A/N: I can't believe it... this is it. This is the last chapter of Post Its, and I am so overwhelmed with emotion right now. This was an incredibly hard chapter to write, having to be all emotional and all. But I really hope that you will enjoy reading this as much as I have enjoyed writing it.

Disclaimer: I do not own BBC Sherlock, sadly.

Weeks passed by in a slow, agonizing pace for both John and Sherlock. Neither had left post-it notes to each other since the day John saved Sherlock's life at Battersea Power Station, and both secretly admitted to themselves that they missed doing the one and only routine they unwillingly broke. They both fell back in to their regular, non-posting-its routine, and both disliked it very much. John more so, as he was the one to start it in the first place. Sherlock, on the other hand, still hadn't gotten the courage to speak up.

There were times, in between cases, that it seemed like the perfect time to tell John, but Fate somehow didn't want him to. He became agitated to the point that he punched Anderson's oily face when the mediocre forensics officer insulted John and his "poor taste in flatmates", clearly rendering everyone shocked at his display of violence. But Lestrade didn't even shout or chastise him for it - quite the opposite, in fact, as he casually broke the silence with:

"Finally, I've been itching to do that for five years now."

And let's just say that Anderson didn't report to work for the next month, much to Sherlock's glee and John's amusement.

Now, it had been two months since The Last Post-It, as John glumly called it, and he was almost at his wits' end with the tension he and Sherlock had between them since that night. And there was only one thing in the way of John's plan to finally come clean to Sherlock, and it was the ugly thought that:

"What if Sherlock rejects me, and I read all the signs incorrectly?"

But what the doctor didn't expect at all was for the consulting detective himself to take matters into his own hands.

It was a gloomy morning in March when John woke up to the sound of his alarm clock, signaling that it was already six o'clock. It was his day off that day, so he decided to sleep for another couple of hours, enjoying the comfort of his bed and the warmth of his pillows and blanket. The next time he woke up, he could hear the rain pelting down the windows of his room. He sat up and yawned, feeling himself smile at the thought of a cuddle weather, and immediately cast that thought aside when the image of Sherlock cuddling with him on the couch appeared in his mind.

Now's not the time to be fantasizing about your best friend, he chided himself gently. Shaking his head, he turned to the side to read the time and he was taken aback by two things.

One: it was ten o'clock and he hasn't woken up at that time in months; and

Two: there was a white skull-shaped post-it attached on top of his alarm clock.

Feeling his jaw drop open at the piece of paper, he blinked several times and shook his head hard, making sure that what he was seeing wasn't a hallucination at all. After staring at it unblinkingly for several minutes, John slowly reached a hand out to detach the paper from its spot, and read the message encoded.

I know I'm two months delayed, but - good morning. There's tea and toast prepared when you get down. :) Sherlock

John was torn between being shocked at the fact that Sherlock had written him a post-it for the first time in so long, or the fact that he just used a smiley. Feeling his heart beat erratically against his chest, the ex-army doctor got up from bed - not bothering to make his bed or change his clothes. Instead, he grabbed his robe that was draped over the chair beside his desk and put it on, placing the post-it inside one of its pockets before going out of his room, feet bare and hair completely messy - standing at different angles.

Sherlock mentally patted his back when he heard John's footsteps going down the stairs. He had posted the note minutes before the doctor roused from his sleep, hoping that the doctor would find it something to smile about - especially the fact that he let himself use that blasted smiley. But it was a sacrifice he was willing to make, of course. He was sitting on his arm chair, still in his pajamas sans the robe, and started to pretend to read the newspaper a moment before John walked into the room via the kitchen door. He observed from his peripheral vision that the doctor turned to look at him, a soft smile dancing on his lips before turning around to sit and eat his breakfast.

"Good morning, Sherlock," said John by way of greeting as he sat down on the chair in front of the table.

Expecting Sherlock to not reply at all (as he usually does every single time), John was unprepared for his flatmate's response.

As for Sherlock, he looked up from the dull article he was staring at when John greeted him, and felt his breath hitch at the sight before him. He stared, mouth slightly open, at John wearing nothing but striped boxers and a white v-neck shirt, completely donned by that god-awful robe that made him look like that bloke from a movie they watched out of boredom - The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Sherlock recalled. His eyes moved up and felt himself swallow when he saw the state of John's hair.

Bed hair, Sherlock mused to himself, surprised that he sounded in awe. Well, maybe was - is in awe. I like John with bed hair, it makes him look... ruggedly handsome.

His eyes widened before slapping himself mentally when that thought crossed his mind. Clearing his thoughts, he shook his head slightly and replied.

"Good morning, John. I trust you slept well?" he asked as casually as he can, even managing to put on a smile on his face.

John looked up and at him in surprise from the toast he was eating (it was smeared in strawberry jam, one of his favourites), and nodded with a boyish smile that made Sherlock's heart skip a beat.

"Yes, yes, I did," replied John through a mouthful of bread. He swallowed and took a sip of his peppermint tea before adding, "Thank you for this again, Sherlock. You really shouldn't have."

Wow. That was a first, thought John.

He had never said that before, except for when he wrote it in a post-it. But that was different. And he figured that this seemed... better, somehow. He noticed that Sherlock appeared surprised as well, but noted that the detective was also pleased. He smiled a bit wider at that.

"You're welcome," said Sherlock a tad shyly as he slowly rolled up the newspaper before placing it on top of the coffee table. "I don't mind, really."

"Oh. Well, uh... I appreciate it," stammered John slightly, feeling a blush escape his cheeks.

Sherlock just nodded and John resumed to eating the rest of his breakfast. There was a long, but comfortable (this time) silence as John washed the dishes, then went into the bathroom to brush his teeth and answer the call of nature.

When he went out and made to go to the living room to watch some telly, he noticed that Sherlock was using his laptop. Rolling his eyes as if in exasperation, he let it slide this time and instead, just shrugged and sat down in the middle of the couch, remote in hand. He propped up his feet on the coffee table as he switched on the telly, immediately changing the channel to BBC News. The two men were silent for at least another hour, John completely engrossed in what he was watching, and Sherlock worrying his bottom lip every now and then. Finally, sighing heavily, he closed John's laptop and stood up - walking over the coffee table (for what could possibly be the umpteenth time) and marched towards his bedroom.

John observed all this through narrowed eyes - curious and a little bit worried on what has gotten into his friend. He had noticed for the past several weeks that Sherlock had appeared on edge lately. He somehow felt more agitated than before, but always calming down every time he saw, or even looked, at John. Come to think of it, the only time Sherlock wasn't yelling or pouting or just being a downright pain in the arse, was when John was around. And that happens to be most of the time, too.

He heard Sherlock's footsteps coming back, and John immediately focused his gaze and attention on the telly, completely missing the apprehensive expression that passed over Sherlock's face for a brief moment. So the ex-army doctor was taken completely off-guard when the consulting detective blocked his path and placed an old photo album on top of his lap. Perplexed, John sat upright on the couch as Sherlock moved to sit on the coffee table in front of him, hands clasped together as he rested his elbows on his knees, regarding John with an all-knowing look.

"Sherlock... what's this?" John said slowly, saying the first thing that came to his mind.

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock sighed and said, "It's a photo album, John. Obviously. Open it."

"But why should I? Sherlock, what's all this about?" asked John, face scrunched up in utter bewilderment.

If Sherlock didn't harbor any romantic feelings towards John, then he would have snapped at him. But since he harbored said romantic feelings for his best friend, he let it slide and just sighed in exasperation instead.

"You'll see," he said, sounding a tad mysterious then. With a gentle nudge and nod of the head, he smiled obliquely and added, "Now go on - open it."

Aiming one last look at the man seated in front of him, John looked down at the old photo album. He considered it old as there were tea stains at the corner, and the black leather - although, it looked extremely expensive, no doubt - was already quite worn out. It was thick and hardbound, and noticed that the pages were starting to yellow, but John thought that in his eyes - it was perfect. His eyes wandered to the silver thread embroidered in the middle of the cover, and it read:

S.H.

Huh, who would've thought that Sherlock owned a photo album? thought John as his lips quirked up in a half-smile. He momentarily glanced up at his best friend, only to see him looking at John patiently - an odd yet profound look in his eyes. He glanced down again at the photo album in his hands and, with a final breath, lifted the cover to see the first pictures of the curly-haired man.

Maybe I'd get to see a baby Sherlock wearing diapers, he added to himself with a slight snigger.

But that snigger quickly died in his throat once he saw what was inside.

It was not pictures that he saw, but notes. Post-it notes - from John, to be precise. He felt his jaw drop open for the second time that day as his eyes scanned over each note he had written and left for his best friend to find and read. Page after page after page after page, it was filled with John's post-its. He even gasped when he noticed that Sherlock had it arranged by date and in order of which he found and read first. Five months worth of post-it notes that came from different colors and shapes filled the entire photo album.

He smiled at a note he randomly wrote to Sherlock (You should compose music more often. John), blushed at another (Is your hair naturally curly, or do you take the time to curl it yourself? Just curious. John), felt his eyes tear up when he read something that seemed so long ago (I don't think I'll ever get tired of doing this 'thing' of ours. :) John), and felt his heart skip a beat at the bold message he remembered writing that fateful day (Sherlock, without a doubt in mind, you're the most important person in my life right now. John).

And when he looked up through teary eyes, he saw Sherlock still looking at him in that odd, insightful way. He gestured with a slight nod to keep reading, still. Slightly mystified, John looked down at the photo album again, noticing that he was on the last page - having read his final post-it to Sherlock. But then, he noticed a new post-it attached to the inside of the cover, and gently took it out with slightly shaking fingers. It was a red rectangle-shaped post-it and he carefully read the dedication written.

Now that you're reading this, I hope you've deduced what this all means.

He sucked in a breath as realization dawned on him - a tear managing to escape and roll down his cheek, he looked up at Sherlock with wide eyes, noticing that the latter was smiling widely at him - a knowing expression on his face this time.

"So you've read... mine," he stated, no longer needing to ask it since he knew Sherlock would have found and read it. "Took you long enough." He added lightheartedly when Sherlock nodded.

"But... but why... what..." his voice trailed off, thoughts going off-kilter as he wiped another tear away before looking up at Sherlock once more - eyes pleading for an explanation.

"My grandmother gave it to me," began Sherlock, gesturing his hand to the worn-out photo album in John's hands. "She was so fond of taking pictures of every living and non-living object that her house became a walk-in art gallery. She was awful at photography, mind you, but she found immense joy in it, so we let her be. Then on my fifteenth birthday, she gave this to me and made me promise her to take pictures of the people that I care about, the moments that I want to remember - and put it here, in this album." Sherlock stopped, swallowing inaudibly. When he appeared to have gathered his thoughts once again, he slowly looked up and met John's curious, warm brown eyes. "This is the only possession I own which I am very proud to have. But I failed to keep that promise for twenty years, John; and I constantly live in guilt and regret over it. That is, until now."

"What do you-" started John, but shut his mouth at once when Sherlock placed a warm, shaking hand on top of his calloused ones. Feeling his heartbeat accelerate at the contact, he looked down from their joined hands and up to Sherlock's promising and anxious eyes.

"You told me, two months ago, that you needed more than what you're getting. You told me that you needed to know where you stand in my life - that what has grown between us isn't an experiment I am conducting every time I'm bored. And after months of constantly visiting my Mind Palace, I'm finally going to give you the answer you deserve to know."

