If one was to ask John Watson, he would not agree that anything between them had changed.

It had been two days and Sherlock had entirely avoided talking about Mary. John had prodded him to share his thoughts; whether he liked her, what he had deduced about her et cetera. The detective had refused to utter a single word; either by changing the topic entirely or picking up his violin to oppress John's obvious queries. John hadn't pushed his luck and dropped the topic eventually.

Other than that, Sherlock was his usual neutral self, but John had noticed that he was being observed by the man more than usual. He had caught Sherlock staring at him as he prepared dinner or when he was bent over the body lying on the filthy banks of Thames. After being gawked at openly in the tube once, John had raised an eyebrow quizzically. With a quick jerk of his head Sherlock had looked away, leaving John with confused thoughts and a sweet feeling flourishing inside him. Every time upon entering 221B, Sherlock looked- even though it was for the tiniest fraction of a second- like a kid given a gift months before their birthday. Every one of those times John had tried not to let the happiness blooming in his chest show on his face.

John continued to go about his work, spending time with Mary and accompanying Sherlock to cases. According to him, things were as they were before. Not normal, but definitely acceptable. If Mary looked at him with something poignant lurking behind her eyes, he chose not to give it much thought. If she threw him awkward smiles John matched them with his cheerful grins. He wished she would stop worrying. Because everything was perfect. He was marrying her in hardly two weeks; Sherlock and John were solving cases, everything was in a state of equilibrium.

It took hardly a minute to topple the balance, sending them off the tightrope they were walking since John had seen his Soulmate for the first time.

"What's that?" John asked. He was seated on the armchair across from Sherlock who had been frenziedly tapping away on his laptop. When Sherlock looked up at him- just an eyebrow raised, enough to display annoyance at the disturbance-, John pointed at a large duffle bag next to the fire place. Craning his neck, he tried to look inside the bag. There was a glass jar containing very filthy- bloody, too?- toenails. He was not sure if he wanted to know anymore.

"An experiment. It will take more than forty hours to complete. I have no time," Sherlock said, returning his gaze to the laptop. An uncomfortable twinge rose in John's chest just a little. He ignored.

John furrowed his brows. "You are surfing 'most fascinating murders of all time' on the internet. You have all the time."

Sherlock sighed dramatically before replying, "It's important in my line of profession." The twinge built up just a bit more. Not too uncomfortable. Nothing to stress about. "Change in the climate would tamper the final result."

"Change in climate?"

"Yes, happens when you fly five hundred miles across the continent and approximately one hundred and fifty meters higher."

"And where are you flying?" It was no longer just a twinge. He tried pushing the panic down as it kept invading his other feelings. John could almost physically sense its origin in the man sitting in front of him who was intently avoiding his eyes.

"Switzerland."

"In two days?" He had known it was going to happen soon and had resolutely tried to avoid thinking of it. Now that it was happening in two days, something inside him was breaking, shattering, collapsing.

"Tomorrow," Sherlock met his eyes. He wasn't letting feelings show on his face, yet, John suffered the turmoil inside along with him.

"How many-"

"Six months. Probably more." Silence fell between the two. Sherlock had stopped typing but he determinedly kept his eyes on the laptop. John bit inside of his cheek.

"And when were you going to tell me?" John asked, anger blending with hurt, panic and longing. Sherlock's gaze faltered. "You weren't going to tell me, were you?" Sherlock remained silent.

John got off the armchair. It was too difficult to look at him. Sherlock's fingertips grazed against his elbow, "John-"

"You think it's a bloody joke, don't you?" John hissed, trying to keep breathing in control. He whirled around and took an angry step towards Sherlock who retreated just an inch back. "You think that I'm around because of some bloody Soulmate connection and I would be running off the first chance I get?"

"Wouldn't you?"

"Of course not, you git!" John near yelled as he took another step towards where Sherlock was sitting. "I like going on crime scenes with you. I like the chasing, the takeaways, watching the stupid telly and everything that comes in between." I like being with you, John almost whispered the last bit. He hoped -God, he hoped- Sherlock didn't read it on his face.

