Apologises for the long delay, for the last few months I have had no internet. This is technically the last chapter, but there will be a very short epilogue at some point. Thank you to everyone for being patient. And a special thanks to those of you who reviewed Chapter 11. I hope you all enjoy this chapter.

John made his way into his room and let out a sigh, things downstairs were really getting out of hand. How and why was everyone so embroiled with himself and Sherlock? It seemed everyone had an opinion or an agenda. He sat down heavily on the bed, he suddenly jumped up quickly letting out a scream as the bed beneath him began to move and a figure began to emerge like a mummy from a horror film from underneath the coats.

He looked down, reaching for a gun that wasn't there. 'Sherlock?'

Sherlock let out a bored sigh. 'Even a child could have deduced that John.'

'What are you doing in my bedroom?'

'I was bored.' he replied simply.

'So you decided to hide under a pile of coats in my bedroom?'

'Yes.'

John sighed again and sat heavily on his bed. 'I'm still angry at you.'

Sherlock closed his eyes and made no attempt to reply as he lay back into the pile of coats.

'Do you even care that I'm angry at you?' John asked with exasperation.

'Not particularly.'

'Brilliant. Well if you want me, I'll be downstairs enjoying my birthday party with people who actually care about me.' John stared intensely at Sherlock, waiting for anything that would contradict his last statement. He looked down at Sherlock and his eyes widened in shock as he looked at his trousers. 'What's that?'

'After years of service in the military, you don't recognise a gun when you see one? You do disappoint me.'

John raised an eyebrow. 'Why do you have a gun?'

Sherlock sighed and pulled himself up into a sitting position. 'I thought that would be obvious. I have a gun because I plan to use it.'

John quickly surveyed his bedroom walls for signs of bullet holes. 'I would appreciate it if you did not go shooting holes in my room.'

'I'm not going to use the gun on your walls John; I'm going to use it on Mary.' Sherlock stated simply, at if it was the most normal thing in the world.

John began to splutter. 'You're going to murder my fiancée?'

Sherlock sighed in a bored manner. 'Not murder John, injure.'

'Well that makes all the difference in the world.' squeaked John, his voice getting higher by the minute.

'Before you disturbed me, I was debating which area of the body would take the longest time to recover.'

John again sat down on the bed, trying to convince himself that he was hearing things. Had everyone lost their mind? 'Sherlock, you do realise that you can't go around shooting people just because you feel like it?'

Sherlock gave John an indignant look. 'Why not? Mycroft does it all the time.'

'Not in front of police officers.'

'I'm sure Lestrade wouldn't mind.' said Sherlock.

'Wouldn't mind?' asked John angrily, 'Wouldn't mind? Sherlock I forbid you to hurt Mary.'

'Well I forbid you to go to France then.' he replied childishly.

John threw his arms up in frustration. 'That's what this is about? You don't want me to leave. Why didn't you just say?'

'Isn't it obvious John? I knew it would lead to this tedious conversation, in which you'd want to talk about feelings that I am not capable of. You need someone who is whole and can give you what you want.'

John growled in frustration. 'Sherlock I don't want that, I just want you.'

Sherlock shifted along the bed and sat next to John, looking into his eyes. 'I don't love you, I don't even know if I'm capable of love. I just know that I want you to be mine, all mine and nobody else's. I just want you to stay by my side; but what could I offer you in return? The most I could give you is me. Some how I don't think that is enough'

John took his hand in his and smiled softly. Sherlock did not pull his hand away, allowing John to lace their fingers together.

'Well it's a start isn't it?' said John quietly, a soft smile spreading across his lips.

'John.' said Sherlock, for once looking nervous. 'You do realise what you're about to agree to? Once you agree to be mine, I won't ever allow you to ever date another man or woman again. You'll be mine, nobody else's.'

John sighed and rolled his eyes. 'Sherlock I know what I'm getting myself into and I am aware that you don't like to share. What you seemed to forget is that I don't like to share either.'

Sherlock allowed a smirk to grace his lips at his response 'It seems we are reaching an understanding. May I kiss you again?'

John nodded and the two leaned in and allowed their lips to brush innocently for a few seconds.

'Don't you dare think this means that I forgive you for the last few weeks.' said John pulling away.

Sherlock silenced him with another kiss and much longer kiss.

John pulled away again and sighed, looking at the man who had changed his life so significantly. 'You don't have to love me Sherlock. I don't mind if we spend our whole lives running around London solving crimes and nothing else. But I have a feeling we'll learn how to love together.'

'John?'

'Yes?'

'Do shut up and kiss me.'

Downstairs the entire living room of 221B Baker Street were cheering loudly. Anderson sniffed loudly as Mary handed him yet another tissue.

'You know what this means?' said Mrs Hudson happily. 'I'll need to go out tomorrow and find myself a wedding hat.'

Mycroft offered her a rare genuine smile. 'I was thinking of a September wedding, I know a lovely little bakery that could cater for the event.'

Mary rolled her eyes at the two of them. 'I thought you two were done meddling.'

Both Mrs Hudson and Mycroft looked at her with their eyes glinting.

'Done meddling?' laughed Mycroft. 'You silly girl. Don't you realise, the meddling has only just begun.'

Lestrade got up from the sofa and quickly turned off the television. He received a number of groans in response.

'Why did you do that for?' asked Anderson, seeming almost upset that the show was now over. 'It was just starting to get good in there.'

Lestrade smiled at them all gently. 'Sometimes things are better left to the imagination.'