The harsh December wind was blowing merciless across the coast, and normally John would have loved it. On a windy day like this the coast was always completely empty but for him, for no one else was willing to face the cold that would try to chill you right to the bones. The wind was blowing so strongly that the waves were higher than normal, and foam was constantly blown into your face. Being at the seaside on a day like this usually made John feel defiant and sturdy, his body taking in all the energy of the wind.

Today, it only made him melancholic. He had never been particularly good at saying goodbye, and over the last few month this funny little village at the end of the world had found a way straight into his heart. Knowing that they would leave for London the next morning should make him happy, and most of the time it did, but right now he felt like Achitlibuie was exactly the place he wanted to be for the rest of their lives.

And could he be blamed for it? Ever since the Gibson case had been solved, Sherlock's condition had improved, slowly but steadily, and John was absolutely sure that the Scottish surroundings had helped just as much as he had himself. They had spent August and the better part of September getting used to the fact that they were really a couple, and it had kept them busy for the time being. In October, Sherlock's attacks of tiredness suddenly came to an end, and it had already been November when he had had the last relapse into his dark, self-loathing mood.

So when he had suggested returning to London between Christmas and New Year, in this funny, almost shy way he had now when he really wanted something from John, it had sounded like a good idea. John had understood that starting the next year back home was very important to Sherlock, and when he had finally become restless at the beginning of December John had known that they had made the right decision.

John himself was looking forward to returning to London, too. He was missing the pulse of the city, the insane amount of people, the sheer business of the place. And the cases. Oh God, the cases. He could only imagine how glorious it would be, them being on a case together, not just friends and colleagues any longer, but lovers.

And still … And still John did not feel like leaving tomorrow. At first, he had thought it was because he had grown so fond of Achitlibuie. But now, sitting in the harsh December wind, it dawned to him that it was only partly true. What was really nagging at him was how their relationship had settled into a wonderful routine, and there was no telling how London was going to change that.

"Of course things will change, but surely not for the worse" he suddenly heard Sherlock's voice right next to his ear, and he jumped involuntarily. But only a little, truth to be told. You could not be in a romantic relationship with Sherlock Holmes without getting used to the fact that he would suddenly appear out of thin air next to you. John mustered him, and couldn't help but smile at the sight. His cheeks were flushed from the cold, curls flying around his head wildly, due to Sherlock's strict refusal to wear a cap. A refusal that had left him with a mean cold in October and an excellent immunity system afterwards.

Sherlock caught his glance and smiled back casually, and for the nth time John couldn't help but marvel at how much at ease Sherlock was with their relationship now. Even with gloves it was way too cold for embraces, and so John just moved closer, until he was leaning against Sherlock's tall figure. "Surely not," he agreed, half shouting to be heard against the wind. He felt Sherlock nod against the back of his head, and for a while they remained standing like that.

"I'm going to miss this place," John admitted then, for the first time voicing the thought that had been wandering around his head for two weeks now.

In his back, Sherlock pressed even closer, placed a kiss into his neck, and said, "I need to show you something."

With that he spun around, striding back to the coastal street, leaving John to hurry and follow. Which he did, of course, as always. They walked wordlessly side by side for a while, until they turned left and the quiet road led them to one of the little white huts typical for that part of Achitlibuie. In front of it, Sherlock stopped so suddenly that John almost ran into him. "What do you think?", Sherlock asked, sounding unusually eager.

John felt himself frown. He knew the hut. It had belonged to an old man who had died before they had arrived here in summer. For a while it had been occupied by Christopher, his younger brother. Only a few weeks ago he had moved to Ullapool, to be closer to his daughter. It had been empty ever since. John was close to asking "What about it?" when the answer to this question suddenly dawned on him. His jaw slacked. "The cottage?" he asked, and Sherlock nodded, carefully avoiding John's glance.

"I've always thought about retiring in Sussex when we're old," he explained, even faster then when deducing or showing of, "you know, in a little cottage with a garden and bee-hives and and probably even a ridiculous dog you would hold dear, and this climate surely won't do us any good should one of us catch arthritis, and it would be far away from any friends or family members that would still be alive, but this is where it started, were we started, and we could go to the seaside everyday where we first kissed and wander the hills we've grown so fond of, and every now or then we could visit London should we miss it too much ..."

His voice trailed of, and he still avoided making eye contact with John. It took only a little thinking to figure out why. "You have already bought it," John stated rather than asked, and Sherlock nodded slightly, eyes trained on the cottage. John thought that he should feel left out, but didn't. Instead, a wave of warmth flooded his stomach. "You have bought a place for us to grow old together?"

The warmth he felt must have made its way into his voice, for Sherlock turned to face him abruptly, cheeks flushed. "Yes," he said, mustering John closely. Then his face lit up, and his shoulders relaxed so much that John could see it even though the warm coat was hiding most of Sherlock's silhouette. He started to grin, and John grinned back.

Later they would have to discuss what to do with the cottage in the meantime, would have to travel back to London to face everyday life, would have to figure out more than one major issue on the way to growing old together. But for now, they stood huddled against each other, facing the cold wind, looked at the cottage and cherished another of those little perfect moments.

Notes:

Big thanks to all who have followed Crossing Bridges regularly and to all who left comments. Your feedback was encouraging and heartwarming. I hope you enjoyed the end!

Enormous thanks again to the armada of people who helped bringing Crossing Bridges to life, by beta-ing, giving advice and telling me honestly where the flwas were hidden. You've all been fantastic!