A/N: Well here you go:D I finally got these two together and I think they are happy about it:D Hopefully you will be, too:D

I was joking with mattsloved1 about this & telling her I was writing The Sex – she laughed and said she liked the title of this chapter – well it would fit with the other chapter titles;D Thanks for your help with the ending as well – wouldn't have worked without you.

Sadly, I'll settle for the more boring Epilogue:P

11. Epilogue

Six months had passed. Winter was nearing its end and spring was making its presence know through birdsong and flowers poking up through the grass. The Gryffins had come back to roost in the remains of an old office building near the Thames.

It had been a hard winter, one of change. Not all were willing or pleased to see a new leader run London. Fortunately, after a month of Lestrade's firm but fair rule, people began to see the benefit of having someone who had their best interests at heart. Something The Mage never had. Neither had Janine.

John stood at the open window. The before dawn breeze wafted in, hinted at the new growing things with a green and lush smell, rich and redolent. It evoked feelings of joy in John. Spring had come early and it was shaping up to being a glorious one.

Even after six months back as himself, he still awoke to the call of the sun cresting the horizon. He couldn't ignore the need to get out of bed, rain or shine and welcome the beginning of the new day. He felt he would never get tired of seeing the sun creep over the horizon. Some days, if they were travelling and outside he could actually see the light shift and the muted colours deepen and glow. At Baker Street, he couldn't see the sun directly from the bedroom window; it was more visible from the living room. He was able to see the sky lightening and the old buildings slowly become more discernible.

Seeing wasn't always necessary. The yoke of the rotation of the earth and the appearance of the sun was still felt in his molecules. A tingle and a shudder crawled across his skin as his muscles remembered old pain. The liquid flow of change was marked permanently in the memory of his cells and dawn and dusk still caused twitches of unease. They probably always would.

A faint sound came from the bed behind him as the bedclothes rustled and moved. The mental image that accompanied the sound of Sherlock, naked and lying under the thin sheet, barely covering his hips, caused a sudden downward flow of blood. A small grin lit his face. It didn't matter that they'd made love only hours ago. He felt more than ready to go back to the warm arms and lanky legs waiting for him.

"John," a beloved voice whispered, husky with sleep and other things. "Come back to bed. The sun isn't going anywhere. Must you always get up to see it and leave me here cold and alone?"

John chuckled. "Git. You are not nearly as tragic as you sound. I'm coming." He padded back to their bed and crawled in close to Sherlock.

"Ow! You're freezing." Sherlock's voice took on a distinct whine, but instead of drawing away from John's much cooler skin, he swung a leg over him and wrapped his long arm around his waist. Beginning with a combination of pulling John toward him and scooting closer, he ended with John's head tucked under his chin. Sherlock then swaddled them in the blankets from the foot of the bed. Their breathing slowed and John was slipping back into a light doze. He opened his eyes a bit when Sherlock nuzzled his ear.

"I don't know why you insist upon looking at the sun every morning," Sherlock muttered.

"I dunno. I just need to see it I guess. Sometimes it's impossible to believe I'm not going to change and fly out the window." He paused. "I still feel the pull of the sky. I dream about soaring over the city and well, I guess I miss it. A little."

Sherlock pushed back and lifted his head up off the pillow to look John full in the face. "You're not serious."

John lifted a hand to the back of Sherlock's head, kneading the muscles there. "Don't be stupid. I don't miss the pain of changing into a bird and I don't miss missing you so much I thought my heart would break from it. I don't miss that. But I think we can be miserable about what we went through or we can look at it as a gift. I remember flying. I remember the power of the hawk, his incredible eyesight and diving at breakneck speeds to pull up close to the ground. I can feel a mouse in my hands, er, the hawk's claws and the thrill of catching and eating it too." He grinned at the face Sherlock was pulling. "I'm not saying I want to go back to that and, ew no, I'd rather not catch and eat my dinner live, but I don't know. I guess what I'm trying to say is, I'm not going to throw the experience away."

Sherlock was thoughtful for a minute. "I do sometimes wish I'd retained some of the wolf's ability to smell. I certainly could use it to solve cases. Even though my sense of smell is far superior to the average male's, I do regret not having the wolf's. It was almost visible. However, I shall not miss the loss of control and the regressing into pure instinct." He tucked John back under his chin and ran his hand down John's back and back up again, light but with a pleasant pressure. Every sweep down went lower until he was brushing over John's arse, pausing to grip it now and then.

John grinned into Sherlock's chest and kissed the skin there. "I take it we're not going to sleep anymore."

"Sleeping is overrated." Sherlock ducked his head down to John and kissed him on the mouth, slowly and softly. Deepening the kiss, he pushed John over onto his back and covered him with his longer body. John groaned into Sherlock's mouth as their skin touched. One hand reached into the dark curls on Sherlock's head and the other wrapped around Sherlock and pulled him as closely as he could, close enough that their skin was in complete contact. He felt that urge, low in his belly to pull Sherlock right into him, make them one. The need to consume and absorb him surged through him. Their kissing took on a more frantic edge as Sherlock began to rock forward, pushing his hips down.

John broke off the kiss to pull more air into his lungs. "God, Sherlock," he gasped. In reply Sherlock reached between them and grasped them both, causing John to make louder, lovely sounds of want and need.

Sherlock lifted himself up on one hand and looking intently into John's eyes, he moved his hand back and forth, increasing the motion incrementally, until he reached just the right speed to keep them both on edge without tipping over.

John moved and wiggled until his legs were free and he spread them wide. Sherlock lurched up onto his knees. John grinned up at him, a grin full of promise, but his eyes were darkened with lust and love. Sherlock had to lean down and kiss him again his heart ached so.

John flung a hand around for the jar of lubricant Sherlock had made. It had been lost somewhere in the bed last night. He hummed triumphantly when his hand finally encountered it and he held it up, banging lightly on Sherlock's arm to get his attention.

Sherlock kissed him again and sat up, snagging the jar. Slowly, maddeningly he prepared John, and then finally, wonderfully, he entered. He rocked into him and it was honeyed-sweet and perfect. What was between them built gradually, wave after wave, poised to crest. There was no urgency; that had happened in the night, when the sex was hot and rough. In the new day's light, it was more about becoming one entity.

Still maintaining eye contact with John, he began to speak, in his dark, rich voice. "You, John, it's always been you. You are my sun and stars. You are the moon and the east wind. You are the cause and effect, the pull of the tides on the moon and the inexorable pull of gravity. You are the one who changed me. Shaking, he moaned, "You are mine and I am yours." With those words, he came and John followed shortly afterward.

There was silence except for the return of steadier breathing. For a time there was tranquility. Finally, mostly recovered, Sherlock lifted his head out of the crook of John's neck and looked down, smiling into the face of his heart and soul, his other half. He would say the better half and John would say he was wrong, but it didn't really matter. They knew, knew deep inside and with every touch and sigh and every kiss, that there would never be another separation, there would never be a time where one would go and the other couldn't follow. They knew that nothing, not even evil or magic or death would ever be able to separate them.

Through adversity, struggle and heartbreak, they had become something unbreakable. Their spirits might be a little tarnished but the fire had never completely destroyed them; it had only forged them, transmuted into something stronger.