John awoke to the sound of the shower running. Even before the events of the previous night came back to him, he recognized the audible pattern of Sherlock's shower routine. The steady drumming from standing with the water beating down on him for long periods of time. The distinctive cadence of the caps popping on shampoo and conditioner. John smiled to himself, feeling more relaxed than he had in months. The combination of comfort and jetlag lulled him back to sleep.

The next time John woke, he could smell the blessed aroma of coffee. He heard the clinking of dishes and cutlery. He lifted his head off the pillow and called, "Sherlock?"

"You have time to take a quick shower. I'm just taking breakfast off the delivery tray."

John grinned. Of course, Sherlock would answer the question that John needed answering. He dragged himself out of bed and into the bathroom. His mood struck him as one of a lazy Sunday morning, so after showering, he put on a fresh t-shirt with his pajama bottoms and shrugged on a fluffy white robe provided by the resort.

As he entered the sitting room, he noticed Sherlock was dressed much the same way, except he was wearing his own camel-coloured dressing gown.

"Good morning, John. Sleep well?"

"Yes." John sat down at the breakfast table. "Thanks for all this."

"No problem at all. Usually the guests here dine at a breakfast buffet in the restaurant, but the maitre d' owes me a few favors."

"Already?"

"I found him to be a useful contact when I was in the area before."

John just sipped his coffee in response and hoped Sherlock would elaborate without prompting. He filled his plate with hard-boiled eggs, fruit salad with crème fraiche, and zucchini walnut bread still warm from the oven. For a while, both men silently ate, but then John was rewarded for his patience as Sherlock continued his story.

"I was in San Francisco for a time. Have you ever been there?"

"Not if the airport doesn't count."

"It does not." Sherlock smiled. "I love San Francisco. It reminds me of London."

As John raised his eyebrows in surprise, Sherlock said, "I know. Most people would expect me to say New York, but San Francisco has a similar glamour and mystery, drawing all sorts of people there. The beating heart to the city is so familiar to me. I love to walk its hills, hear the different languages in each neighborhood.

Sherlock paused with a forkful of fruit salad in his hand. "Once, after a pursuit, I found myself at the Ferry Building. I was so hungry. It had been a rough patch, little contact with Mycroft, even less money. There was a farmers market going on, and I was frankly abusing the kindness of the vendors by eating as many of the samples as I could." He ate the fruit off of his fork and shook his head wistfully. "At one of the booths, I had a sliver of plum that was perfect. It was the most perfect bite of food I have ever tasted."

Sherlock put his fork on the table and pushed his plate away. "I couldn't help but think to myself John would be proud of me for eating something healthy. And I wandered the rest of the market pretending you were with me, helping me deduce the tourists."

Sherlock ducked his head as if he was embarrassed, and John swallowed around the lump in his throat. After a few false starts, John finally said, "I know I shut you down before, but if you ever want to tell me about your time away, I'm ready to listen now."

"Thank you."

John smiled at him and, hoping to break the tension, asked, "Think about me often while you were playing dead?"

"Every hour of every day."

John nibbled on some bread and hoped Sherlock didn't notice how much his hand was shaking.

"Oh, I almost forgot." Sherlock got up and went to the refrigerator. He returned with two champagne flutes and a carafe of what appeared to be orange juice.

"I took the liberty of ordering mimosas." Sherlock sat back down and served them a generous portion each. "I have a feeling we'll need the help this morning."

John raised his glass. "To this morning, then."

Sherlock raised his as well. "To this morning."

John took a long swig of his mimosa. "I'm probably going to need something stronger to have this discussion."

"This was the only alcoholic beverage on the breakfast menu. Funny, how adding juice to champagne makes it a morning drink."

John blew out a long breath. "Harry says I can be a nasty drunk, anyways. That's something, coming from her."

"I have not found you to be so." Sherlock stood up, taking his glass and the carafe with him. He placed them on the coffee table and sat on the sofa. "Take your time finishing breakfast."

John dipped a hard-boiled egg into a mix of salt and pepper. He waved the egg towards the deck. "It's foggy out there today. I was hoping to see this view in full daylight."

As John chewed the egg, Sherlock said, "Even at this time of year, the marine layer usually recedes for a while in the afternoon. You should get your wish.

John eventually pushed away from the table and brought his empty champagne flute over to Sherlock. He refilled their glasses before sitting down in the armchair.

After a few moments of silently looking out the windows, Sherlock said, "First of all, I'd like to apologize for my behavior. I'm sorry I lost my composure. You acted in the best interest of the case, and Shelton was apprehended. That was due to your actions, so thank you."

John was genuinely touched by this admission. "You're welcome."

Sherlock inclined his head to let John know he had heard, but otherwise remained quiet. John realized Sherlock had been brave enough to start the discussion, so he needed to be brave enough to reciprocate.

"You left me a clue, and you checked in under your own name. You wanted me to find you."

"I thought you'd get here sooner."

"You had asked me to give you space, and I had things of my own to handle before finding you."

"I see." Sherlock pulled his knees up to his chest and closed in on himself.

"I'm not sure you do."

When Sherlock looked up at him, John continued. "I filed a motion to get my marriage nullified. Mycroft has been quite helpful in that regard."

Sherlock drew in a shocked breath. John carried on. "I went back to Ella, my therapist. She's been helpful."

"I thought you didn't like her."

"To be fair to Ella, she's a far better therapist than I am a patient."

As John hoped he would, Sherlock smiled. "Well, she has taught you how to be introspective."

"You have no idea." John took a deep breath and then sighed. "I also waited for the results of a paternity test."

"What?"

"Turns out I'm not going to be a father after all."

"Oh, John. I am so sorry."

"Yeah, me, too. That's part of what I've been talking to Ella about." John sipped his mimosa. "I was surprised by the pregnancy. Never actually wanted to be a father, but I have to admit the idea had grown on me."

Sherlock's brows furrowed and a confused look crossed his face. "I don't know why, but I feel like I've lost something myself. That's so selfish of me, but I wanted to meet your child."

John laughed, startling Sherlock. "I was planning on having you change her nappies and feed her, teach her how to dance, frighten her dates when she was older."

Sherlock chuckled in return, but sounded sad. "I was going to order a cot for Baker Street, to let you know that both you and your daughter would always be welcome."

Oh. "Sherlock…"

Sherlock could not contain his anger. "How could Mary have wanted anyone else when she had you?"

"Well, that's related to some of the other things I worked through with Ella."

"John, why are you here?"

John placed his glass on the table. "Why do you think I'm here?"

"To repair our friendship." Sherlock raised his hand to forestall any interruption. "I have no expectations for this visit, John. But I know you were upset by the way we left things. I'd hoped that by the time you found me, I'd be ready to go home again, to go back to our friendship as it was. Your friendship is the most important thing in my life, John."

"You want nothing more than friendship?"

"John, please, why are you here?"

"To forget the past and all my mistakes. To know you, to know us."

"I don't understand." Whereas John's voice had grown more steady, Sherlock's speech had become shaky, pleading.

"I've been in denial about a lot of things, Sherlock. What I need to make myself happy. The reasons for my marriage. My feelings for you."

"Don't pity me, John."

"This isn't pity. Sherlock, I…"

Sherlock interjected. "No. There must be a reason why you're saying this now. It isn't like you came home when I returned. You still got engaged. You still got married. You carried on with your life as if I hadn't returned at all."

"I carried on with the life I had built while you were gone because I was terrified of going back to you again. Sherlock, your death almost killed me. Do you understand? And to leave Mary, to go back to you, would have meant giving you that power over me again. Yet it was all I wanted, and I was scared, so I stayed the course. I got engaged, as I'd planned. I got married, as I'd planned. To someone I thought was a wonderful woman. She helped me, Sherlock. I honestly don't know if I would have been alive to see you again if it wasn't for her."

Sherlock buried his face in his hands.

John softened his voice. "But she wasn't who I thought she was. And I'm not who I thought I was, either."

John moved to sit on the couch next to Sherlock. He placed a hand between them, palm up. He willed Sherlock to take his hand, and after a few heartbeats, Sherlock did. John held his breath as their hands slowly moved against the other.

Sherlock asked, "So, who are you?"

This is it. "Someone who is attempting to be brave enough to admit the truth. That I love you, Sherlock Holmes. And I want to come home with you to Baker Street. To finally know what we could potentially be together."

Sherlock squeezed John's hand briefly, and then let go as he stood up. He walked over to the window and stared at the ocean. "I want to retire by the sea someday. Perhaps Sussex."

John recognized the tone of Sherlock's voice. Sherlock was working through the discussion in that beautiful brain of his, talking aloud about something else, perhaps something related, while processing. Still, John was surprised by Sherlock's declaration. "Never thought of you as the retiring type."

Sherlock half turned towards John, who took the opportunity to admire his profile. "I never thought I'd live long enough to retire."

John prompted, "So what has changed?"

Sherlock turned fully towards John. His entire countenance was soft, welcoming, and John's heart thrummed a rapid melody. As he smiled, Sherlock replied, "I have something, someone, in my life that makes it worth living."

John rose from the sofa and joined Sherlock by the window. He slowly wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist and rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock's arms enfolded John, whose heart broke a little at how tentative Sherlock was. They held the pose for a few moments before John giggled.

"It feels strange to be the shorter one while hugging."

Sherlock hummed. "You fit perfectly." John felt a gentle pressure on the top of his head. Sherlock was leaning his cheek against John. "You're perfect."

The sun emerged through the marine layer, bringing out the deep blue and vibrant aquamarine of the Pacific Ocean. "God, that's gorgeous."

"Yes, it is."

John looked up at Sherlock. The sunlight was highlighting the subtle auburn hues in Sherlock's hair, and John longed to touch it. He almost laughed out loud as he realized he could. He reached up and ran his fingers through soft curls. As he did so, Sherlock's lips parted, and John kissed him. This is our first kiss, our real first kiss, John thought, as Sherlock sweetly, but shyly, kissed back. Gentle presses of lips, tugging on top and bottom lips by turns.

John broke the kiss and pulled back, but still held Sherlock by his upper arms. Relief flooded through John. Sherlock was not running away, and John's fears of a possible sexual identity crisis were unfounded. He felt right and true, for once in his life.

Sherlock merely gazed down at him.

"Good?"

"John."

John moved a hand to caress Sherlock's jaw. "Everything alright?"

"John."

"Are you blushing?" John had noticed a pinkness to Sherlock's cheeks that had not been present before.

Sherlock responded by tightening his hands on John, and it occurred to John that, although he did not have experience with men, he likely had more experience than Sherlock. Whose awkwardness right now was charming, but John knew better than to say that.

John rose up on his toes and gave Sherlock a more urgent kiss than the one they'd exchanged a few moments before. He felt Sherlock's knees wobble a little. At that, John did chuckle, and Sherlock gasped, "John."

"Oh, the things I'm going to do to you."

Sherlock's eyes widened, but his grip grew stronger. John drew his head down and lightly rubbed his nose against Sherlock's. "Come on, let's go relax in the hot tub, shall we?"

Sherlock nodded, and John grabbed his hands. As they walked out onto the deck, Sherlock halted. John asked, "Hey, are you okay?"

"I love you."

John may have teared up just a little. "I know you do. I love you, too"

"I've never said it before." Wonder shone through Sherlock's words.

John looked Sherlock solidly in the eye. "I've never meant it before."

This time, Sherlock kissed John.