Sherlock Holmes stood only feet away from his friend - no, his best friend - John Watson.

The wind howled on the tarmac around them, the large plane prepared to take Sherlock into his exile pushing on the edges of their vision. Mary, Mycroft, and Mycroft's men stood a short distance away, giving Sherlock just a moment of privacy to say goodbye to his companion for the last time. However, it seemed that neither Sherlock nor John was quite capable of this feat, for the rather meaningless conversation between them had faltered and silent tension filled the space between them. John shifted his weight uncertainly.

"You know, I can't think of a single thing to say," the former army doctor finally confessed.

"No, neither can I," Sherlock agreed, relieved at least for a break in the uncomfortable lapse of speech.

It's too late, Sherlock told himself. John's happy with Mary, his wife, Mary, and their baby girl. It would be completely selfish to...

"John, there's something I should say, I've meant to say always and I never have. Since it's unlikely we'll ever meet again, I might as well say it now." The words had tumbled from the mouth of the world's best and only consulting detective before he'd had a chance to think them over. John's eyes were fixed on him now, seemingly cutting right into his soul just as he knew his own gaze often did to others. He took a deep, steadying breath, and made a decision. He forced a slight smile. "Sherlock is actually a girl's name."

John laughed, and Sherlock let out a barely audible sigh of relief. He'd made the right decision, surely. However, his victory was short-lived.

"No it's not," John finally replied, still smiling. He continued before Sherlock could cut him off, "and I know that isn't what you were going to say anyways."

Sherlock tensed. No, he hadn't planned on telling John that his name would be perfectly suitable for a baby of the opposite gender (it wouldn't be, of course). Sherlock unconsciously bit his lip, as though to physically restrain himself from speaking the thoughts that his mind was screaming.

"Spit it out, then!" John pushed, a fraction of seriousness returned to his humored gaze as he noticed the way Sherlock was biting his lower lip. That was not a usual gesture for his flatmate, and it certainly didn't do anything to help John's predicament. He nearly mimicked the gesture in an attempt to control the sudden heat flooding through him, the embarrassing pounding of his heart as he stood close to his friend.

Obviously, it's simply an emotional farewell, he told himself, glancing at his wife standing next to Mycroft. The older Holmes brother looked irritated, as if the departure was taking longer than he would've liked. With an effort, John returned his gaze to his friend, staring directly into his piercing blue eyes. Oh god those eyes...

"Well?" He asked again, managing to keep his voice steady.

"John, I..." Sherlock seemed extremely hesitant, but under John's fierce gaze, he continued. "I don't believe this is the proper time or place for me to share this with you." He choked out.

"Well, it looks as though it'll just have to do, Sherlock, because we haven't exactly got a lot of options here," John snapped, trying and failing to keep the frustration from his voice. For a fraction of a second, Sherlock looked hurt, but his expression quickly returned to one containing such a mixture of emotions that John could hardly tell one from the next.

"John, I think..." Sherlock started again, and their eyes met, sending sparks flying through every nerve in Sherlock's body. "I'm almost positive that I... that I love you." He whispered.

John froze. Eventually, he stuttered, "I... you... what...?!"

Shaking, Sherlock removed his glove and extended his hand to John. "To the very best of times, John."

John slowly returned the gesture, shaking the detective's hand. "Sherlock -"

Before he could finish, Sherlock pulled away and turned in the direction of his waiting brother, his coat sweeping behind him as he boarded the plane. From his seat, Sherlock watched Mary approach John and reassure him. He felt his tears tracing down his face and turned away, refusing to look back again as the plane took flight. At least with my departure it won't be awkward. John Watson can still be happy with Mary. And that's what was most important - that John Watson, former army doctor and blogger, was happy.

Mary had approached John soon after Sherlock boarded the plane and gently wrapped her arm around her husband. She wasn't quite as observant as the famous Sherlock Holmes, but she certainly had her own skill set when it came to deduction.

"What did he say to you?" She asked tentatively, already guessing the answer.

"He... I..." John swallowed and took a deep breath. "He told me that he loves me," he said hurriedly, the words tumbling out in a rush.

Mary smiled a little. "I thought so."

"Mary I - wait, what?" Mary actually snorted. "What do you mean you thought so?" John fumed. Why did it always seem that everybody around him understood so much more than he?

"Well, from the stories you used to tell me, of the time before... you know. It was always clear to me that you had feelings for him." John looked stunned and opened his mouth as if to interrupt, but Mary plowed on. "I never expected him to return to your life, and I wasn't sure which path you would choose." When John looked confused, she explained, "I didn't know if you would choose him or me."

"Of course I chose you, I'd always choose you - "

Mary ignored him, continuing in her explanation. "After meeting him, working with him, seeing him and the way he acted around you, I could tell that your feelings from before weren't unrequited. So, in light of Sherlock's... final departure today, I rather expected him to confess his feelings to you." She smiled at her husband, who looked completely shell-shocked. "What did you say to him?"

"I... I didn't really respond."

Mary sighed. "John, I know this isn't going to happen, but if that plane turned around right now and Sherlock returned to London, what would you do?"

"Mary!" John protested, "Don't ask such questions!"

"I'm serious, John!" She replied firmly. "And be honest. Believe me, I'd be almost as happy to see you two together as Mrs. Hudson would be."

"I'm not gay."

"I know you're not," she assured him, barely concealing a grin. "So what're you going to do?"

Not five minutes had passed aboard the plane when the telephone rang.

Sherlock assumed it to be unimportant, and continued his pondering as he stared out the window. However, he was once again interrupted by one of the workers aboard the aircraft handing him the phone. "It's your brother," the worker stated.

Sherlock took the phone irritably. "Mycroft."

"Hello, little brother. How's the exile going?"

"I've only been gone four minutes!" And a useless four minutes at that. I'm no good sitting on a plane moping.

"Well I certainly hope you've learned your lesson." Why must he always gloat... "As it turns out, you're needed."

"Oh for God's sake, make up your mind," Sherlock snapped, filled with a sudden dread. Surely this couldn't mean... "Who needs me this time?"

"England."

Oh no. The plane was turning around in the air. Oh please not now... The plane landed, coming to a stop near Mycroft and one of his cars, and of course - Not when John's still on the runway...

Trying desperately to conceal his puffy red eyes and tearstained face, Sherlock made his way slowly off the plane. He was looking down at the ground, refusing to meet the eyes of any of those surrounding him. When he reached the ground, he finally looked up for one fleeting second. That was all the time he had, because the moment his feet touched the ground, John crushed his mouth to Sherlock's in a fierce, passionate kiss. Sherlock was stunned, but nevertheless reciprocated the unexpected show of affection. When they (eventually) broke apart to breathe, Sherlock attempted to speak.

"Why - "

"Shhhhhh." John pushed a finger to Sherlock's lips and whispered, "I love you too, you idiot."