Disclaimer: I do not, in any way, own Sherlock Holmes, all rights belong to its producers and BBC (Plus Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, I suppose), nor do I own the song Final Goodbye.

Established Johnlock.

Summary: John is going away to Afghanistan for the war and he and Sherlock spend their last night together.

A/N at the end.

Final Goodbye

It was finally here, that dreaded day. He knew they should be sleeping, after all, tomorrow was a big day for John; he just couldn't let yesterday go. So, he laid awake, desperately clutching at consciousness.

The light on his nightstand was still on, but he couldn't will his arm into moving, that would make it too final, as though submitting to the darkness was the same as relinquishing John. But, then, he'd already done that, hadn't he? Simply by allowing him to sign up for that goddamn war. Thinking of it though, John was just as stubborn as Sherlock and surely would have argued and fought until he got his way. Maybe it was better this way. At least he to spend his last night next to John rather than the lumpy couch in their living room as he often did after quarrels.

With a sigh, he finally gave in and turned his head a bit to read the neon red countdown of the alarm clock. 12:28. It wasn't as late as he thought, but he still felt exhausted, weighed down by the anxiety and fear of tomorrow. 'Maybe John is still awake', he thought, and after a long pause he turned his long body to face his love.

As he thought, John's eyes were open, staring at the ceiling, but seeing something else. Maybe his imagined view of Afghanistan. Maybe Sherlock.

"Hi", whispered Sherlock, voice strangely thick, as though close to tears. John's blue eyes looked tired and amused.

"Hi", he replied with a sleep-soft smile.

Sherlock swallowed and wondered if his next thoughts should be spoken aloud, deciding that, just for tonight, he wouldn't hold back his wonderings. So, before he could change his mind, he blurted:

"Are you nervous?", in an embarrassingly hurried whisper.

To his surprise, John didn't laugh, just glanced at him without moving his head before returning his gaze to the ceiling. There was a brief silence that was filled only with the quiet murmurings of water rushing through pipes and the soft whoosh of cars on the street below their window. Then John cleared his throat and with a sigh, briefly closing his eyes, he turned his body to face Sherlock. Curious sea-green met calculating cerulean as John finally replied.

"I'm not really sure, Sherl, but I think I am,", Sherlock opened his mouth to interject, but was silenced by The Look and John continued, "But I also know that I'm ready."

"Ready to leave me, you mean.", Sherlock muttered petulantly. He wasn't sure where that had come from and certainly hadn't meant to say it. He realized it didn't matter seeing as he wanted to hear John's reply anyway. What he got was the softening of John's eyes and the tightening of his lips as he breathed out:

"Oh, Sherlock…", before wrapping his arms around Sherlock and pulling him closer in a loose embrace.

"Is that really what you think that this is about? That I- I want to get away from you?"

Sherlock didn't reply, instead turning his face away so he didn't have to look in those unusually emotional eyes, but he didn't pull away out of John's arms, which John took as a good sign.

But how could he make Sherlock realize? Words were useless against the man, so he supposed he would need to take the physical route. He tightened his grip around Sherlock's waist and buried his head in his shoulder, breathing in tea, dull smoke, and underneath that a soft sort of vanilla and cinnamon that was uniquely Sherlock. He heard the soft "umph" of surprise that Sherlock likely didn't mean to make and laughed quietly into the warmth of his lover's neck. He swallowed nervously, unused to the weight the waiting words on his tongue held, but he knew he needed to say something for Sherlock.

"I lo-", he began, interrupted by Sherlock's voice that was for once soft, with less emotion than most, but an unusually tender amount for him.

"It's okay, John, I know.", was spoken into the curls of dirty blonde hair.

So, John settled back down, loosening his hold on Sherlock as the man twisted to get the light. They didn't need it after all. In the whisper of sheets and soft breathing, John was sure he heard a murmured:

"You're mine.", and he drifted off to sleep with a smile.

~oOo~

"It's you that I live for, and for you I'd die. So, I lay here with you until the final goodbye."

A/N: Hey guys, thanks for reading. I'd love to get some feedback as this is only my second attempt at writing fanfiction. I hope you enjoyed this little fic, constructive criticism is very welcome.

Until next time,

S.S.