Fandom The Final Goodbye (Johnlock)

[Satanic Nightjar]

Sherlock returned the kiss, unsure at first, but gaining confidence in what he was doing. He ran his fingers through his smooth blond hair, relishing the taste of John's lips on his own. Ever second was so precious, every touch so perfect, he never wanted this moment to end. When at last they pulled apart, a warm silence spread between them, no words needing to be spoken. They simply sat there, neither speaking, yet unspoken words inhabiting the air between them. All of the anger and pain from before dissolved into this wonderful moment.

Then a thought invaded the perfect peacefulness of Sherlock's mind. Though disrupting the silence was the last thing he wished to do, it was a question that needed answering. "John?" He asked, voice low and slightly unsteady. "What . . . what about Mary? You're happy with her. You love her. She's . . . she's normal, and you deserve a normal future."

 

[GV Butterworth]

John would've considered it a happy chance if he'd dropped dead before Sherlock had to bring up that particular subject. "We don't..." he nuzzled Sherlock as he shook his head, "we don't need to talk about that right now, do we?" Of course, he had no idea what he was going to do. He was too busy being happy to bother with practical affairs. Right now, all he could figure was that he had Sherlock in his arms and he would keep it that way as long as possible. "I don't have any answers, Sherlock, I don't know. I'm sorry. I couldn't sleep and I just... heard your voice in my head. I don't have any answers right now..." He buried his face in Sherlock's neck and squeezed him as tightly as he could. "I just want to hold you..."

 

[Satanic Nightjar]

Sherlock was surprised by the emotion in John's voice, and he silently slipped his arms around him to hold him tightly in an awkward hug. "It's okay," He mumbled, unsure of what else to say. Gently stroking his hair with his fingers, he said in his most reassuring voice, "We'll figure something out, John. We always have." Tilting back slightly so they could be face to face, he allowed a wide, very un-Sherlock-like smile to come to his lips as he gazed at his friend. He cupped John's face in his hands as he leaned in to kiss him again. This was not a moment he intended to ruin with unnecessary worries, as he always managed to do.

 

[GV Butterworth]

John held him tightly and kissed him fiercely. If God, or whatever cruel governing force commanded the universe, had come to him years ago and made him the bargain that for the price two years of waking hell, he could have this present moment, it was a price John would have paid ten times over.

The alcohol paired with kisses were making him warm drunk, and exceptionally affectionate. It was a sensation he hadn't felt in some time, much to Mary's regret. He hadn't slept with her in weeks, and when the moment did arise when he had to perform, he never did so well or to full satisfaction. For years, he'd assumed that his sex drive had been just as irrevocably damaged as the rest of him, but with Sherlock in his arms, he knew that his libedo wasn't so much dead as it had been dormant.

He was breathing hard and his hands were wandering further, gripping harder. Still, he had no idea where Sherlock stood on these things, or if he had any interest in them at all. He seemed to enjoy the kissing well enough, but John would be shocked to learn that Sherlock had ever had any previous experience beyond that.

John broke the kiss and cleared his throat to ask, "I want to take you to bed. Will you let me?"

 

[Satanic Nightjar]

John was right in assuming that Sherlock had very little experience with such things. He'd been kissed a few times over the course of his life, and there had even been a few situations where he'd kissed someone. Nearly always for a case, or with some other ultimate goal in mind. But beyond that, he was rather clueless. More because he was, until this moment, entirely uninterested in such things than any other reason.

But this was John Watson, the love of his life, and he found himself unable to resist. Taking both of John's hands in his own, he stood, a smile coming to his lips. He felt different than he ever had before. More alive, like he'd finally been granted the happiness he'd never really experienced. It was as if in exchange for years of his life full of emptiness and pain, he'd been given the thing he wanted most in the world. It was a deal he would make a thousand times without a single regret. The slight . . . nervousness of before dissolved as he nodded slowly. "Yes."

 

[GV Butterworth]

John let Sherlock pull him to his feet. Admittedly, he needed a bit of help with it. "Well, then... lead the way, beautiful."

He kept one of Sherlock's hands in his, and with the other, made use of his cane. It was a slow procession down the hall to Sherlock's bedroom, but neither of them were in any hurry. John always liked Sherlock's bedroom. Perhaps it was because it was closer to the heart of the house that John felt it was cozier, warmer, safer. Or perhaps he felt that way because it was Sherlock's.

Once inside, John saw Sherlock look at him expectantly. He knew that as the more experienced of the pair, he was assumed to take the lead on this, but a predominant concern of his was overstepping. "You know," he said softly, reaching up to cradle the face that had haunted his dreams, "we don't have to do anything... I know you're not... I mean..." he laughed at himself for having turned into a fumbling schoolboy. "Look, love, all I mean to say is, if you're not ready, if you don't want to, it doesn't matter. I just want to be with you tonight. I just want to hold you. I don't have any expectations."