But Sherlock did. His eyes went soft around the corners as John looked down in them. He spoke slowly, no louder that John's own weary breaths. "Nobody has said that to me before."

"I'm not nobody," John said, becoming aware of the lessening space between them but he couldn't, and now he wouldn't, stop. The endless cycles of birth-and-death had exhausted them both as the unknown, unidentifiable and yet stronger than ever force brought them closer.

"You never were," Sherlock whispered. His voice cracked as John's palms slid up to his cheeks and cradled the base of his skull with impossible softness. Both men didn't realise this simple step could feel so much like home.

"Tell me you want this, Sherlock," John whispered. Their position allowed him to gaze down in the detective's eyes. He inched closer between Sherlock's knees. Sherlock's eyes were fixed on his while so many unnamed emotions flashed in them. John could have stayed like this forever.

John waited for his answer as his fingers brushed Sherlock's cheeks. He was afraid the overwhelming feeling inside him would break him down right there and the pieces would be too small, too sharp to put together ever again.

In a small whisper Sherlock said, "Bond with me."

That was all it took.

John's lips crushed to Sherlock's as the pent up emotions filled them both. Sherlock's arms encircled around his waist and pulled him to his chest. John tilted Sherlock's head to get a better access to his mouth. He pulled him closer to his body, to his being because it just wouldn't feel close enough. An erratic moan which sounded almost like sob broke from Sherlock's throat. The spidery fingers sneaked around his waist, pulling him in. Taking the advantage of Sherlock's open mouth, John slid his tongue inside the cupid shaped lips that had pronounced so many curses and vile accusations. Right now he couldn't find a better place for his tongue as it blended with Sherlock's. The heat of his body, the scent which he had tried not to inhale too deeply, overwhelmed him. But Sherlock was there steadying him on his lap, stroking his jaw.

"Come to bed with me," he whispered.

Sherlock's thin fingers pulled John's shirt out of the trouser. John couldn't keep from moaning as the cold fingers touched the bare skin of his stomach for the first time. The detective's clever fingers started unbuttoning his shirt, taking their time about. When his shirt was entirely unbuttoned, John saw Sherlock's head leaning in towards his chest before the soft lips kissed on his heart.

"Sherlock," John moaned as Sherlock's deft lips explored more of his skin. "Sherlock, bed. Please."

Sherlock looked up at him from under the dark lashes. And with a last kiss right on John's nipple, he said, "Yes. Yes."

They were kissing again as soon as Sherlock got to his feet. It was unusual for John, to stretch his neck to kiss his partner. But it wasn't unpleasant. God, it was probably the most erotic thing he had ever done.

John made quick work of Sherlock's shirt and threw it on the floor while he was pushed towards the general direction of Sherlock's bedroom. Sherlock's lips never left his. John pushed him gently against the doorframe that separated the kitchen from the living room. An impatient whinge came from Sherlock and his eyes opened, indicating slight irritation for being interrupted. John didn't pay it much attention. He was rather busy absorbing bare-chested Sherlock before him.

"God, look at you," John whispered, utterly mesmerised. His hands roamed around on Sherlock's flat stomach and chest. His skin was coloured with a beautiful shade of pink. John curled his left hand around the detective's neck, "Perfect." John kissed Sherlock's neck. "So beautifully perfect."

Sherlock almost whimpered. John saw his eyes went wide, before he closed them shut as he crushed his mouth on John's. The kiss that followed was fierce. John let Sherlock push him against the table and deepen the kiss.

Sherlock didn't wait when they separated for air. Taking John's hand in his, he pulled him towards his bedroom.

Once inside John pushed Sherlock gently against the door, clicking it shut before claiming his mouth again. God, it felt as if every single moment in his life had led him to this. He kissed his Soulmate as their connection strengthened beyond the intensity John thought it was capable to achieve.

Sherlock slowly and firmly took them to the bed before he sat on it, pulling John between his knees, keeping him close.

"Are you sure, John?" The doctor slipped his hand to cradle Sherlock's face and nodded.

Yes, I'm sure. I want you, I need you. I want to be with you forever and nothing is going to come between us ever again because I'm John Watson and you're Sherlock Holmes and I'm in love with you with every single fiber of my being.

