And this is the last chapter of this fic. Now I can say that fic two of seven is officially done. Woo!

Many thanks to my amazing beta Akiame9, who puts up with all my crap. I don't know how she does it.

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock. I am sads.

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A week later found both Sherlock and John outside Heathrow. They were stood off to the side of one of the entrances to Terminal 1, John in uniform and clutching the handle of his travelling bag a little too tightly. Sherlock towered over him, hands tucked deep into the pockets of his greatcoat. Time was ticking by, and John had to get going or he was going to miss his flight. Sherlock knew that, but he didn't want to say goodbye just yet. Even after spending an entire week with John—an incredible, delightful, splendid week—he still felt as if their time was being cut short. He desperately wished John could stay, but he knew that was an impossibility.

"Guess this is it," John said sullenly, shoulders tense and gaze aimed at the ground.

"You make it sound so final," Sherlock said, voice quiet and unsure. His gloved hands clenched in his pockets.

John let out a breath of a laugh and looked up at Sherlock. "It could be, you know."

Oh, and did Sherlock know. John was being shipped back to a war zone. Of course there was a chance that he wouldn't be coming back. Being a doctor, though, John would most likely remain on base the majority of the time, and thus out of the way of most of the danger. Small mercies, Sherlock thought. He didn't want to think about the prospect of never seeing his new friend again. He wanted to tell John to be more positive, but he refrained. Sherlock was never optimistic unless he was completely sure he was right.

Instead, he just asked, "You'll write me, won't you?"

"Of course." At that, John smiled a little. "Maybe I'll even call you when I can."

Sherlock bristled. He detested talking on the phone.

For John, though, he could definitely make an exception.

"I'd best be off," John said after a few wordless moments. "Sherlock, I…I can't thank you enough for this past week. It's been great."

"It certainly has been," Sherlock agreed with a perfunctory nod. "You are more than welcome to stay with me again, the next time you're on leave."

"Ta, mate. I might take you up on the offer."

"The pleasure would be mine."

Smiling, John held out his hand and the two shook on it. Sherlock had trouble finding the courage to let go.

"Bye, Sherlock. Be seeing you," John said. As he turned to head inside, Sherlock reached out and grabbed his arm.

"Wait, John!"

Confused, John allowed Sherlock to pull him back around. He raised a brow and tilted his head. "What is it, Sherlock?"

Without warning, Sherlock poked his index finger at John's face and swiped it down a tanned cheek. A smirk played across his lips as he leaned in closer, holding his leather-clad fingertip face-up between their faces. "Eyelash," he said.

John let out a laugh, pausing in thought before blowing the tiny lash off Sherlock's finger.

"What did you wish for?" Sherlock asked curiously, staring right into John's eyes. This close, he noticed small specks of brown scattered amongst the deep blue hue of his irises.

"Can't tell you, remember? It won't come true if I do," John reminded him with a poke to his chest.

"Right. Right…" Taking a deep inhale through his nostrils, Sherlock backed away and stood tall and proud. "Well, whatever it is, I hope it comes true."

John murmured a small thanks and another goodbye, this one much more final. Expression hardened and resolute, he turned and headed for the doors, leaving Sherlock behind him.

For a long while, Sherlock remained rooted to the spot, staring off in the direction John had gone. The more time passed, the more he felt the gaping hole in his chest grow even larger. He'd never felt such an emptiness before, almost crippling in its intensity. And John probably wasn't even airborne yet.

This was going to be a rough year.

Still, Sherlock mused, finally heading off to hail a cab, his two wishes had come true. He'd seen John again, and he was able to spend an entire week with him before the doctor had to return to work. It should have been enough, but Sherlock wanted more. More time, more chances, more John. But John was needed in Afghanistan, just like Sherlock was needed here in London. They each had their duties to uphold, and he was well aware of that. He would still miss John terribly, though.

As soon as he returned home, he was going to write his first letter to John.

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Can anyone guess what the next fic is going to contain? XD Yay letters!

Until next time,
Chibi