John." Sherlock's voice is strong, confidently so, but his eyes betray that he is afraid that John might decline whatever suggestion is to come.
"Yes."
"You have been enjoying helping me solve cases, I observed."
John nods, eyes locked with Sherlock's, and finally, the other shoe drops.
"What," he says, "you want a sidekick?" There is a smile on his face and John feels elated all of a sudden.
Sherlock's eyes flicker to the ground, then up again, his expression openly vulnerable for a brief second before he schools it once more.
"If you'll have me."
John takes a deep breath, wondering if he should think this decision through more thoroughly but it feels so right, so brilliantly right like everything with Sherlock does, so he decides to throw caution in the wind.
"I'll always have you, as long as you want me."
He is rewarded with one of Sherlock's rare, genuine smiles that light up his entire body and he can't help but close the space between them and press his lips to Sherlock's.
It is passionate and not at all chaste but John doesn't care if anyone sees them, because this is it, this is one of the moments in his life that change its course forever, right up there with joining the Reformists and kissing Sherlock for the first time, only better – because right now, it feels like this might be forever.
END OF PART I
xXx
End Notes: This is NOT THE END. My muse has teamed up with the kind readers on AO3 and I'm currently working on part II. Eight chapters have been written, so I will continue publishing.