The One Where Coulson's Mostly Recovered (and Sherlock and John go home)

The coffee shop was one of those places that tried so hard to be quirky and off-the-wall, that it ended up being as mainstream as all the other quirky, off-the-wall cafes in New York City. On the plus side, the coffee was excellent and only over-priced, not stupidly over-priced. Plus, the owners had managed to find chairs that somehow found a balance between hard-and-uncomfortable and swallows-you-when-you-sit-down, which meant that when they settled into their seats, Coulson's face went a slightly healthier shade of grey.

John didn't ask whether Coulson was sure he was alright to leave the medical facility. They both knew that he was not, and they both knew that it didn't make a spot of difference when Coulson had made his mind up. Besides, if he put himself in any real danger, the cafe wasn't too far for HQ.

"You know," John said, sipping his coffee and gazing fondly at his friend through the thin veil of steam, "I might start to get used to all this resurrection bollocks if this keeps up."

"Two people you thought dead actually alive? I'm not sure that counts as proof of resurrection," Coulson replied dryly.

"Three," John corrected. "Sherlock let slip Ms Adler was still alive. God knows how he managed to fool even Mycroft into thinking she was dead, but that's Sherlock for you."

Coulson raised an eyebrow. "'Let slip'?" he quoted back.

"Dr Banner made a point of asking about my gun and my mental health while Sherlock was pretending not to be there. I used the opportunity to remind him that I value honesty. Sherlock felt guilty enough to reveal a couple of secrets before he realised he was being manipulated."

"He didn't mind?"

John chuckled. "I think he's to relieved that I've forgiven him to get too mad. Besides, Sherlock's a genius when it comes to unearthing secrets. When it comes to keeping them, he's about as good as the rest of us. He told me three of the locations he hides his cigarettes, all of which I knew, the reason why I got food poisoning that one time – which I could have lived without knowing – and that Ms Adler was alive."

"You're being very understanding about the whole thing."

"Am I?" John asked with a sigh, setting his mug down. "I don't – can't, really – understand it. I understand why he thinks what he did was necessary, and that's about as close as I'm going to get. I've decided not to analyse it, and keep things as simple as I can."

"I'm not sure I've forgiven Nick yet," Coulson mused.

When Coulson had believed he was dying, he'd given Fury permission to use that information to bond the Avengers. He had not expected to live. He certainly had not expected for Fury to keep his continued survival from the Avengers long after the battle for New York was over. Although Fury had explained as best he could, and he and Coulson were friends before they were employer and employee, his manipulation was something that even Coulson was struggling to process.

"The advantage is, after four threats to his manhood if he broke my heart and Sherlock finally working out that I'm in love with him, I now get fantastic sex on a regular basis," John replied, ignoring the way his heart did something stupid in his chest as he said those words. "Fury's only your friend. If he tried to give you a blowjob to say sorry, you'd probably knock him out and take him to medical, demanding to know who that really was and what was wrong with him."

Coulson huffed and rolled his eyes. "Only four?"

"Oh he got threats from all of the Avengers – I was quite touched – but it took him four to work out why everyone kept threatening to relieve him of his balls."

Coulson chuckled into his coffee. "I thought he was a genius?"

"And emotionally inept," John added cheerfully.

"You don't seem to mind."

John gave him a long look. "He wouldn't be Sherlock if he wasn't exactly as he is."

Coulson nodded, looking thoughtful.

"What about you? I heard talk about a cellist?" John asked.

Coulson didn't say anything, although the ends of his lips curled up in a tiny, self indulgent smile.

"Oh?" John prodded, curiousity getting the better of them. "Does he or she know you're alive?"

Again, he didn't reply verbally, but the smile grew a little, and he tilted his head in acknowledgement.

"Well I'm happy for you, even if you aren't going to tell me anything," John said.

"Not everyone feels the need to share the details of their love life, three-continents-Watson," Coulson remarked.

John laughed and shook his head. "God, how does that name keep following me? It's not as if I ever ran around telling everyone about it."

"No, but you fall in and out of love like it's going out of fashion, and you got that look in your eye, every time you did. Besides, it's fun to watch other people's faces when they work out that unassuming Dr Watson's a lady's man."

"Sherlock's man, now," John said, knowing that he was wearing exactly the look that Coulson had commented on. "What about you, Agent Coulson? I bet you've seen your share of continental morning afters."

Coulson chuckled again, shaking his head. "I'm afraid my love life's been rather... well, not 'dull'. But definitely steady."

"Fine, you keep your secrets," John replied, pretending to be upset, but looking far too happy to pull it off. "It's been nice catching up, even if you won't tell me any of the juicy gossip."

"I'm sorry it had to be under these circumstances."

"Don't be," John corrected him. "As soon as I talked to Fury that first time, I knew you weren't dead. If I hadn't been called in, the Avengers would probably still think you're dead, I'd still think Sherlock was dead, and Thor wouldn't have known to give you any of his magical cure-all. Besides, it's been sort of fun getting to know your wacky colleagues."

