A/N: AHHHHHH! I'M SO SO VERY SORRY! I know I said it would be up three Moday's ago but I forgot I was going on holidays with my family and I didn't have access to a computer! But it's done now and this is the very sappy overly dramatic ending to my first fanfic. Enjoy and don't judge me!

The Truth Beneath The Surface

Chapter 7 : In Quest of a Solution

Rain poured from the quickly darkening sky, drenching Sherlock, but he didn't even come close to noticing. He had set his mind adrift, something that he could seldom manage, to remove the temptation to pick apart his own actions. He couldn't bear it. He had let his impulses take control and now most likely lost the closest thing to a friend he had ever had. The only friend he would ever have. The realization was agonizing at best. The cold stone at his back stung his skin, the damp ground soaking his trousers. Thunder roared overhead. Sherlock's eyes opened just enough to take in the familiar line of trees. He had stood there twice now and watched his blogger pour his heart and soul into an empty grave. Twice now he had been helpless to save John from himself. Why? Why? Why? He didn't understand. Sherlock was in control of his emotions. It was something he prided himself on. So why had he done it? Why had he put his lips to John's? Sherlock absently ran a thumb over his bottom lip, remembering the taste, the feel. He closed his eyes and immersed himself in the memory; the brush of skin, the feel of John's hands fighting to keep Sherlock close, the salty sting of the tears that stained the doctor's face. He found something else in the memory this time, something he hadn't the other hundred times he'd replayed it. Happiness. He didn't feel the regret, the foreboding and self-loathing. He simply felt happy. He felt at home.

Sherlock turned his head to the sky, feeling the trickles of rain weaving over his sharp features. He wanted John. Wanted him there with him, if only so he could explain. John would think that Sherlock was playing some kind of trick on him, an experiment. But it wasn't true. Sherlock knew, deep down, just what it was. He had said 'think' before, but know he was sure.

"I'm in love with you, John Watson," Sherlock laid his confession to the world, open for God himself to hear. But Sherlock knew nobody was listening so he said it again. And again. And again and again. He said it until he felt the fresh rain mix with a saltier substance. He said it until his throat grew hoarse and his cheeks sore from smiling. He said it until he was absolutely sure it was the truth. It was the truth he'd been hiding; from the world and from himself. "I'm in love with you, John Watson…"

"Well, that's good," Sherlock leapt off the ground. Standing in front of the grave to which he'd just had his back was the army doctor; soaked to the bone, cane forgotten and barely on his feet. ",because I was hoping you'd go to dinner with me,"

"John… I…" Sherlock stammered to a halt. He, for once, was at a loss for words. The silence stretched between them, Sherlock staring, John panting. Sherlock's astute observational skills kicked in. He saw John's heaving chest. He ran here. He saw his slicked back hair. He ran fast. He saw the slight tilt to the way he was standing, the smell of flowers, the mud on his pant leg. Crashed into the florist's cart and twisted his ankle. He saw the slight part to his lips, his tongue running along its edge. At that his mind froze. He just stared. Sherlock's eyes tracked the tongue involuntarily. He felt a bolt of heat shoot straight to his groin.

"Sherlock, I'm getting soaked so could you say something?" John broke the silence, snapping Sherlock back to reality.

"John," Sherlock croaked out, his throat suddenly dry. ",you have to let me explain."

"You kissed me and I want to go to dinner. What's there to explain?"

"Why I did what I did,"

John faltered. Clearly he was expecting the worst, just as Sherlock had feared.

"Was it an experiment?" his voice came low and deadly.

"No, John, of course not! I just needed to make you understand,"

"Understand what?"

"You spoke as though you were unimportant. You called yourself broken, disgusting, filthy. I need you to understand just how far from the truth that is. No, don't interrupt me. You know how I hate it when people interrupt me. John, to me, you are what other people should aspire to be, not someone they should tread on. You are the one that fixes the broken and enlivens the saddened. You are the one that pulled me from the edge when I thought I might fall. You fixed me, John, and someone who does so much good could never have a spec of filth on them. You made me human. You made me whole. You said I taught you to look beneath the surface but that's all you see of yourself. John Hamish Watson, you are the most beautiful and pure man I'll ever know and I did what I did so that you would understand just how important you are to me and to the rest of this godforsaken city." Sherlock had been so wrapped up in his rant that he hadn't noticed that the rain had stopped and the moisture on John's face was not just due to the weather. The doctor stared at the detective and the detective at the doctor. Sherlock looked away first, unable to hold the crippling gaze of John's glassy blue eyes. "John, I'm getting soaked so could you say something?" Sherlock mimicked.

He waited for a reply but it didn't come. He looked up to see John standing no more than a foot away from him. Sherlock barely had time to gasp at the sudden proximity before a pair of lips clapped onto his. Sherlock melted into it; the touch, the feeling. He could see the light that John missed. It shone brighter than the sun. No filth could cling to him when he shone with such a dazzling light. Sherlock felt as though, just being able to stay close to that light, the grime that had shrouded him for so long had been scrubbed away. Not completely but enough to make life seem worth living again. John was the candle in the darkness. He was too good for this world and the people in it. He was too good for Sherlock.

That was the truth beneath the surface of John Watson.

The End

A/N: Tada! The very anticlimactic ending to an overly long ramble! I hope you had fun and all that jazz! Apologies if it's shit which it probably is but anyway… I have to go and do an assignment that's due in two days that I haven't started now. See you next time guys!

OH RIGHT! I forgot about the easter egg! Yeah, nobody even tried to guess it so I'm just gunna tell you. All of the chapter titles in this fic were names of the original Arthur Conan Doyle Sherlock Holmes short stories! Just a little fun on my part.

So, thanks again for reading and I'll see you later!