If anyone's wondering, the poem referred to in Chapter 4 is Rupert Brooke's The Call. Read it and weep. Quite literally, cos it's beautiful. Anyway, on with the story, this last chapter gets a bit steamy.

The kiss didn't stay chaste for long, John opening his mouth and Sherlock following his lead, their tongues battling lazily for dominance. Although slow, it was heated, moans, sighs and frantic snatches of air, before reconnecting their lips, eyes closed, then open and hands exploring.

John managed to unbutton both their trousers whilst they kissed and after pushing them down and stepping out of them, John walked them backwards to the bed and toppled them both onto it, straddling Sherlock and rubbing his boxer clad erection against the taller man's crotch, eliciting a long, low moan from the consulting detective. The noise sent such a thrill through the army doctor that he repeated the action several times, extracting the same moan, before leaning down to capture Sherlock's mouth in a passionate kiss, reveling in the feeling of skin on skin contact. He'd always imagined Sherlock's body to feel cold, seeing as the man appeared to be carved from marble, but instead he radiated heat; John thought this must be something to do with a faster than usual metabolism.

John pulled back to be confronted with Sherlock's lustful, yet fearful expression. Moments ago he'd been confident in his kisses, but now, the prospect of taking things further appeared to scare him. John realised in a flash that Sherlock, having never been kissed, would most likely never have engaged in any sexual activity; Moriarty's virgin jibe had been correct and for a few moments John thrilled at the thought of seeing this great intellect helpless beneath him; John mentally chided himself, but made his move nonetheless, rutting against Sherlock shamelessly until the man was thrashing about beneath him with half sobs amidst his pleasure. John only stopped as Sherlock cried out.

"John … too much … these sensations … I don't … what do I do? … my head, John … I can't think" Sherlock Holmes was whimpering and John suddenly felt guilty.

He rocked back on his knees over the consulting detective and took Sherlock's hands in his own, leaning forwards once more to pin them above his head and bring his face level with the consulting detective's. "Do you trust me Sherlock?"

"Always John" The younger man's voice was hoarse with emotion. His erection was straining in his boxers and his hips were involuntarily raising to gain friction from his new lover, but his eyes seemed to plead with John to tell him what his body was doing.

John tried to compose his own raging desire and reminded himself that for all Sherlock's genius, for all his cold hard exterior and scathing antisocial persona, he was a mentally ill adult and John shouldn't take advantage of him, even if he was a manipulative git at times.

"I want you to relax Sherlock and think of something that can distract you, help your mind slow down." John thought for a second and remembered the poster Sherlock had kept in his room back in Baker Street. "Recite the periodic table to me."

A small smile crossed Sherlock's face then, "I can't imagine that would be very erotic for you John. The rest of society finds nothing erotic about chemical elements."

"Am I the rest of society Sherlock?"

"No" The younger man smiled wider this time, "No, you certainly are not."

John leant down to peck him on the lips between speaking to him "Good. Because I" kiss "find you" kiss "most attractive" kiss "when you're being" kiss "a clever bastard" kiss. "So, go on, be bloody amazing for me, because I've missed it more than you'll ever know". And before Sherlock could start, John kissed him deeply and slowly once more, leaving him gasping as he began reciting.

"Hydrogen, atomic number 1, atomic mass 1.00794. Lithium, atomic number 3, atomic mass 6.941. Beryllium …"

John trailed kisses down Sherlock's neck, letting go of his hands and moving them down to his boxers, sliding both their sets of underwear off and kicking them away with his feet.

"… Magnesium, atomic number … Ahhh …12 …"Sherlock gasped as his erection came into contact with John's, skin on skin, heated and aching for release. John leaned over to the drawer of his bedside cabinet and pulled out a bottle of lubricant. He realised his hand was shaking, but Sherlock's eyes were now closed, as he continued to recite the elements, concentrating on not losing control and he didn't see John's nervousness.

John brushed his fingertips over Sherlock's erection and watched the expression of ecstasy and anxiety alter his features into something that made John's heart constrict. He might be nervous, but that expression was something he hadn't even realised he'd lived for. John fleetingly thought that perhaps there was something perverse within him, the fact that he got off on this power shift between himself and Sherlock, but that was just the lust. There was something other, something that went much deeper, in what he felt for the man beneath him, something that if John were a superstitious man he'd call fate. If he were a sentimental man, he'd call it love. Hell, he was a sentimental man.

Sherlock's eyes flew open at John's sudden pause. He'd reached Iridium, like iridescent, a word that John thought might describe Sherlock's eyes, the eyes scrutinising him calmly once more, that marble exterior back, the pseudo-sociopath inside, back in control. Sherlock's hand reached up to close around John's and take the lube from him. He uncurled John's hand and squeezed a generous amount onto his fingers, before placing the bottle back on the bedside table.