John pushed Sherlock back on the bed until his curls were rested on the white fabric of pillow. Their lips only separated to come up for air but never left each other's skin. Their remaining clothing was discarded while the russet skin explored the ivory skin.

"John," Sherlock sobbed in John's hair and his hand slid further down. He tentatively held his Soulmate's manhood in his fingers. Everything broken inside him felt as if it was mending. He felt frighteningly whole.

"I would wait all these lifetimes again for this, for you," John whispered. Sherlock closed his eyes, pulling him impossibly closer. "Worth it."

"Do you mean it?" Sherlock whispered in John's hair. His hands clawed at his back. In that one question, John could feel all the rejection the detective had received all his life. John's heart clenched painfully.

John bent down to kiss Sherlock's skittish pulse beating in his neck, "Always."

He kissed Sherlock's neck again. Before he could move away, Sherlock stretched his neck on the other side, giving John more access. The doctor flicked his finger on the head of Sherlock's cock, eliciting yet another moan from the man. John kissed the pale expanse of the detective's neck with a little of teeth, enough to leave a mark.

"Now, John," Sherlock begged. "Please. Now."

"Yes, oh god yes." Before Sherlock could direct him, John was opening the drawers, looking for the lube.

"Second drawer from the top. Right corner," Sherlock said.

John found the lube precisely where Sherlock had said it would be. He squirted generous amount of it on his fingers as he moved to sit between Sherlock' legs. The detective parted his legs further to give more access.

"You're amazing," John said, looking at Sherlock's body spread below his. Sherlock closed his eyes. "So fucking amazing."

John slowly inserted tip of his finger inside Sherlock. The man moaned and pushed down to sink in deeper until every inch of his index finger was inside. John swallowed around the haziness when Sherlock broke a sinful man. Sherlock made an impatient noise until John filled him with second finger.

"Now, John," Sherlock groaned. "Now."

Yes, oh God yes.

John couldn't speak. He didn't have to. Sherlock's long fingers wrapped around his neck, pulling him for kiss. He kissed with such softness that made John's heart melt. They were doing this; they were bonding. John closed his eyes, letting the kiss engulf them, letting it wash any doubt he ever had in the past.

Sherlock's other hand wrapped around John's cock until it touched his hole. John whimpered. He opened his eyes to look down at his Soulmate. His eyes was dark as night. His hair was glued to his scalp and skin was flushed. John had never seen a more beautiful sight.

Everything slowed as John pushed in. Their connection swallowed them deeper and deeper, engulfing them entirely from rest of the world, righting every wrong; fixing every fault. It was something that reduced both men to nothingness, and yet, it meant everything. John wondered why he had denied himself of this. It was so right and perfect and extraordinary.

Every nerve in his body was tingling. His skin was sparking, as if it was fusing with Sherlock's. He could hear his heart beating along with the other, louder than ever. It was too bright. John closed his eyes against the light. He could still see the brightness but Sherlock's death grip on his back anchored John to him. Their Souls were connecting; finding their counterparts and uniting, filling the void of lifetimes spent apart.

The connection was becoming stronger than ever- almost like a physical entity joining them both never to separate again- as they came apart. Their hearts continued to beat in sync, reminding them of their bond that had just broken the cycle of life and death for them and united them for ever.

John wasn't sure how long they stayed there, wrapped in each other's arms as the connection was made. He didn't open his eyes. It was peaceful like this. The glow was fading into warmer, serene coulours. The connection didn't feel overpowering anymore. It felt calming.

John opened his eyes to look at his Soulmate. His eyes were still closed. John smiled down at him. He was bonded to Sherlock. And to feel his heart beating stronger than ever along with his, he knew this moment was everything he had ever wanted in not just this life but all the lives they had spent apart.

John softly kissed the pale skin of Sherlock's neck as he listened to his slowly steadying heartbeat. The afterglow was fading more rapidly than John would have liked.

"Are you okay?" John asked, kissing Sherlock's jaw again as he relaxed his head in the crook of his neck. When Sherlock didn't answer, he rested his chin on the back side of his palm splayed on his bonded Soulmate's heart. Sherlock's eyes were tightly closed and crinkled as if in pain.

