This final chapter (sob-sniff) is dedicated to all the people who reviewed. I would almost certainly not have completed this without your support and kindness. But I'd like to give a special mention to:

Artemis Fortune, bookgirl 121, power0girl, Riddikulus-Grin, & virus-of-blossoms. I put a stupid amount of time into that list, and I'm mortally afraid of missing somebody who reviewed a huge amount of chapters. I give you a thousand apologies if I did. Enjoy the final chapter.

John held Sherlock, held him tightly. He could feel the thudding heart, the trembling breath, the shaking body. And it only made him cling the more desperately.

Because Sherlock was finally back. And he had forgiven him. And nothing past that mattered.

"I love you." he repeated, pressing a light kiss to Sherlock's neck.

Sherlock's breath stuttered, but neither of them moved.

It was John that eventually pulled away with a regretful sigh. He stared into those gorgeous eyes, resisting the urge to kiss all the uncertainty in their depths away. Sherlock needed space, at least until this whole thing was sorted out.

Sherlock gazed back at him, lips slightly parted as his eyes skittered over John's face, the very slightest frown creasing his smooth forehead.

John allowed himself the small pleasure of brushing a strand of curly black hair behind Sherlock's ear, swallowing hard.

"I'm sorry." he said softly.

Sherlock gave the very, very faintest nod, and gently captured his lips. Their arms wound round each other again, but neither took the kiss past a tender moving of the lips.

It was fragile and delicate. But full of feelings, fears and hopes. It was meaningful, soft and loving. John was just relieved that Sherlock has accepted his apologies, however inadequate.

He pulled away as he felt Sherlock's movements grow bolder. However much he just wanted to pour himself into the kiss, it wouldn't solve any problems. He stood on tiptoe to kiss the sculpted nose of the detective, and then gently, almost afraid of breaking him, he pushed him onto the sofa, and joined him, relishing the contact of their thighs pressing together.

"We need to talk, Sherlock." he said, lacing the other man's hand with his.

Sherlock seemed to cower slightly, but nodded, large grey eyes steadily keeping eye-contact.

"Why, John?" he asked quietly, his voice sounding flimsy compared to the overwhelming silence of before.

John pressed his hand. Even though he knew that behind it all, Mycroft had been meddling, he still couldn't help feel guilty. The pain was reflected in Sherlock's eyes. Pain caused by his actions.

"I was angry... I was afraid, Sherlock. I was afraid I was one of your experiments. A plaything, which you would discard after a few days. And, when you ignored me when the case arrived, it brought all that up to the surface..."

Sherlock frowned, eyes fluttering in confusion.

"But... Once you left, I sent you-"

"I know! But I didn't get them..." he said.

Sherlock's eyes lit up angrily, and his grip on John's hand tightened.

"Mycroft."

"Indeed. He spouted some rot about commitment. But he was the one that got you detained at the yard, and stopped me getting any texts."

"But, he didn't detain me. I nearly strangled Anderson, and they kept me in." Sherlock said.

John smirked slightly.

"Well, I suppose that's not the point. He would have had a backup plan."

There was a pause.

"I always said he was an insufferable bastard." Sherlock said, the ghost of a smile flitting over his features.

John smiled back, then it faded, and he hesitated.

"Will you forgive me?" he asked.

He hoped he knew what the answer was, but there was that one percent chance he was wrong.

"Of course. I'll always forgive you. I hope you offer the same feeling." Sherlock replied.

"Yes." John said simply, bringing his lips back to Sherlock's in a firm, desperate kiss.

The moment he woke up, John knew that everything was right. The warmth pressed against his side. The hair tickling his cheek. And he couldn't stop the drowsy smile springing to his lips.

Sherlock was back.

And he was never letting him go again.

He pulled the sleeping detective closer to him, risking breaking the spell to open his eyes and look into a face he adored and admired.

He didn't think it was possible to love somebody as much as he loved Sherlock. Every point of contact made his skin tingle. Every sleepy breath from his sleeping companion made his heart clench.

He felt honoured to be the only one loved and trusted on this level by the great man. By the genius.

He half wanted Sherlock to wake. But on the other hand he saw him sleep so rarely, it was something of a treat to see that face, so young without the timeless eyes. Eyes which had seen death, violence and abuse on a level nobody should. Eyes which had that blinding, painful intelligence. The grey orbs were so bright. So alive. They mirrored Sherlock's personality. They truly were his window's to the soul.

He shifted carefully, but the slight movement had Sherlock stirring slightly, the smallest of smiles twitching his pale lips. Lips that just begged to be kissed.

