A/N: This is the end. Hold your breath and count to ten. But yeah this is the final chapter and I had a lot of fun writing and I hope you guys had fun reading it! Thanks to everyone who reviewed/favourited and followed this story I'm glad you liked it! See you soon. x
"Time is too slow for those who wait, too swift for those who fear, too long for those who grieve, too short for those who rejoice but, for those who love time is eternity." -Henry Van Dyke
The hourglass was almost out. Time seemed to speed up, it was a mere three days until that day. The moment in time when Fate was going to play her hand. He hadn't told Sherlock about any of the warnings in the pit nor did he tell him about Luke. The past seventeen days had been hectic, cases with Sherlock while trying to find a way to stop whatever was going to happen. He had no luck, he had been given a second chance with Sherlock and he was going to lose him, again permanently this time. It was if Sherlock hadn't ever been dead, like he had been alive the whole time just...elsewhere. Elsewhere...wait.
"Sherlock!" John rushed into the living room where Sherlock laid, sprawled out on the couch.
"Mmmm?" Came the reply.
"You- Where were you all this time?" Sherlock's head snapped up, his eyes met John's.
"I figured eventually you would ask such a question. The answer is simple; I was dismantling Moriarty's criminal web." Sherlock was right (when isn't he) Jim Moriarty was like a spider at the centre of a web and he knew how each line danced.
Sherlock told him about the assassins that were after Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade and himself. He told him about how during his 'death' he had killed more people than he ever imagined himself killing, he told him of the hardships he faced, cocaine, alcohol and emotions. He told him how Molly was involved and how Mycroft had a part in it. The emotions bit confused John, since when did Sherlock have emotions? Okay that was harsh, but since when was he troubled by them, how did they cause hardships? He killed people for god's sake, but that wasn't what troubled him. Emotions pah!
John had listened intently. He didn't interrupt nor did he ask questions. He sat there until Sherlock was spent, until he had told him everything he had intended; except for one thing. How he did it. John didn't feel right asking so he left it alone. He told Sherlock he understood why he had to do it and that he wasn't angry just disappointed he didn't come home sooner.
And just before he retired to bed, Sherlock grumbled a few words.
"God someone turn down the heat, I'm practically boiling here." And John turned down the heat.
OvO
The next morning John was greeted with ice entering his veins and a burning Sherlock in the living room. Shivering John went to start up a fire only to be stopped by Sherlock's yell of it already being hot enough in the flat and how he didn't need to be burnt to a crisp. John shivered again and put on an extra jumper.
Nothing exciting happened that day. As more time went, John grew colder and Sherlock hotter.
OvO
On the afternoon of the eighteenth day John was hopeless, he had no idea how to save Sherlock from Fate's grasp. She was going to take his Sherlock and his second chance. He was going to-wait. His Sherlock? Since when did he start referring to Sherlock as his? Maybe always. Maybe Sherlock had always been his, that's why he came back. Luke never needed to bring him back, Sherlock had always been alive and always aimed to come back. He had seen the signs of attraction in Sherlock, startling as it was, it was there. Dilated pupils, increased heart rate and he avoided making eye contact with him. Especially lately, he avoided even touching John but he still complained that he was hot, getting hotter even (no not that way), just as John seemed to be getting colder, icy. He was no longer warm-blooded.
Fate is never fair. You are caught in a current much stronger than you are: struggle against it and you'll drown not just yourself but those who try to save you. Swim with it, and you'll survive.
"No," John said catching Sherlock's attention. "Go away!"
He heard Sherlock get up from where he was perched by the open window (cooling off no less). And when Sherlock reached toward his he scrambled out of the way yelling for him not to touch him.
Tsk tsk you've wasted the time Johnny, you've given up. Poor Sherlock will burn and there's nothing for you to do.
"Stop it," He would not have another breakdown, he could ignore Luke. "Just get out of my head and out of my life. I owe you nothing, you didn't bring him back he was already alive."
Mmm clever, but are you forgetting who took your eyesight and so generously gave it back? But you're already paying for that, so no you don't owe me anything but your soul and maybe his too. He will burn and you will freeze. Goodbye, John.
"No!" He gasped but Luke was already gone and he couldn't bring him back.
