Author's note: Thanks for the lovely reviews! I thought I was gonna end this off at chapter four, but I decided to go for one last chapter. So here you are. I'm so happy you all enjoyed my story, and I hope that you enjoy my other work, too!

"You'll be alright, John."

"Sherlock..."

"Shhh..."

The ambulance picks up speed, and the sirens start blaring. John closes his eyes and tries to focus on the feeling of his hand in Sherlock's. He squeezes tightly, and Sherlock squeezes back. The pain in his side is unbearable. He just wants this to be over.

John awakens slowly. He tries to blink away the white haze that surrounds him, and when his vision starts to clear, he realizes where he is. A small woman in fitted pink scrubs gently puts a hand on his shoulder when he tries to sit up. His head is spinning. There's no sense in asking where he's at. He knows he's in the hospital. Must be Bart's, he figures.

"Don't sit up," the nurse says. "You need to rest."

John tries to speak, but he groans instead. The nurse gives a sympathetic smile.

"There we go..." her voice sounds so far away. She says something else, something like "go back to sleep, Doctor Watson", but John isn't quite sure what he hears. He closes his eyes, and feels a blanket covering his shoulders. A man's voice mumbles something that John can't make out. Is that Sherlock? He starts to relax. He tries to open his eyes again, but they feel too heavy. He can feel the young nurse's presence for a few moments, and when he hears her leave the room and close the door, he surrenders to sleep once again.

When he wakes up this time, the blinds on his window are pulled, and the light in his room is dim. He tries to sit up again, but the pain in his right side protests. In the chair beside the bed, Sherlock snores loudly, and then sputters awake. It hurts John to laugh. Sherlock looks exhausted, as if he hasn't slept in a week. His dark curls are rumpled and sweaty, and he has a red patch on his face where his cheek has rested in his hand.

"You look like you could use some kip," John says. Sherlock looks over at him.

"H-how are you feeling?" He asks with a yawn. "Can I get you anything?"

John chuckles, even though it's painful to. "No, I'm okay. But you need to go home and sleep, Sherlock."

Sherlock gives a flippant wave. "Sleeping is dull."

"Oh really? And that's why you've spent how long curled up in that chair?"

Sherlock says nothing.

"Seriously, Sherlock, I'm fine."

"It was your appendix," Sherlock says after a brief silence.

"Well, I figured so-"

"When they cut you open, it was about to burst."

"And you know this...how?"

"Overheard the doctor telling your nurse about it."

John raises an eyebrow. Sherlock Holmes actually sounds concerned, he thinks.

Sherlock scoots the chair closer to John's bed, and sits down.

"I, um... I was worried, you know."

John wonders if he heard that right. "But you knew it was my appendix."

"Well, obviously. But- but still."

John isn't sure what to say. He reaches out his hand, and Sherlock takes it, lacing their fingers together. John looks into Sherlock's face for a moment, and tries to give his most reassuring smile. He knows Sherlock isn't having any of it.

"I'm alright now," John says. "They'll probably keep me here for a few-"

"John, I love you."

A stunned silence falls over the room.

"Sherlock, those are just nerves talking. You're-"

"No, really, John. Ever since that night you walked over and kissed me- the night I played my violin for you. Even before then, I knew I felt something. I tried to hide it before, but after that, I just couldn't any more. I understood that you had kissed me, but I just couldn't figure out precisely why, and do you know how infuriating it is when I can't figure something out? Love is not a mystery to me at all, but then I had a dream. I rarely remember my dreams, but this one is simply burned into my head. It was about you and me, and I was happy, John. Happy! There were no murders, no mysteries, no puzzles, and I was still happy!"

"Sherlock..."

"John, can't you see? I'm in love with you! I just am. There is no other way I can define it."

"Sherlock, I'm-"

Sherlock opens his mouth to speak, but shuts it tightly. John takes this moment to finish his sentence.

"Sherlock, I'm in love with you, too."

Sherlock leans over and presses a gentle kiss to John's forehead.

"John, where do we go from here?"

"I thought love wasn't a mystery to you."

"Well, the chemical process is simple. But-"

"Shhh. Sherlock, don't worry about it. Just stay the way you are. You're perfect."