A/N: This is it, my friends! The chapter you've all been waiting for and the conclusion of this story. It has been quite the adventure and I've received a lot of amazing comments and support from all of you so, from the bottom of my shrivelled little heart, thank you everyone!

And my last thanks to my best friend, Abe, aka A_Sherlocked_girl, without whom this story would have ended up buried in the pile of my unfinished fics, never to see the day of light again. She's been my crutch all throughout and made this fic a whole lot better than it would have been otherwise.

She's also the one who suggested the lyrics. Yeah, she's smart that way ;)

I'm friends with the monster that's under my bed,

Get along with the voices inside of my head,

You're trying to save me, stop holding your breath,

And you think I'm crazy, yeah, you think I'm crazy.

The Monster - Eminem feat. Rihanna

John had never thought this was how it would all end: standing between the most dangerous man of the country and the man he loved, threatening both to blow his brains out. It seemed surreal and an odd sort of detachment took over him. His index brushed tentatively against the trigger. Just one little pull, that's all it took, it should be easy, but he wished it was even more so: his decision made sense, he knew it did, but that didn't make the task any less daunting, simply because John didn't want to die. However fucked up and bizarre his situation had become, he didn't really want to end it by taking his own life. It was just the next logical step to take. He had to do it.

"John," Sherlock called softly, footsteps coming closer. "John, look at me."

John tightened his grip on his gun, looked out of the corner of his eye to see Sherlock drop his own gun and approach him slowly with open hands.

"Don't," John warned, his voice shaking. "Step back," he added when all he really wanted was to throw himself into his arms now that he had the chance to and never leave again.

Sherlock didn't step back, but he did stop, looking slightly alarmed and that was fine because John couldn't see him from there if he looked ahead.

"You don't have to do this, John. I can solve this, I can fix it."

"You can't. I'm…"

Corrupted.

John shook his head. Now was not the time to break down, he had to be the brave soldier again, just a little bit longer.

"This was never supposed to be about me," he choked out, needing Sherlock to understand why he had to do this.

John took in a steadying breath, shut his eyes tight as if it could somehow shut out the world. He had to do this. He had to. He pressed the barrel of the gun harder against his temple. Or should he shoot himself through the mouth? Vital brain functions were controlled by the medulla oblongata and he'd have higher chances to hit it directly if-

"John."

And this time it was Jim's voice, soft and lilting, not the way it was when he murmured terrible threats though… Worried? John opened his eyes again to see Jim had lowered his own gun and was still looking a bit stunned by the turn of events.

"I can't do this anymore," John said, speaking to the both of them. Hell, to the whole room even, they'd all been playing him to some degree. "I should have seen it before, this is the only solution."

"No!" Jim and Sherlock shouted at the same time before glaring at each other.

Well, that was a first. Did the two geniuses finally agree on something?

Jim scratched the corner of his forehead with the tip of his gun, looking thoroughly annoyed before he let out a loud sigh.

"Don't," Jim ordered. "That is a very boring way to end the game, John, and I haven't finished playing with you. You can't just go and make your own rules. That's cheating."

"So?" John replied defiantly now that he had the final solution and knew he'd beaten Jim at his own game. "I thought you liked surprises?"

Jim snarled and paced a couple of times on the spot before facing him again.

"Leave," he ordered, his voice flat.

"What?" John asked after a moment's hesitation, certain he must have misheard, but a seed of hope was already blooming in his heart which was beating harder than ever.

"You, Sherlock. Leave, now, before I change my mind."

John kept the gun pointed at his own head and took a couple of steps back towards Sherlock to test the waters. Jim only glowered. This wasn't right. What was the test this time? And more importantly, what were the stakes? John froze.

"Are you going to drop corpses off on my doorstep?"

"No, no, no," Jim replied impatiently. "Your boring little people are safe for now."

Then Jim grinned, seeming to have deduced something about him, and walked up to him, kissing him soundly on the lips while his fingers curled in his shirt before letting go again.

"But you'll be hearing from me again, Johnny boy," he whispered against his lips. "I can promise you that much. Leave."

