Author's Notes: Hey guys, it's been a while since I've done anything. Life's been… well. Life. But I won't bore you with the dirty details. Thanks to everyone who's favorite'd this and added it to their alerts and a super thanks to my reviewers!

Also, a very special thanks to my dear Watson. Why you ever put up with me, I will never understand, but I am grateful for it all the same. And I'm grateful for you.

Okay, here's the final installment! (Holy shit, I'm finishing something? Blasphemy!)

For a long time, the two just stood, eyes locked. Neither could get words to escape their throats, nor could they will any movement. Not yet, or so it seemed—

But then Holmes was crossing the room, standing before Watson, expression serious. I love you, the words burned like fire in his head but no—he couldn't say such a thing. His fingers twitched, a hand rose and barely caught hold of Watson's before letting go, only to find the good doctor was holding his hand in return. And Watson offered him a smile, skin crinkling at the corners of his eyes with the gesture.

For a moment, everything had stopped. Both men held their breaths, waiting for the other to make a move. Rain pounded down on the roof and windows rhythmically, drumming along with their racing of their hearts. There was really only one course of action, only one thing they could do—but starting it would cause a snowball effect and sweep them both up—

It wasn't a wise idea. Watson knew it. Holmes knew it. But they closed the gap nonetheless, lips meeting roughly in a flurry of pent-up passion. There was no taking it slow now, tongues tangling, despite Holmes' awkwardness. When they finally had to disconnect, both men panting, they held one another's gaze. And then they met again in a wildly passionate kiss, having to break again to breathe almost a minute after.

The years of neglected emotions would ruin them both. There was only one way to solve it but—Mary. And suddenly guilt crossed Watson's face. Holmes knew then their connecting was momentary and now over. His heart ached as he stepped away from the doctor, mentally scolding himself.

Falling for such a foolish emotion, Sherlock? You should know better. Such things cloud judgement—

"Sherlock." Watson's voice broke into his thoughts, clear eyes pleading. The detective looked to his friend, emotions hidden behind a well placed, sturdy wall. "… Sherlock, I had wanted to before… Before all this—"

Holmes shook his head. "No need to explain. I understand, I assure you."

Watson could tell from that tone; Holmes was hurt. But Watson was a gentleman. He couldn't do that to Mary—but he was killing his dear friend, he knew. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place, and the heat lingering on his lips from their kiss wasn't helping. The tension between them was suddenly so thick and heavy, it was suffocating. What could he do? Words, words… That was all he could offer. At least, for now.

"Sherlock."

Ignored, Holmes had turned from him and moved back to the window. Leave now, he urged mentally. He couldn't take Watson standing there, being here and not—And what was that? A momentary lapse of judgment; he'll leave again now, and it will all be over.

"Sherlock." Voice stern. Time to listen. The detective turned slightly, glancing to Watson. The doctor hadn't moved.

"Sherlock, don't be childish. You know why we can't—"

"Why you can't. Something I tried to prevent."

"Stop it. Just because I can't show you—"

"Show me what? Affection? I don't need it."

"Stop interrupting me."

"Perhaps I don't want to hear excuses."

"It's not an excuse!" Watson snapped finally. "Sherlock, I love you. I have and I will. Even though I've got Mary, I love you." Hurt and irritated, the good doctor limped from the room, adding as he went, "And if you choose not to believe that, then I can't convince you otherwise." With that, he was gone, limping down the stairs.

And Holmes stood there, dumbstruck.

Go after him! Half his mind screamed, urged, anything to get him to move. Let him go. He's not going to come back again anyway, the other half said. But John had—those words rung in the detective's ears. I love you. I have and I will. Why couldn't he say he returned those feelings? He felt like he had peanut butter in his mouth, legs like lead and he couldn't move. No. No. No.

A flurry of motion—over the chair, through the door, down the steps two at a time. He caught Watson's arm before the doctor could get outside and tugged him back, hugging him tightly as if he never wanted to let go. Which he didn't want to. Never again.

Watson was surprised—he made a small noise indicating so. He glanced back to the detective, whose arms were tightly about his waist, and he turned ever so slightly, steady hands resting on Holmes's shoulders before he hugged the other in return.

For a long while, they stood like that, just inside 221B Baker Street, in one another's arms. Silence rested between them during that time—nothing needed to be said, even though Watson wanted to hear Holmes utter those three words. But he knew anyway, how could he not?

Maybe he'd always known. Maybe they'd both always known. It didn't matter. It was getting late now, and they still stood, hugging tightly to each other. Mary would understand if he didn't make it back home. She knew where he was. So finally, after a good amount of time had passed, they made their way back upstairs, holding hands, fingers intertwined tightly.

It wasn't until they were huddled close, trying to sleep, that Holmes spoke. And it seemed as though he'd waited until Watson was drifting off to sleep to speak, his voice soft and gentle and full of adoration.

"I love you too, John."

It was a simple confession, and Watson may have dreamed it… No. He knew the detective had said it. He was just too—too awkward to have said it before now. And Watson smiled. Maybe Holmes was frustrating, and the reason for a lot of his stress. But Holmes was also the only man he'd ever love, the only man who could drive him up the wall and still be so utterly fascinating. The doctor shifted sleepily, lips meeting Holmes's gently before he slumped back down. It was chaste kiss.

And that was okay with him.