Still don't own anything (though I wish I did…)

Outside

The light broke out over John Watson's face as he followed Sherlock Holmes out of the church, his limp from the last three years disappearing and the ache in his stomach disappearing.

As Sherlock stopped and whirled around, signature black coat billowing behind him, John's breath caught in his throat and the magnitude of what was happening came crashing down on him.

"John Watson" Sherlock muttered, taking two great strides until he was just one small foot in front of his former friend as he gaped at him.

"H-how?" John stuttered.

"Come now John, don't be dull, we'll get to that later. Is the "how" really that important right now? Isn't the "what" much more important?"

Suddenly, the shock John was feeling shattered and the reality flooded his mind. His shock and awe were replaced with the pain and anger he had suffered through since Sherlock's disappearance. The intense hurt he had felt watching Sherlock hurtle himself of the top of the hospital. The stabbing in his chest from Sherlock reaching his hand out to him, just before he jumped. And the burning tears that had been almost constant since he checked Sherlock's wrist for the nonexistent pulse.

"Doesn't matter?" he growled, feeling his emotions overtake him. "Bloody hell! How could it not matter? You've been gone for three years Sherlock. Three bloody awful years where I've waited. I waited and lived through every day just for you. I stayed in the flat because every day I thought you might come home. I never touched your room because I didn't want to ruin anything for when you came back! I went back to bloody therapy for you Sherlock Holmes! And for what? So you could say it doesn't bloody matter?"

John was crying at this point, the tears he had been holding back all day finally pouring from eyes. With one final stride, Sherlock was standing directly in front of him and John was forced to turn his eyes away. If Sherlock was anything like he remembered, he would likely read the flush in John's face, the elevated heartbeat, and his dilated pupils and understand it without much thought at all.

"John Watson. I am sorry. Truly, painfully, horribly, and honestly sorry. I was… well I wasn't wrong-" John scoffed at this- "and I do not regret what I did, but I wish it hadn't hurt you so. I wish… I wish I could have… I wish I had…"

"Sherlock Holmes stumbles over his words, I never thought I'd see the day," John muttered, smiling sadly for the second time that day.

With that, Sherlock's eyes met John's again, more intensely this time. "You left your wedding," Sherlock stated simply.

"Yes," John replied with a curt nod, pulse quickening again.

"To follow me."

"Yes"

"The man that left with no explanation, made you believe he was dead."

"Yes"

"The man who you have hated for the last three years if this conversation has provided any insight."

"No"

"No?"

"No."

"You don't hate me?"

"No. No I don't hate you. God Sherlock, I could never hate you. It's just…"

With another small step towards John, Sherlock gave a small smile. "Just what, John?"

"Oh f'chrissakes" John muttered. Just like that, John grabbed Sherlock's face which was quite close to him at that point and brought it to his own. Sherlock's lips came crashing down onto John's, rigid and unmoving.

John held Sherlock there for a few more moments until he finally gave up as the sociopath's lips hadn't moved and the man had had no detectable reaction whatsoever. As John pulled away, he saw all the shock in Sherlock's eyes along with something else that if he hadn't known the detective, he might have mistaken for love.

"Sorry… that was… a bit not good… I'll just go. I'm glad you're not… you know… dead though," John stuttered awkwardly, turning to go.

Just as he turned, however, he felt a strong hand grab his arm, holding him where he was. "John?" Sherlock whispered, his voice full of feeling for what John believed might be the first time in his life.

"Sherlock… I think I should go… Seeing you again… it hurts. It hurts too much, Sherlock," John tried to keep his voice level, tried to stifle the emotions that had plagued him since Sherlock had left, "and I've had enough hurt the last three years."

"No, John, wait," Sherlock's voice was stronger now as he pulled John close to him again, pushing their chests against each other. Sherlock moved his hand down John's arm, settling his fingertips around his wrist as he brought it up to his own chest.

John felt Sherlock's heart beat, quick and strong, beneath his fingertips. Feeling it-feeling him there was almost too much for John. The tears welled up in his eyes again as he fixed his gaze back on the younger man in front of him.

Sherlock took a deep breath, eyes piercing into John's very soul, "I know you thought it had stopped for a long time, but this is my heart. Every beat… every second it lives is for you. I live for you, John Watson. The last three years were all for you. I know it was painful but you have to know it was wretched for me too. Molly sending me texts every other week telling me how much you were hurting, it nearly drove me out of hiding and I came bloody close to ruining the whole thing. But I didn't. I had to know you were safe. I never could have dreamed how painful it would be," Sherlock was pressing his forehead to John's now, his overwhelming scent of pure Sherlock overpowering him as he tried to remind himself that Sherlock did not feel and could never feel how he did.

"Sherlock, please. Please just don't. Please. You don't have to do this; I never would have dreamed you would feel the same. But please, don't break my heart again. Just let me go," John's voice was barely a whisper as he kept his tears at bay.

"I'm afraid I can't do that John Watson. You see, I have been alone for the past three years. In leaving you, I gave up everything. I lost my heart when I lost you and I've recently discovered that one cannot live without it."

And with that, Sherlock hesitantly brought his own lips to John's. Suddenly, John forgave Sherlock for the three years of pain and pushed himself up slightly, desperate to keep the contact. As John captured Sherlock's perfect cupid's bow between his own lips, Sherlock dropped his hand and moved his arms around John's waist, holding John to him as firmly as he could.

The pair only pulled away when they had run out of breath. John found that he had put his hands on the back of Sherlock's neck at some point during the kiss but he didn't mind. As he stared at his- his what? Lover? Friend? Detective? John smiled at this. Yes, his detective. As he stared at his detective, his Sherlock, he began to play with dark curls at the base of his neck that clearly had not been trimmed in the last few months as they were longer than they should have been. He couldn't stop himself from grinning at this thought.

"What is it, my dear Watson?" Sherlock inquired, resting his head on John's once more.

"Nothing, it's just… you're here," John felt the tears pouring out of his eyes but he couldn't bring himself to stop, "you're here and you're alive and…"

Sherlock pulled John even closer, kissing the side of his face as John nuzzled his nose into Sherlock's shoulder. "Yes. I am here. And I am not leaving. Not ever. I mean it when I say you are my heart, John Watson. I could not survive living without you for another moment."

John looked up at him in disbelief before pulling the raven-haired man down for another passionate kiss. The two stayed wrapped in each other's arms for several more minutes before returning to Baker Street where they remained in each other's embrace for the rest of the night. Or, as many others would say, for the rest of their lives.