Coulson smiled at him sincerely. "You're lucky you haven't faced a world-threatening crisis, you wouldn't thank me then."

"I don't know, it might stop the team's bored hysterics," John said teasingly. "Barton, in particular, is impossible when he's got nothing to do."

"You just say that because you don't know what Natasha's getting up to."

"Romanova spends most of her free time fighting crime with the vigilante Daredevil. Which means that it's out of my jurisdiction," John informed him.

Coulson groaned. "You mean that I have a massive pile of rogue Avenger paperwork piling up on my desk?"

"You say that like you don't love paperwork."

It was strange, John considered as he continued chatting amiably with Coulson. He'd only been in America for a few short weeks, and Coulson had been conscious for less than half of that time, but he was going to miss this. Now that Coulson was up and about – his recovery period massively reduced thanks to Thor's intervention – there wasn't much need for John to stay around. It was unlikely that Coulson would ever get back to his previous physical abilities, and he still faced a couple of months regular physiotherapy, but he was already back to light desk duty.

Which meant that John, and by extension, Sherlock, would be heading home before long. John was looking forward to the cold and the damp of London, of familiar winding streets and crowds of people. He wanted to have tea with Mrs Hudson, and to go to the pub with Lestrade. And, more than anything, he was looking forward to watching Mycroft and Sherlock snipe at each other in that irritating, amusing way that led to both of the Holmes brothers being in a strop.

But he would miss the people here. They were all brash and obnoxious and caring, in their own, peculiar ways. In spite of the collection of stupid names and even more stupid looking costumes, John hoped that everything worked out alright for them. He knew that between saving the world and trying to remember to save themselves it probably wouldn't, but he hoped. He also hoped that they gave Captain America a costume that looked a little less like a target, but that was even more of a futile hope than the first.

It would be good to get home. John couldn't even imagine the looks on people's faces when they learnt Sherlock was alive. Between John, Mycroft, and Sherlock's adoring public, Sherlock's name had been cleared several months ago, so that was no longer a concern. Lestrade had not only managed to keep his job, but also finally earned the pay raise he'd been angling for for years, as well as express permission to use any civilian help he deemed necessary, so Sherlock could even return to his consultancy work.

The only real concern was the remaining sniper – John's sniper. Sherlock had been narrowing down the options, but it had been slow, dangerous work, and as soon as Stark had made contact the lead had been lost. John wasn't too worried about it. Professional snipers, he knew, were mostly in it for the money, and the chances of Moriarty still being able to pay the unknown sniper almost a year after his death were slim. Not impossible, but slim. So the chances of the sniper still being interested in John were also slim.

Sherlock wasn't so certain, naturally, but he had balanced the options and decided that returning home with John, returning to the work that he lived for, was worth whatever small risk remained. John liked to think that that the added bonus of sex had played some part in that decision, but had decided it was probably best not to ask.

And so, with only a few loose ends left, Sherlock and John said goodbye to the Avengers and their associates, and went home. There had been a few tears at their farewell – mostly from Thor – but, as Darcy reminded everyone, the internet made it a small world these days. John promised that he'd start the blog up again once he and Sherlock got back to work, much to the confusion of those who didn't know what a 'blog' was.

When they finally made it back to 221B, after some unnecessarily long explanations and hugs all around, Mycroft was waiting for them.

"I told you that you shouldn't have gone," he said, although it wasn't entirely apparent to which of them he was speaking.

Sherlock, as was his nature, immediately took offence. "Oh yes, and you always know what's best –"

John huffed his amusement, hanging his coat up on the rack and turning the kettle on before leaning against the doorframe to watch the show.

~Fin~

AN: Well. That's it guys. The end. Finito. I think I might cry. Mostly because this last chapter was terrible. So, sorry about that. I only ever planned up to how Sherlock returned. I didn't really think about the details of what would happen after. Whoops. If you like we can pretend this chapter never happened, Coulson got better, Sherlock and John went home, and everyone got hot sex. How does that seem to you guys? Also, sorry about the vagueness on Coulson's love life. My headcanon has Clint as his 'cellist' who 'went to Portland' because Loki mind-zapped him. But I didn't want to mess with the canon relationships too much.

I'd like to give a massive, massive thank you to everyone who has followed, faved, and commented (and any combination of the three) for your support. I am blown away by how popular this fic is (seriously, guys, you totally fucked with my statistics (; ) and I'm really sorry I couldn't reply to everybody's comments. I love all of you. You are AWESOME.

Finally, mostly down to peer pressure, I got a tumblr account for my fanfic. dullyelloweye dot tumblr dot com I will be posting all fic updates, and there's a masterlist (because I have AO3 and ffnet, and I don't always post to both). Feel free to send me a prompt or ask for an rp or a collab or something.

With all the love possible,
DullYellowEye
xx

PS Depending on Iron Man 3, Thor 2, Cap America 2, Avengers 2 and Sherlock S3, there is a very slim chance that I might, possibly, write a sequel to this. Maybe. But I've decided to try and concentrate on finishing all my fanfic before I start anything new, so it's a long way off yet.