"I'm not a superstitious man John Watson" Sherlock whispered quietly, "but I sometimes think providence had a part to play in our meeting." John smiled and resisted the urge to say amazing. How the hell had Sherlock read his mind this time? "But if you breathe a word of that to anyone, I swear I'll never speak to you again." Sherlock moved John's hand between his legs and guided his fingers to his entrance. John leaned down, the smile breaking the tension and taking away both their nerves.

"What, never? Does that mean I'll be able to have some peace and quiet?" John ran a finger experimentally over Sherlock's hole. leaning down to press their lips together and the man's eyes rolled back in his head. He moaned as John pulled away again.

"I think we've both been quiet enough for the last 18 months John. I'm done with peace and quiet." Sherlock reached up and in a rare moment of tenderness, brushed his fingers over John's lips. "I wish to be chaotic and loud."

John steadied himself mentally and pushed a finger inside Sherlock, watching in awe as the man arched up off the mattress and cried out like a wounded animal.

"I think that can be arranged" and John pushed in another finger, curling them and finding Sherlock's prostate with the expert hand of the doctor.

"Oh God!" Sherlock's eyes flew open and locked onto John's. "I never … oh fuck."

John realised he'd never heard Sherlock swear before. The sound of it, in that deep voice, went straight to his erection. He removed his fingers from Sherlock and used the remaining lubricant to cover his cock, taking a moment to savour the sight of him stroking himself whilst looming over the beautiful body of the consulting detective. Then he grabbed a pillow and placed his hand on Sherlock's hip.

"Turn over" he whispered, a blush colouring his cheeks. He still couldn't quite believe he was doing this, but he wasn't backing out of it now. John Watson was not a coward.

Sherlock turned as John pushed the pillow beneath his hips and lined himself up.

'Just like entering a woman' John told himself, 'nothing to it, nothing to it, just … "OH!" John had closed his eyes and pushed inside Sherlock, but nothing had prepared him for the tight heat of it and the rolling feeling in his stomach when the realisation of what was happening finally hit him. 'Sherlock's alive, he's alive, I'm fucking him, oh God! I love him!'

John's eyes snapped open to find Sherlock perfectly still beneath him, perhaps wondering why he'd stopped moving once pushing inside, perhaps he was reading his mind again, or perhaps he was scared, or in pain. John was about to ask him if he was ok when a deep voice, slightly muffled by the bedclothes beneath answered John's thoughts.

"You too John". Three words and in an instant John's world shattered and remade itself like a Dali painting, an Escher picture, like everything about Sherlock Holmes, mad, surreal, impossible, but perfect all the same.

John began moving and Sherlock whimpered, he actually whimpered. Or was that John's own voice? He couldn't tell, he looked down to watch their bodies joining and once again let the feeling of rightness wash over him. He felt his orgasm only moments away, but he wanted this to last. He pulled out slightly, coaxing Sherlock's body off the bed and onto his elbows and knees to reach around and take Sherlock's penis in his hand. He pushed back in, deeper this time because of the angle and earned another deep moan from Sherlock. John stilled, to hold off his orgasm, leaned forward and began to kiss Sherlock's back, tasting the salty sweat of his new lover's skin.

John began to caress Sherlock's leaking erection gently and he started to move again. The consulting detective let out a cry that was almost a strangled sob and John realised that the trembling had returned. John slowed his thrusts and leaned in as close as possible to whisper reassurance.

"I've got you Sherlock, don't think, just give yourself up to it. Trust me, you're fine, it's all fine." John's voice was a breathless whine now, as he thrust into Sherlock, stroking him at first in time with the movement of his hips, but then messily, out of rhythm, but enough to cause the younger man to lose all control and begin keening like an animal in a trap; emotion, sensation, everything accumulating into one crescendo and like a wave Sherlock came, the clenching of his muscles wringing John's orgasm from him simultaneously.

John thrust incoherently into Sherlock as he came in hard, drawn out spurts, watching as Sherlock cried out, his arms giving way and his face falling to the bed, muffling his cries and feeling his new lover's cock spasming in his hand, coating his digits and the bedsheets in hot semen.

John pulled out and collapsed bonelessly on top of Sherlock's back, taking care to avoid his damaged shoulder. After a few seconds he just about registered that Sherlock rolled out from beneath him, only to drag John onto his chest and immediately wrap his arms around him. He had no idea how long they both lay there, their breathing becoming one in a rhythmic dance, but when John was next aware of his surroundings, he was cold and the mess between and beneath them was sticking uncomfortably to their skin.