John gently brushed his against them, and grey eyes opened.

"I'm glad you're back." Sherlock said simply, sighing in content.

John just pulled him closer, silently promising never to leave. Never to make him hurt again. Never to be without him.

Because he couldn't go on without that tall figure by his side. His heart.

He managed to squirm from Sherlock's lax grip. However much he wanted to stay, he felt that getting on with the day would be a more profitable use of his time. Along with the fact it was almost eight thirty.

Sherlock groaned at the loss, but he was only still half wake, and after a few moments, curled down on himself, nestling his curly topped head against the pillow.

John quickly showered and dressed, trying to be as quiet as he could. Then he hurried downstairs. The flat was rather messy. In his two days of waiting, he hadn't gotten much done. Just sitting, waiting, hoping. However sad it was, he had learnt not to ever trust Mycroft, and was afraid Sherlock would never come back.

Not that sitting waiting would help. But it had made him feel better at the time.

So he cleaned up the kindly donated meals, courtesy of Mrs. Hudson, and made breakfast.

It was fifteen or so minutes later that there was a knock on the door, and he opened it to reveal Greg Lestrade.

"Oh. Greg, hi." he said, ushering the officer in.

"Morning John. I'm sorry for coming round so early." Lestrade said, and he two of them hurried into the living room.

Once he had Lestrade comfortably seated with a biscuit, he made a batch of tea, finally sitting down opposite the detective.

"What can I do for you?" he asked.

Lestrade dunked his slightly stale biscuit, managing to avoid it crumbling into his tea.

"I came about Sherlock. He turned up a few days ago, and just sat on the sofa, and now he's gone."

Ah, so that was where Sherlock had gone.

"He's fine now. Upstairs." he said, realising an instant too late what the implications for Sherlock being upstairs were.

Lestrade didn't notice however, either not aware of the layout of their accommodation, or just finding it too early to make deductions.

"Good. I was worried about him. I wanted to tell you, but he absolutely insisted I didn't call you." Lestrade said.

John nodded, a little tendril of guilt coiling round his heart again.

"Would I be going too far if I asked what he was sulking about?" Lestrade asked cautiously, curiosity oozing from his tone.

John hesitated. But now, he knew exactly what had to be done.

He wasn't going to hide his love of Sherlock like a dirty secret.

"It was a misunderstanding, over a woman." he said.

Lestrade however took quite the wrong end of the stick.

"Oh... I'm sure he'll get used to her."

John hesitated, but his courage failed him. He would tell Lestrade, just as soon as Sherlock was there to announce the happy news too.

He just gave a non committal shrug and a slight smirk.

They talked aimlessly about football for twenty minutes, before Sherlock came clattering into the room, not the least surprised to see Lestrade, merely greeting him with a curt nod, and glancing uneasily at John, questions shining from his eyes.

John gave him a small nod, and held out his hand. Lestrade looked between them, a frown on his kind features.

Sherlock was across the room in seconds, fingers twinging themselves around John's. Lestrade gave a small gasp, and almost spilt his tea all over the carpet.

"Oh." he said, eyes flitting between them.

John smiled nervously at him, then glanced at Sherlock. He'd never seen the detective look so happy, and downright smug.

"Oh. Congratulations." he said, the shock receding into a broad smile.

"Thank you." Sherlock said, bounding across the room and into the kitchen in a flash.

"How long then?" Lestrade asked.

"Over a week." John said, the time seeming ridiculously small compared to what had happened in that short time.

Lestrade nodded, then hesitated.

"I'm glad. He deserves somebody." he said.

John smiled, feeling blindingly happy at that moment.

Sherlock was back in the room, breaking the silence with his loud munching on a piece of toast.

"So, I assume you have a case, Lestrade." he said.

Obviously he had never heard of social calls.

"Er, yeah. If you want it?"

"Of course, have I ever turned down one of your cases?"

Lestrade shrugged, and downing the rest of the crumby tea, he stood, picking up his jacket.

"Now?"

"Yes please." Sherlock replied, shrugging his coat on.

They all headed to the door, Lestrade leading the way.

At the bottom, Sherlock paused, then took John's hand in his, firmly squeezing it as he laced their fingers.

John couldn't the stop his lips quriking as they stepped out onto the street, Sherlock's hand in his. As long as he could feel the warm, firm, comforting pressure for the rest of his life, he would be happy. Happier than he ever thought possible.

Right. I hope you enjoyed this story. And a thousand (million) thanks to everybody who reviewed, or just had the patience to read. Some final reviews would be lovely. And again, if you could check out my new fic, I would be grateful.

Have a wonderful life.