 

[Satanic Nightjar]

As Sherlock lead John across the room, a sense of grateful disbelief overwhelmed him. This dream had finally been fulfilled, a dream that he was certain would never be reality. He wasn't even completely sure, until this very moment, that he wanted it to be, because John definitely deserved someone better than him. A high functioning sociopath who'd never experienced love, who'd never been interested in such things until John Watson walked unto his life. He'd be happier elsewhere . . . but John had chosen him.

Beautiful. Sherlock had always been aware that his above-average face could be useful, extremely useful, but the word had never meant so much to him. To hear John say it sent his heart twirling and jumping in circles in his chest. It was ridiculous, he knew, but he couldn't help himself.

When they entered his room, Sherlock's confidence momentarily faded. Glancing at John to take the lead, he returned the nervous smile on his face. "I'm not afraid, John." His voice was stronger than he'd expected, curiosity and a sort of deep happiness filling his heart and mind. "I love you," he murmured, leaning in to kiss him softly on the lips.

+++
​

The next morning, Sherlock's eyes opened and confusion took hold for a moment before he became aware of what was happening. John was occupying the side of the bed that was nearly always empty, arms wrapped firmly around his waist. Happiness and relief washed over him, glad that the night before hadn't been a dream.

 

[GV Butterworth]

John was tucked in hard and when he woke, he tightened his embrace even more as he stretched and flexed his back. "Morning, love," he purred, snuffling into Sherlock's shoulder blades.

He couldn't believe he'd actually slept through the night. No nightmares, no sleepwalking, no insomnia. Granted, they didn't even aim at sleep until about five in the morning, but that meant three hours of deep, black, dreamless sleep, and John felt revived and optimistic. It was almost eerie for how unfamiliar it was.

He took a few moments to bask in the recollection of the intimacies they'd shared last night. Sherlock, shy but willing, and John made a point of it to kiss every inch of him. Several times. He was also downright giddy that Sherlock had stayed in his arms this long. He knew how his flatmate could be, up and out of bed at all hours, restless and bored even with sleep. To wake up with his love in his arms was a pleasure beyond what his previous fantasies could even believe in.

"I love you, Sherlock," John said out loud, because, god damn it, he could.

 

[Satanic Nightjar]

"Morning . . . " Sherlock murmured, adjusting himself so he was facing John. He was most certainly not a morning person, but he'd opened his eyes feeling energized, more alive than he'd ever felt despite the few hours of sleep he'd gotten. Although in the past he'd rarely slept at all (instead he typically stayed up for days at a stretch before crashing in odd locations and awakening at odd hours), he was now certain that it was the most wonderful thing imaginable to simply hold the love of his life in his arms.The previous night he'd experienced the most amazing hours of his life, far better even than any case they could possibly investigate.

For a few moments, he simply stared at him, amazed by how deeply in love he truly was. It wasn't an emotion he was accustomed to, a word that had rarely crossed his purely logical mind and never actually worked it's way into his heart. But now, lying here with John Watson wrapped tightly in his arms, he was sure that he never wanted it to leave, never wanted this moment to end.

"I love you too, John," He said, and the instant they left his tongue he felt a warmth wash over him, a gentle smile stretch across his lips. Everything about what was happening was so . . . different, unfamiliar, so very not Sherlock, but also something that he now realized his heart had always desired.

 

[GV Butterworth]

John rolled on top of him and kissed him again, tangling his fingers in Sherlock's hair and squeezing him perhaps a bit too hard. He still couldn't believe it, and part of him was convinced it was all going to be stripped from him at any given moment.

"I've woken up in bed with you before, like this," he confessed as he kissed across Sherlock's shoulder and collarbone. "In my dreams... I dreamed about you a lot. But they never turned out well..."

It was after the fall. He would often reach out for Sherlock in his sleep, and sometimes his dreaming mind gave him a hold. For several peaceful seconds, John would be in the paradise of holding his love, but inevitably, he would notice a stickiness on his hand. Then a stickiness in the bed. He would open his dreaming eyes, realize all the stickiness was a bright red, and be tortured again with the vision of Sherlock's shattered body. John would wake up screaming.

 

[Satanic Nightjar]

Sherlock could feel John tense up as the painful memories of the past year and a half flooded his mind yet again. It broke his heart, having to put him through that, having to witness the effect it had on him. Propping himself up on his elbow, he looked into John's perfect blue eyes and a gentle smile came to his lips.

"This time is different, John. I'm here, and I am no twisted creation of your mind to bring you momentary happiness while you sleep," he said in a single breath, the Sherlock alternative of saying I'm not a dream. "I love you."

Suddenly leaping out of bed with uncharacteristic enthusiasm, he took John's hand and awkwardly dragged him out from beneath the covers, barely taking time to get dressed on his way out the door. The flat smelled wonderful. Mrs. Hudson, apparently realizing that John had returned, undoubted assuming that he was alone, had brought up some breakfast. "That woman never fails to amaze me," Sherlock chuckled, heading into the kitchen to get a cup of tea. John, still blinking the exhaustion out of his eyes, appeared from behind the bedroom door a few moments later.