THE END - OPTION ONE:

John walked to Sherlock and stopped right in front of him.

"This matters, Sherlock. So, one last check: you know you can't fool me, right?"

Sherlock sat straighter and met his eyes dead-on: "Yes."

"Good, so don't even try…"

John went to sit on Sherlock's lap without hesitation. It felt weird — not only because so far John had only experienced this position from the seated-on point of view and therefore associated it with a woman thing to do, but also because he realised with a start that it brought their faces to the same level (he was used to always look up to Sherlock) — but it ensured him the best way to get to Sherlock's heart (John had unconsciously shied away from taking Sherlock's pulse, since the last time he had tried it there had been none to find; and the neck points weren't the most practical place to check when you intended to kiss someone); and right now, it was the only thing that mattered.

Sherlock had put his hands up somehow when John had sat down and didn't seem to know what to do with them now, so John brought them to rest on his legs. Then John placed a firm hand right above Sherlock's heart : "…because I'll know what you feel."

Sherlock then sort of smiled, which surprised John, who had been expected either nothing or a slight tremor at the idea of being effectively unable to hide the truth about his reactions.

John though chose not to dwell further on the matter and went to focus on the pulsing rhythm under his hand.

One beat.

Two.

And that's when John got an epiphany.

This felt incredibly soothing, Sherlock's strong and regular heartbeat under his palm a repeated, undeniable proof that Sherlock was alive, and healthy, reverberating from his hand and resonating in his whole being, until its very core.

"This is it," John suddenly let out, thinking aloud, eyes now on his hand.

"Yes."

Sherlock's assured voice brought John's eyes back up. Sherlock was smiling at John again, now in that rare, warm, genuine, gentle smile that reached his eyes which John loved simply because there could never be enough of them.

"This is what I longed for, all this time," John half-confessed half-asked for confirmation.

"Yes."

The smile got now some of that more usual, smug, distinctive quality which would have be at the least annoying, at the worst worthy of a punch — on any other face than his friend's.

John let out a chuckle: "You bastard. You knew it."

"I strongly suspected. You're a doctor, John; a beating heart had to be the key."

A little snort, thinking about how ridiculous or surreal their current position might look. "Doesn't explain the need for the dramatics, but I guess it just goes with the Holmes' package…"

"Well, you were always so careful to avoid physical contact lately. Besides, had I told you about my thoughts, you would have wondered one day or another if I hadn't somehow influence your judgement. Tricking you into it was actually the only way to get your hand where it is now."

Another chuckle. "It's all right. You get a free pass about this one." Seriously again: "But how could you be so sure I'd go for—"

"Again, John, simple: you're a doctor."

John this time actually laughed, and Sherlock laughed with him. John felt it all through his hand, the abrupt ups and downs of Sherlock's thoracic cage, and the marvellous way it altered his heartbeat in a sudden, short acceleration of the right kind. And to be honest, John had never felt anything quite as exhilarating as just this before.

They calmed down after a while, their breath and heart rhythm slowing down again. They weren't in sync, John noted — Sherlock's regular rhythm was apparently a tiny bit slower than his own. So much information, unfiltered, and intimate, right under his palm… It was addictive.

"What if though—"

"Doesn't matter anymore."

"But what if—"

"I believe you would have realised it wasn't what you truly wanted. And if you would have truly enjoyed it, well, chances are I would have too, if not right away then after a while — that's just how co-dependency works, and I know I have developed the tendency to meet your needs. We would have been fine too."

And John understood how Sherlock had actually weigh all the pros and cons and hat yet chose to go along this crazy plan, and finally realised then just how truly, intrinsically, vitally Sherlock loved him: just as truly, intrinsically, vitally as he loved Sherlock. It was bewildering; but it was good — it was the best.

"You don't mind if I stay here a little while longer?"

"Be my guest."

"Thank you, Sherlock." Which they both knew was meant for more than the simple last request.

They stayed like that for five more minutes, or half an hour, John had no idea. And it never felt weird. Their eyes linked, a happy smile on both their faces, Sherlock's heartbeat right under John's warm palm. It felt more than right. It felt home.

The 'strange' attraction passed. The 'strange' dreams stopped. The need to get closer vanished, because John now did get close, whenever needed.

It became a routine. After each following case, John would listen to Sherlock's heartbeat, and find strength in it.

Behind closed doors only first, until came a case when Sherlock did something particularly daring (jumping from a roof, mind you), then hurried back to John right after the arrest, took his right hand and placed it above his heart, calling his name out in an endless litany of "John, I'm all right, John, I'm fine", and John afterwards never hesitated to check Sherlock's heart any time he felt like it. All of Scotland Yard as a witness, and John truly couldn't care. No one ever commented though, surprisingly.

And no one commented either, months later, when John apparently did something "stupidly heroic" which caused a panicked-looking Sherlock to put his palm above his heart for reassurance for the first time (but not the last), hushing out a surprised, unbelieving "That actually works" that made John nearly pet his head in affection, thinking "Of course it does, idiot." (He didn't though, of course.)

So. That was it. They were both idiots, probably even officially. But as long as they were each other's particular idiot, it was all fine. All fine indeed.

THE END

AN: (I hope no one feels cheated right now, because this is actually my personal take on those two — soul mates, wholly and simply; and IMO it is self-sufficient. BUT, they ARE fun to write, so there will be a much, much longer option 2, where the fluff will go on and on (I live for the fluff, obviously) but where stuff will also actually happen. See you around ? :)