"Sherlock?" John asked, rising further up in alarm to look at him. The pleasure was entirely replaced by something dark he didn't want to feel. "Sherlock, talk to me," he begged, cupping Sherlock's face in his palms. A tiny tear appeared at the corner of his eye.

John winced at the sight, "Sherlock, look at me." A sob now. "Look at me, god damn it!"

Two long arms encircled John, clutching desperately at the skin. John dipped his head to the bony crook of Sherlock's shoulder, breathing him in. Sherlock's sobs reduced to heavy breathing, but the man's eyes were still closed.

"Hey," John urged. "Was it not good for you?"

An irritated sigh came as a reply. The arms around him unfolded to shield his closed eyes from John, taking the warmth along with them.

John felt worse than he felt a moment before. He wasn't sure where the feeling was initiated. "Do you… Do you, uh, regret it?" Even as John brought himself to say the words as neutrally as he could, he couldn't keep the ache away.

Sherlock's shoulder tensed. No, that wasn't a good sign. John wanted to shake him to sense, to make him say something, anything. But Sherlock's cold feature didn't change. When Sherlock's eyes opened, there was an edge to them.

"What happens to Mary now?"

John tensed involuntarily. No, he didn't think it as a mistake; it wasn't, but they had kept Mary in the dark. Even if it had happened suddenly, it wasn't right. It wasn't something he would do. It was something his father would have done it.

"Leave, John," Sherlock said in a pained voice. John cringed.

"Do you… do you really want me to?" John asked. It hurt to say it. Sherlock's eyes were glued to the ceiling. John knew his Soulmate was just trying to avoid looking at him. John slid down to the bed from Sherlock's chest and sat looking down at him, begging the man to spare him a look. "Sherlock, talk to me. We can fix this."

Sherlock huffed a humourless laugh. "There's nothing to fix. Go to Mary. This was a mistake."

Anger spiked through John's heart. He couldn't listen to the coldness in Sherlock's voice. He didn't know which feelings were his and which Sherlock's anymore, nor did he care. Looking at Sherlock's distant face, he wondered if Sherlock was feeling anything at all.

"You think bonding was a mistake?" John's voice rose. "Just to get me in bed so you can escape the stupid birth-death cycle, was it? Well done. Got whatever you wanted in the end. As always." Sherlock didn't speak nor did he look at him. John ran fingers through his hair. He couldn't take it anymore. "Fine. I'll go."

He got out of the bed, trying with all his power not to look at his Soulmate. He put on his pants and jeans as fast as he could with trembling hands, throbbing leg and watery vision. His jumper was somewhere in the hall. He turned the door knob but his treacherous feet faltered before exiting.

"Goodbye, Sherlock," John's voice wavered. Standing near the door, he almost looked sideways at his Soulmate for the last time. But he didn't.

John left without a glance back, oblivious to Sherlock's heart wrenching weeping silenced by the pillow.

"I'm sorry," John whispered from his place beside Mary. He wondered if he should take her slightly shaking hands in his but he didn't, no longer knowing if he was allowed to. She wasn't looking at him. She wasn't even crying. John had anticipated crying. He had prepared for it, but it never came. It felt as if she was expecting it to happen all along.

"You won't change your mind?" She whispered.

John swallowed but shook his head. With a little bob to her head, John knew she understood. She didn't ask anything more.

"You are nothing like your father," she whispered. John didn't look at her. Her fingers closed around the engagement ring he had given her one long month ago. He watched as they removed it. Without saying a word, she took his hand in hers and gently lowered the ring on it. Her digits pressed against his, enclosing the ring in his palm as his fingers encased it away from sight. John couldn't speak. His throat tightened.

He didn't look up until she had walked to the door and turned to say, "Goodbye, John," before closing the door to their apartment after her with a final, firm jerk.

John rested his palm on his heart as he sat with his forehead resting against the cold window of the cab. The night outside was bustling with energy. John was feeling exactly opposite. He felt sick to his stomach. He wasn't sure if it was due to the nervousness or one of many side effects of being bonded. He was nervous, sure, but he knew the man at the other end of their connection was in misery.