John tried to extract himself from Sherlock's embrace, but the consulting detective growled like a predatory dog. John sighed, an amused smile crossing his face and kissed Sherlock's neck, gently nipping his collarbone with his teeth.

"I just want to get a cloth to clean us up is all." Sherlock reluctantly let go and allowed John to pad over to the bathroom, turning his head to watch his new lover walk naked in his presence. It made Sherlock smile, which he immediately cursed himself for and then smiled again. God he was like a lovesick teenager. He should despise himself, but he didn't. 'Hormones Sherlock, just post-coital hormones.' But the sensation of butterflies in his stomach spoke of more irrational emotions in his brain.

John returned with a flannel soaked in warm water and a towel, having already wiped himself down he cleaned Sherlock. Once again, without question, acting the doting physician and friend, as he'd always done. Then he discarded the items on the floor and climbed back into bed, covering himself and Sherlock and unable to keep a note of surprise out of his voice when the taller man spooned himself around his flatmate, blogger, best friend and now lover, nuzzling the back of his neck, kissing at the nape and inhaling the scent of John's skin. Sherlock didn't do sentiment, did he?

But before John could ask, Sherlock spoke "You're my oxygen John." John turned in Sherlock's arms and blinked back tears as he looked into the eyes of that certain consulting detective. Sherlock brushed his fingers over John's lips again and smiled, although there was amused, affectionate derision in his eyes at John's emotion.

"Likewise Sherlock" John's voice with thick with unshed tears "God, I've missed you so much." John mumbled the words into Sherlock's good shoulder, but he heard nonetheless.

"I can't promise never to hurt you again. I can't promise to stay. I can only promise to try. For you John."

"I know" John mumbled, thinking how that would have to be enough. He had no desire to change Sherlock, only to bring out those better qualities within him that he'd always known had existed, to teach him how to live in a society that wasn't built for the likes of him, to protect him from others ignorance and his own recklessness, but not to change him, never that. He began to kiss Sherlock's neck as the man spoke.

"And I will still ignore you at times, I will neglect you in favour of the work, I will insult you when I get frustrated, I will experiment on you and make you angry with me and will run you headlong into danger. John, despite my feelings, if you had any sense of self preservation, you would leave me. You were doing ok on your own."

"And you're a bloody idiot Sherlock." John bore no malice in the words and accompanied them with a tender kiss to Sherlock's mouth, the man beneath him looking puzzled at this reaction. "I was most certainly not ok without you and you know that if any of that stuff bothered me, I'd have left you of my own volition long ago." He looked into Sherlock's eyes. "Besides, I never had much of a sense of self preservation." John kissed him once more and then sighed, snuggling into Sherlock's side.

"So, are we moving back to Baker Street?" The consulting detective asked hopefully.

"Of course, where else would we go, you ridiculous man? We'll have to break the news gently to Mrs Hudson though, or we're in danger of giving her a heart attack."

"About my return, or our relationship?"

John chuckled, "Your return of course, I don't think there'll be a single person surprised about our relationship."

John reached up and the two men kissed, slowly, deliberately. The level of emotion each could feel flowing from the other was breathtaking and John felt like he'd gained something divine, whilst Sherlock felt that he'd gained the part of himself he didn't even realise was missing. Had John ever kissed any of the women he'd slept with this much? He didn't think so and now he'd started, he wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to stop. Their tongues dueled languidly, but firmly and John caught hold of Sherlock's and sucked it. This earned John another low moan and Sherlock's hands began trailing up and down his chest, fingers caressing his nipples and then moving around to stroke his back, pausing to swirl around the scar on his shoulder and sending starbursts of sensation down John's spine. They broke apart eventually for air and in between the light pecks to one another's lips and their hands wandering over one another's skin, Sherlock spoke whispered promises.

"You have my devotion John, at all times, even when you think that you're invisible to me, you're not; you are woven into the DNA of every cell in my body. You are my heart." and Sherlock pressed a feather light kiss to John's forehead.

John smiled sleepily, thinking how everything with Sherlock became so intense and complicated and how John wouldn't change that for the world. He had his life, his raison d'etre, back and for the first time in 18 months, he could sleep easy.

"I love you too." John whispered, smiling as he fell asleep and Sherlock couldn't help but mimic him, no longer certain where John ended and he began, but whereas once this would have scared him, 18 months alone to think about what John Watson meant to him had changed him and now John had acknowledged his feelings, Sherlock finally felt complete for the first time in his life.

Together, a certain consulting detective and a certain ex-army doctor would take on the criminal world once again and once again, they would be brilliant.