John had dropped his hand sometime while he was being snogged and staggered back to where he knew Sherlock was standing, blindly grasping for his hand before turning tail and pulling him out with him before Jim changed his mind again, before his madness took over and he killed everyone in the room in a fit of spite. That was only too plausible. In fact, he and Sherlock had barely crossed the threshold when a gunshot exploded through the air. They froze in the open doorway and John chanced a glance back to see Jim had shot Irene himself. He was having a bad day.

ooo

John and Sherlock didn't talk as they walked hurriedly out of the hotel, not using the luxurious front entrance as he'd done with Jim, but one of those little known back entrances Sherlock was so fond of. John was grasping his hand as if it was a lifeline, letting himself be pulled along the way while he tried to grasp what had just happened. His heart was still hammering in his chest but he was trembling all over now as his adrenaline rush crashing down. He still couldn't believe Jim had let him go, that he was free and touching Sherlock, walking by his side again, returning home even. He was so relieved he didn't even care he'd just witnessed Jim murder someone, someone he actually knew, it all seemed so surreal he wasn't all that sure it was actually happening.

Once out in the back alley of the hotel though, Sherlock swung him around, pinning him to the wall, immobilizing his left arm. John looked at him uncomprehendingly, feeling more and more detached from his own body even with Sherlock anchoring him.

"Your gun," Sherlock said hoarsely. "Give me your gun, John."

John looked down quizzically at his hand to see that he was still holding it in a tight grip. Good thing they hadn't left through the front door then, as it would have caused quite a panic. John let Sherlock pluck the gun out of his fingers, his hand felt so numb it had remained curled around the grip without him even noticing it. He watched as Sherlock tucked it away in his own belt, then refocused back on reality when Sherlock suddenly hit the wall next to his face.

"Damnit, John. What were you thinking? You were going to… You really were-" he broke off and let his forehead rest against John's, the contact sending warmth all throughout him as if he'd been so cold all this time far away from Sherlock and was just now discovering what it was like to be warm again. John leaned into the touch, wanting to close his eyes and bask in the newfound comfort, but Sherlock was breaking, he needed him, he had to answer.

"I-" How could he explain it all to Sherlock? There was so much to say, so much he didn't want to say. Sherlock would be disgusted with him. Finally he settled with what had seemed so crystal clear before, even if it seemed less so now that he was safe. "I had to, Sherlock."

"No," Sherlock growled. "I refuse to believe that. You can't do that, John, ever again. Whatever the reason. You can't do that to me. You can't leave me. Promise me, John."

John pinched his lips. He had finally found the one thing Jim could not control, the one thing that could keep him at bay, but Sherlock wanted him to give it up? Back to square one? Again?

"Promise me," Sherlock pleaded, cupping his face now, searching his eyes.

John never stood a chance. He was putty in Sherlock's hands. His legs were shaking now, too, and he felt like the whole world might crumble at any minute, but he could at least do this for Sherlock. John nodded and Sherlock leaned over a little more to capture his lips, soft and careful, as if he was afraid John would break, but he was already broken. Or run? But he was right where he wanted to be, with Sherlock. Whatever his reticences, for John, that kiss was like being jolted awake by the electric shock of a defibrillator. A corpse brought back to life. He felt more like himself now than he had since that day he'd fled from Baker Street.

"We should leave," Sherlock mumbled against his mouth, nipping at his bottom lip playfully.

John agreed wholeheartedly. He needed to put more distance between himself and Jim, and less between him and Sherlock, as soon as possible, but his legs wouldn't follow and he slid down the wall as soon as he lost Sherlock's support. His beautiful eyes darted all over him as Sherlock knelt beside him.

"You're in shock," he concluded anxiously, shedding his coat to wrap John in it.

John blinked at him. Was he? John felt he should probably know that, him being a doctor and all, but he just didn't care. All he wanted was to cling to Sherlock and forget everything else. He must have succeeded too, because the next thing he knew, he was waking up in his bed in Baker Street, the previous night nothing more than a blur.

ooo

John woke up to find a flatful of people waiting for news of him. Mrs Hudson was overjoyed and hugged him twice before Sherlock managed to convince her to let him breathe again, but he was then immediately tackled by Clara in a bear hug before she let him down and hit him in the shoulder, the good one thankfully, but hard.

"Glad to see you too, Clara," John muttered. "And you, Oz," John told the silent, looming man before asking everyone if they wouldn't mind leaving them for a while because he and Sherlock had a lot to talk about. But in truth, he just felt overwhelmed at seeing so many people he knew at once.

Mrs Hudson winked at him, getting the wrong idea entirely and their bodyguards complied too easily. In their case, it was more an escape than an exit so John should have known The Iceman was already on his way. In fact, he and Sherlock were still dancing around one another, trying to find their bearings: John preparing some much needed tea while Sherlock filled in the blanks for him from the previous night, when the umbrella maniac appeared, and John was instantly on the defensive. