Author's Note: Hey what's up? Thank for reading, by the way. You should definitely leave a review. c: This one's inspired by Bones and Skin... by Micah? I think. Anyways, will John/Sherlock find happiness? Or will John take the easy way out? Will you find out this chapter? Stick around and READ.

Still no beta by the way.

Enjoy!

(And of course there's smut.)

"Am I dreaming?" he asks.

The rain pours outside. Thousands of droplets beat against the window. London looks even more melancholy under the dark grey clouds.

Everything's grey. So are his eyes. No longer silver.

"Yes, Watson." I answer.

"Do I have to wake up?" he asks.

"Only if you want to. But stay with me a little while." I don't tell him that it'll destroy if he does. I place my hand over his heart. "Lie with me, John."

I pull him to my bed, holding his hand again. I kiss him again and again, falling onto the duvet. He's naked and ontop of me. His scruff prickles against my neck. His cock falls against my thigh. There's infinite kisses as I roll us over.

Thunder tolls. I rut against him just a little and he gasps. Just a little.

It's hard to believe he's just bones and skin and flesh. That I am tethered to something death can touch. Each little gasp reminds me of our mortality. At any moment he could be gone. I could be gone.

I'm kissing his neck now, right below his ear where it drives him insane. He's whispering I love you and I wonder if he knows. Does he? Or will he go back to her tomorrow?

I've begun rolling my hips, and the friction helps stop my thoughts just for a moment. He's moaning my name. Sherlock. Never has my name sounded so sexy. The way those pink lips form the word. The way his voice is already so far gone, gruff with lust.

I'm in awe of him. Every detail. The way his eyes have melted back, molten and glittering onyx diamonds. The way his forehead is peppered with sweat. The way his mouth seems to have lost it's filter. The way his chest heaves each breath. The way he arches his back with each thrust.

"Fuck," he breathes, "More."

"How much more?"

"Everything."

I know he doesn't know what that means, but I want to.

There's oil in my night side table. I wonder if it terrifies him or if he's still clueless. His face is impassive, waiting. I pour some on my fingers and reach behind myself.

"I want to watch." he says. "I want to know what we're going to do."

I get in a better position for him to see, but I can't form the words to tell him. I can't speak. I can't explain what's about to happen. Just "fuck" as I insert a finger into myself.

I can feel his eyes boring into me. "I won't fit," he says and I actually laugh. But I won't explain why. He needs no explanation. Demonstrations are easier.

I add another finger, then another. Occasionally I look back to catch his expression. Watching is driving him insane. I reach back to grab his cock. I sit down and let him slip inside me inch by inch. Every feeling driving me insane. He's rolling his hips so slowly and I wonder if he's trying not to thrust up.

"How does it feel?" I whisper.

"Fantastical," he sighs, his hands grabbing my hips.

It's slow and bittersweet. I want to savour it all, to never stop riding him, or hearing him let go, or feeling his cock, or fucking. More than anything I want these moments to last. To mean something.

"I love you," I say. Nothing else can describe how he makes me feel. I don't know if it's enough. I can't promise him all those things that Mary can. All I can give him is what he sees and feels. It may never be enough. My success is cursed.

I need to face him, be near him. I reposition myself and kiss him, just rolling my hips against his. Slow friction keeping us going for what feels like hours and I just stare at him. He's so lost. "Come back to me, John. Come for me."

He does. I watch each moment as he comes undone. First his eyes lock mine, then his lips groan my name jumbled with love and fuck. Then his finger nails scrape down my back and his body seems to fold in on itself. The intensity of his orgasm brings my own. The passion sticks in the room as wave after wave of pleasure wracks through bones and skin. I can't tell where one of us ends and the other begins.

"I love you," he breathes. He has me in his arms and I have him in mine.

"Don't forget that." He doesn't know, but I'm begging. I will remember every moment of him. I'll play it over and over in my mind. He doesn't know, but I've been waiting for him for a thousand years.