The realisation didn't hit him hard and fast. It happened when he was straying in Hyde Park. After Mary had left, John sat alone in his apartment trying to make sense of things. He kept feeling worse than the moment past and the strengthened Soulmate connection didn't make things easier. There came a point when he couldn't take the silence anymore.

He had circled Hyde Park two times when his leg started throbbing. He found an isolated spot by the bushes and sat down. He determinedly avoided thinking about anything related to a certain consulting detective, though his heart made it difficult; each throb reminding him of his fingers tangled in black curls and his hands on the naked, ivory skin and a deep voice telling him that he wasn't a nobody.

He cleared his throat and blinked until the moisture in his eyes faded away. He closed his eyes and tried to block out all the images. Sherlock didn't want this. John couldn't make him feel what he felt for him. John couldn't believe he had ended up being one of those guys who sat in a park pining for the love they could never get. A humourless laugh escaped him.

The doctor wondered if he should have put up a fight for it. He wondered if thrashing things about would have worked. It wouldn't work in usual break ups but nothing with Sherlock was 'usual'. At least, breaking something would surely have given some sense of reality to it.

He hadn't fought for them, he could agree. He had left when Sherlock had asked him to and had simply left it at that. He hadn't got the answer when he had asked Sherlock how he felt. He wanted to fix this; John did. And now, as he closed his eyes and thought about how the rib-cracking hug had felt and seeing the tears escape tightly shut eyes, he knew Sherlock wanted it too.

That was how he ended up taking a cab to Baker Street. He wasn't sure what he was going to say. He wasn't completely certain he was wanted there anymore, but he knew it wasn't just his heart suffering.

The car pulled in front of 221B. John could feel his heart drumming faster as he glanced up to the window. He didn't see the tenuous figure of Sherlock Holmes looking down at him as he had hoped. Still, just being in front of 221B made him a bit more hopeful. He knocked on the door as excitement started peaking up, masking the gloomy feeling originating from the other part of his Soul for the time. John wondered what Sherlock would think of the sudden fervour. Is he feeling hopeful, too?

"Oh, hello dear-" John didn't wait to exchange Mrs. Hudson's pleasantries and bound up the stairs.

"Sherlock?" he called out as he took the stairs by twos. The door to the living room was half closed, allowing light from the fire place to filter onto the stairs. He pushed the door open in haste to come face to face with a man he didn't expect to see.

"Mycroft?" John asked, panting. He didn't wait until Mycroft replied, marching straight to the kitchen to find it empty. He started towards Sherlock's bedroom without hesitation. The hallway reminded him of their shed clothes and joining Souls.

"He's not here, Doctor," Mycroft spoke. John's steps faltered as he turned around.

"What do you mean he's not here? Where's he?" John asked as he reentered the living room. His eyes never ceased looking for the gangly figure of the detective.

"Switzerland." At that, John's eyes halted on the elder Holmes for the first time. Mycroft Holmes was dressed in an immaculate evening suit. He was standing by the fireplace. His fingers deftly held an umbrella as he posed his weight on it. Looking at the stone cold demeanor of him, John had to admit the resemblance between the two brothers ran more deeply than intelligence.

"But he was supposed to go tomorrow."

"He wanted me to arrange a special jet today. It was a sudden decision. I wondered what triggered it," Mycroft said with a tilt to his head. When John didn't answer, he said, "I admit I'm surprised to see you here."

John closed his eyes against the overpowering sense of loss. Sherlock was gone. He had lost him yet again.

"Call him back."

"I don't think that is in best interests, Doctor," Mycroft said.

John opened his eyes. "Call him back, Mycroft."

John saw Mycroft cringing at the words, but John didn't look away. He was going to fix this. He owed it to Sherlock. He owed it to himself.

"Sherlock has been admitted in the facility, Doctor Watson. Any external contact is prohibited-"

"But you can bring him back. Sherlock's told me all about you."

Mycroft didn't talk but kept his eyes firmly on the man. John didn't turn away. He let the elder Holmes see through him. If he was as precise as Sherlock, he would see his solemnity.

