A/N: So, this is the last chapter of our story, I am sorry to say. And, like the prologue, it has a boring title and it's in Sherlock's point of view. Thank you for reading. Enjoy! Pleases R & R!
(Sherlock P.O.V.)
Talking to him felt nice. Embracing him against my body...nice. But kissing him? As in, landing him one right on the lips? That felt...beyond nice. Hell, it was amazing.
I was so overwhelmed with happiness when he confessed his inner-most feelings and I wanted to kiss him right on the spot. But you know, being me, I make sure everything is as classy as possible. I wanted the moment to be perfect, so I used my fear of showing emotions to my advantage.
Everything else in the world, within that moment, was of utter insignificance. It was neither a demanding kiss nor a hesitant one. It was a resolving kiss. A kiss that solved every problem that formed in our minds. Did he think about me often? Could he see my attraction to him? What if he didn't love me back? Those problems were all solved the moment I placed my lips on John's.
It turned out that he thought of me more than often, he was too busy wondering about his attraction for me, and he definitely loved me back. I liked every answer and I smiled against his lips. He followed my lead. Eventually, we pulled apart, though hesitantly. We were both so flustered and giggly.
"I almost forgot...what time is it?" John asked. I checked my phone.
"12:49 AM," I answered. He laughed.
"Aw, man! I'm gonna feel like shite tomorrow!" I laughed too, before I kicked his foot. He kicked mine back. We played "Footsies" for a while until we both got tired and were yawning visibly.
John laid his head down on my chest and I automatically wrapped my arms around him.
"G'night, big guy," he whispered lethargically.
"Good night, John," I replied, planting a kiss in his golden tresses before stroking them and helping him to fall asleep. I, however, did not fall asleep quite just yet. I was too busy reminiscing about my life B.J. (Before John).
I remembered how I stayed up late that one night and thought about all of the terrible stuff going on in my life. Most notable was that I didn't have a friend to laugh, tell jokes, punch ribs, order coffee, finish sentences, hold hands, or cuddle with. Those people in the park used to make me jealous. But that night, I actually pitied them. After all, they didn't get to do the things that John and I did.
They didn't get to carry bridal-style, take care of, cry, dance, hug, solve mysteries, or kiss with their friends. And there was so much more where that came from, too. I no longer had to stare at the empty pillow next to my head and feel depressed about it. Now, it was empty because that person's head was sleeping contently upon my chest at that very instant.
Whenever I spoke to him, he wasn't annoyed. He smiled. Whenever I got angry, he wasn't afraid. He was there by my side, defending me or calming me down ever-so-sweetly. Whenever I used nicotine patches or failed to be nice (I am capable of such emotions now) that day, he wasn't disappointed. He just chuckled and said that tomorrow was another day.
I wanted so damn badly to rub it in the face of whoever said I would never be loved. I wanted to march up to them, John in hand, kiss him hard, and shout, "See?! I told you!" But then I figured that it would ruin the moment. Besides, I wanted that person to see for himself. I wanted him to be walking home from work someday and then catch sight of me walking down the street with my dearest John.
I would have a possessive arm draped around his shoulder and his arm would be around my waist. We would be laughing and enjoying each other's company. The man would be mildly disturbed let alone surprised by the sight, and he would get a bunch of his friends. He would point at us and say,
"Would you look at that?! There goes Sherlock Holmes with his dearest friend, Dr. John Watson! Who woulda thunk it?!" Then, they would stare after us with slacking jaws and I would wink ever-knowingly. Long ago, I asked myself who would want to be friends with me. That night, I knew: the sweetest person in the world, on top of a person who is almost the complete opposite of me. We were like the Odd Couple, except English.
Even if I was a misanthrope and I was a little distant towards most people, he still accepted me for who I was. I, in return, accepted him for who he was. We had a mutual understanding about each other that was not common in even the truest of friends. This was because we weren't just true friends. We were soul mates. The very definition of a perfect match.
Now, I'll admit. It was not love at first sight. Or second. Or third, or fourteenth, or twenty-ninth, or fifty-sixth. It was love before I even met him. Somewhere, out there, somebody loved me. He just happened to be that person. Sometimes I wished I knew him before that eventful day on the park bench, but then the moment wouldn't have been special.
I wouldn't have sat there in pain, angsting what was left of my heart out, if I was meant to be there to hear a sweet, angelic voice say hello to me and sit down next to me. When we watched that sunset together, my heart slowly began to heal. He had stolen my heart, healed it with his kindness, and given it back to me, brand new and jovial now that he was there.
I patted myself on the back in my head immediately after I met him, for I had met the perfect friend and he was living here in London the whole time. I found somebody who loves me. Somebody who listens to every word I say. Somebody who looks up to me as if I am some sort of god. Most of all, though, I found somebody who understands. And what, I thought, as I began to fall asleep, could possibly be better than that?