Author's note:

Hi everyone, I just wanted to say that this is the penultimate chapter, and that I'm trying really hard to finish this before going away to France for a week.

I would also like to thank the incredibly talented SamanthaJ221, who kindly let me use some lyrics from her song 'Heart on Fire' in this chapter, and also whose music got me through my recent case of writer's block. Fanfiction won't let me post links, but her tumblr is timelordsandarmydoctors . tumblr . com - seriously, check out her beautiful music.

Hope you all enjoy the chapter! BP x

The Commodore B&B, 8:32pm

Sherlock held open the door to their room, waiting until John had brushed past him and collapsed onto the bed before letting the door swing shut. They had just returned from another meal out at 'Talk of the Town' after Lestrade's insistence that they needed to have at least one decent meal.

John had already kicked off his shoes by the time Sherlock sat down on the bed beside him. "Another case closed," he said with a sigh. "And tomorrow we can go home." The word rolled off his tongue with ease; 221B Baker Street was certainly more his home than any other place ever had been. Living with Sherlock as his flatmate, his colleague, his best friend, and now his lover felt right and normal in a way that it probably shouldn't. Of course, there were times that they had their disagreements; when Sherlock left a decomposing arm in the bath, or used John's clothes for experiments, for example, but John had accepted Sherlock's eccentricities as being part of the man who he admired and cared for. He had grown accustomed to the midnight concerto's, the lack of food in the flat and the conversion of the kitchen into a laboratory, and now his heart ached with a desire to go home to his and Sherlock's warped normality.

Sherlock removed his shoes and shrugged his jacket off of his shoulders, all the while keeping his eyes fixed on John. "What are you thinking about?" He asked eventually.

John smiled gently. "Our home, and us."

"What about us?" Sherlock folded his impossibly long legs up underneath him and turned so that he was facing John.

"How much things have changed since living with you." He exhaled a long breath. "I hadn't felt alive in years before I met you. It was like I was just falling through the atmosphere, without any direction and with no idea as to what I was going to do. I was home from Afghanistan, and I was safe, and I knew that, but the memories still survived and in the night they came back to life. I thought that I was permanently broken by the war, my hands shook, and my limp was awful, and then I ran after you chasing a cab halfway round London and it stopped and…" He trailed off and Sherlock placed a finger over John's lips.

"John," he murmured, his fingertips skimming down John's lips to trace the line of his jaw. John heard, for the first time, raw emotion in Sherlock's voice, choking him, his eyes soft and filling with tears.

"Sherlock are you crying?" John watched the tears slide down his cheeks, leaving glistening tracks that shone in the light.

Sherlock sniffed and wiped at his eyes, almost scowling at the drop moisture on his hand. "I suppose I am. I feel like there's a weight pressing down on my heart, and it beats a little faster when I think of you, when I see you…"

John chuckled. "That's what it feels like to love someone."

Sherlock stared at him for a moment, processing this new information in his incredible brain. "I love you, John." He spoke slowly, savouring each word as they slipped off his tongue, his eyes burning with emotion.

"I love you too, Sherlock," said John. "Now come here, you insufferable idiot." He pulled Sherlock closer to him, pressing their lips together in a heated kiss as they fell back onto the bed. John ran his hands up Sherlock's back to knot into his hair as Sherlock flicked his tongue across John's lips, parting them and sliding his tongue into his mouth. John didn't know where Sherlock had got this sudden confidence and ability from, but he certainly wasn't complaining. Sherlock slipped his hand up under John's shirt, tracing the planes of his chest with his elegant fingers and making John sigh into his mouth. John pulled Sherlock closer, bringing him down on top of him and tightening his hold on Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock responded by delivering hot kisses on John's neck, lightly taking some of the soft skin into his mouth and sucking on it, leaving a dark purple mark where his lips had been. John brought Sherlock's lips back to his, kissing him harder, twining his tongue with Sherlock's, relishing in the feeling of the other man moaning deep and low against him. Sherlock moved so that he was on his back and John was on top of him, his hands exploring under his shirt and then dropping down to the waistband of his jeans, sliding lower, John hissing in surprise and pleasure.

"Sherlock!" His name was called from the other side of the door, accompanied by a sharp knock.

"Damn it," John muttered as Sherlock slid out from underneath him. He rearranged his shirt and switched the television on as Sherlock opened the door.

Lestrade walked in, taking his usual seat in the chair by the window. "The train's booked for half nine tomorrow morning. I would like to be at the train station by quarter past at the latest so make sure you don't sleep through your alarm again." He gave Sherlock a pointed look and then quirked an eyebrow at him, apparently only just noticing that Sherlock looked significantly more ruffled than normal. "Am I interrupting something?"

"No," said John, a little too quickly.

Lestrade seemed unconvinced but said nothing about it, choosing instead to continue talking about their journey home. "I'll meet you downstairs for breakfast at 8 o'clock in the morning, and yes, I demand that you both have something to eat."

Sherlock muttered something under his breath, but Lestrade and John both chose to ignore it.

"I'll see you tomorrow. Err, sleep well." Lestrade bade them goodnight and left their room.

As soon as he had left, Sherlock was back next to John on the bed, crushing his lips against John's and his fingers making quick work of John's shirt.

"Sherlock," John said, laughing breathlessly between kisses. "Calm down."

Sherlock drew away to say, "I want you," before returning to kissing him heatedly again.

"Now?"

"Yes. Right now." He pushed John back onto the bed and hovered over him. "I know you want it too."

John smiled, slowly working Sherlock's shirt open. "Correct, as always." With that, he drew Sherlock down into his arms once again.