When Mycroft spoke his voice was firm and authoritative. "I have experienced much hardship to get him into this facility, Doctor Watson. Whatever you are seeking out of the relationship between you two is not going to happen as you'd like it to. I'm not going to take chance for him to give in to his addiction yet again."

"No, you don't understand-"

"What I understand, Doctor Watson, is that Sherlock is not a man of many sentiments. I cannot allow you to make connection with my brother and then leave him for a wife and kids. You chose that over him. He was lucky to have found you but he might not be able to recover from the loss. I will not let that happen."

"He is not a child for you to take all his decisions for him, Mycroft." John spoke through gritted teeth. He was hurting and, god, it wasn't just his Soul.

"He is not, but I have already made the mistake of trusting him with his own life. I shall never repeat it."

Silence settled around them. Mycroft's cold, calculating eyes never wavered from John's angry and defeated pair. John knew the man was right. He understood the logic. But he didn't want Sherlock to spend God-knows-how-long in some facility, thinking he had lost John forever. Sherlock's tendency of self destruction didn't help either. He wanted the man to know he was needed; that he was loved.

"We're bonded," John said, trying his last offence. That seemed to take Mycroft by surprise. John continued, "Sherlock and I are bonded. I need him here, Mycroft. I am here to fix this."

Mycroft looked at John skeptically. He didn't believe it. "Mycroft, you have to believe me. We're bonded and I am willing to do everything I can to make this work. Sherlock thinks I don't want this but I do. And I know he wants this as much," John said, his palm resting on his steady heart.

Mycroft Holmes didn't speak for a long time. His eyes were gauging John's every movement and John let him. Every passing second was adding a heavy weight on his heart and John wanted to end it all; the misery, the ache and the torture of their Souls.

Mycroft straightened his position. John could almost see his brain carefully picking out words. "Sherlock will come back when he is fully recovered. I cannot say how long it will take but I can assure you, Doctor Watson, that I will personally make sure he returns to you when he is ready. He needs this as much as he needs your companionship." John's eyes followed Mycroft as he walked to the stairs, processing what he had just heard.

"Take care, John," Mycroft said. He hesitated by the door as he added, "I'm glad he found you."

With that Mycroft Holmes was gone, leaving John in silence. His legs found the chair and his body dropped upon it. He buried his face in his hands. An uncontrollable sob escaped his lips. He hadn't lost Sherlock, not yet, but it didn't stop from feeling like he had lost great chunk of himself. He berated himself for not telling Sherlock how much he wanted him, how much he loved him. The man had spent most of his life being rejected and John had done just that. He hadn't fought for him. He hadn't made him see his feeling for Sherlock ran deeper than the Soulmate connection. And now, sitting alone in a once warm place, he was left with the uncertain feeling if he'd ever be allowed to reenter Sherlock's life ever again.

It wasn't until well past midnight when John got up. His legs were shaky and joints paining from sitting in one position for far too long. His hands shook as he took out his phone and typed. The message remained undelivered, waiting for the recipient to turn on the network.

Six months. Probably more.

He would wait. He had waited countless lifetimes before. One more didn't matter.

Eight months later

To: Sherlock Holmes
I would wait all these lifetimes again. For you. Always.
-JW
(Delivered)

We're finally at the end!

Well, this isn't really an end. I'm working on the Sherlock's version of the story. It is nearly done and it'll be about 2k words long. I'm planning to post it by next weekend. Don't forget to subscribe to the story! I'm also thinking of writing what happens after Sherlock comes back but I'm not entirely sure if people would want to read it.

Thanks so much to my beta, Thefacelesswriter for sticking with me. Thanks to you for leaving kudos, comments and messages on Facebook. I've gotten enormous support from you lovely people out there and without you all I probably would have stopped writing or posting.

If you want to say hi, here's my facebook page Hamish. John Hamish Watson, in case you're looking for baby names. Let's all fangirl together! 3

And lastly, this is awkward, my cat sat on the laptop while I was posting. She might have typed something silly. If you find any mistakes do let me know.

See you soon, lovelies! *awkward exit*