John waited with bated breath as a brief silence settled, with Sherlock breathing a little heavily but his hold on the doctor's hand tightening slightly. It was a short while later when he opened his mouth to speak again.

"John, you deserve nothing but the best. And I have to be perfectly honest with you that I'm not fully capable of fulfilling that part." John's face crumpled, and before he could react further, Sherlock continued forcefully. "But you have to know - you need to know - that where you stand in my life is where no one else has ever been placed. You have put up with all of my idiosyncrasies, and that has made me respect and admire you more. You are everything but an experiment, John. What I'm trying... what I've been meaning to tell you, is that I'm willing and ready to go out of my way and sacrifice my own happiness for you."

"Sherlock," said John softly, his lips barely moving as he slowly lifted his free hand to gently caress the other man's cheek. "Just being you makes me happy already. It's enough - you're enough."

Leaning into the touch with a serene smile, Sherlock quietly muttered, "You mean so much to me, John. I know that I'm not the easiest man to live and be with, but I promise to do my best to show you that I love you - in my own way."

A wide grin broke out of John's face, his eyes shining with happiness as he muttered back endearingly, "And I'll show you that I love you, too."

And Sherlock grinned back at him, emotions running rampant in his blue-grey eyes - the most expressive John has ever witnessed him be.

They didn't kiss just yet, nor did they break their intense eye contact. Now that they have finally come clean to each other, it felt like every puzzle piece has finally clicked into place. The silence that ensued was comfortable, both men content in just staring into each other's eyes - understanding clearly that the connection they share goes beyond words and actions.

"Speaking of which," John broke the silence suddenly. Sherlock blinked once and tilted his head to the side questioningly. "You missed to read one post-it."

The consulting detective raised an eyebrow as John stood up from the couch and went to the mantelpiece, lifting the skull and taking out a dusty, white skull-shaped post-it from inside. Sherlock looked astonished for a while before he stood up from the coffee table and walked towards John, stopping right in front of him. John gave him the note, and when Sherlock read the message, his face broke out into another wide grin.

Out of all the things you've done, there is one I should thank you - and it's for becoming my one miracle.

"Turn it over," said John mischievously, hands clasped behind his back.

Sherlock stared at him with a slightly bemused look, but did as he was told. And what he read made his stomach do somersaults.

By the way, Detective - I love you. And I always will.

Instead of replying verbally, Sherlock walked towards the kitchen and removed something from under the table. When he turned around to face John, he was holding a white skull-shaped post-it. Eyebrows raised in amusement, John chuckled as his best friend (and now lover? Partner? Significant other?) handed him the note to read.

Obviously. And I love you, too, Doctor.

Gawking slightly, John looked up and before he could get a single word out, Sherlock's luscious, warm lips came crashing down on his. He gasped and then moaned, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's thin waist and holding him close. The detective's arms wrapped around the doctor's shoulders, hands at the back of his head and fingers doing wonders with John's hair and neck. It wasn't the perfect, fireworks-in-the-distance kind of kiss. But relatively, it was spontaneous and spur-of-the-moment - and they wouldn't have it any other way.

It's true that the simple things in life hold the most meaningful messages - for what started out as a small, harmless way to show that they care for each other, turned out to be the beginning of what was already growing between them.

And suffice to say, John and Sherlock are exactly right where they're both supposed to be - in each other's arms.

Please tell me what you think!

A/N: I would like to thank each and every one of you who have favourited, alerted, and reviewed. This story would not have been successful without you. "Thank you so much" is seriously not enough to convey how I feel right now. I admit, I'm tearing up a bit just typing this. Just... thank you. So much. You have all been wonderful, and I can't wait to see (more like read, yeah) you in my future projects, as I already have one lined up. But I won't tell you anything yet, it's still in the works. ;)

This has been an incredibly fun, exhilarating and worthwhile ride - and I honestly can't wait to do it again. Huge Sherlock hugs to all of you! Thank you so much again, everybody - and stay awesome. Live Long and Prosper.