John had made a mistake, a huge mistake and now not only he but Sherlock too were going to pay the price. His tears were an icy burn dripping out of his blue eyes and sobs wracked his body. Sherlock, he noticed, made no move to touch him he just flinched every time a sob left his mouth. He wished Sherlock wouldn't listen. He wished he would touch him, hold him, tell him it was okay. He wished he could tell Sherlock what really happened when he descended into the pit that day. And he prayed to god the ice would stop before it entered his heart.
OvO
Day nineteen was short, he spent the day cooped up in his room avoiding Sherlock at all costs. Through the ice John could feel the emotions he denied himself for so long. Of course he loved the consulting detective but he was too stubborn to admit it to himself and to Sherlock himself. It was always a mystery to Sherlock and John why he had put up with the man, he was rude, selfish, he had no regard for anyone elses feelings and quite frankly he was an arrogant dick. But maybe that's what John loved most or maybe he loved the thought of no one else (save Molly) caring for the man the way he does. Or quite possibly it was how Sherlock had entered his life and gave him what he craved. Danger. Cases were never dull with Sherlock, he had been drugged, kidnapped (twice, three times if you count Mycroft) and put through sorrow he hadn't felt since his mother died. God may not help him, but he loved Sherlock Holmes and they were going to die tomorrow.
Sherlock's PoV
It was so hot, fire burned through his veins. Fire was his blood burning him from the inside out, it had gotten to the point where he thought he would burn John if he touched him. But John seemed cold, icy. He had been wearing an extra jumper for a few days now, but how could he be cold when it was so hot. The cool London air did nothing for him, the air had felt dry the breeze like fire grazing across his skin.
When John had the outburst yesterday and yelled at Sherlock not to touch him maybe he knew it would burn when he touched him. But when John had cried he wished he could touch him, sooth him, tell him it was okay. He never pinned John for the type to have any other illness than PTSD but these outbursts and breakdowns had said differently. But he loved him anyways and he knew John loved him also, he'd seen the signs but he never said anything and he wished John would say something, he knew he noticed. Why wouldn't he say anything?
Emotions. Love, anguish things he felt while he was 'dead'. He felt dead away from John but he kept going with the thought of seeing him again. Every little thing, every detail every moment he spent with John made him love him more. It was hopeless, he was hopeless and he was going to tell John everything tomorrow, because that was the day he was going to burn and god help him he was going to burn John with him.
OvO
John's PoV
Today was the day. The time they shared was coming to a close, to an end and he felt colder than ever. Nothing could warm him, he pulsed frost his veins pumped ice cold water and this was how he was going out. Today was the day he was going to freeze and god help him he was going to freeze Sherlock with him.
Frost covered his skin when he entered the kitchen stopping just a few inches away from Sherlock, never touching him. John could feel the heat and he suspected Sherlock could feel the cold. Their eyes met and a confession was made in a blaze.
"I love you." It was synchronized, both uttering those words together and together were shocked.
Now another confession.
"I'm going to die, today." Again.
"I'm going to freeze (burn)." Both said at he same time. No, John thought. It was perfect, Sherlock was going to burn. It was ironic, Moriarty had threatened to burn Sherlock, burn the heart out of him and he failed but no one was better than Fate. Fate ran the circle of life and their cycle was up, their time coming to a finale, but John needed one last thing before he departed.
"Kiss me." What what he said and together or not at all was what he thought. His eyelids fluttered closed.
Their lips met in an arctic blaze. Their skin sizzled where ice met fire. John lessened the fire as Sherlock melted the ice. Snow fell around them just as embers did . And just as ice started to melt and fire start to die, their tongues met in the frenzy and time stopped.
They went up into divine crystal and coal.
OvO
It had been said long ago, before humankind that there would be two. One born in flames and one born in an arctic breeze. Born once, one wealthy one poor. They were to meet as men, and they were to die, born to do nothing more. Their elements were to clash and they were to eliminate one another. To kill each other in fury and in loathing. Natural enemies.
The time came for them to meet as human man and Fate watched eagerly. But they never became enemies, instead ice killed for fire and fire died to save ice. Never did they loath one another, never did they hate and never did their story play out as planned. They fell in love their fate rewritten in fire and ice. Then did they die burning up in icy fire, in love never as planned. Soul mates.
They became two halves of a whole. One half fire one half ice both merging together in the middle.
Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.
"Fate loves the fearless."-James Russell Lowell
Fin.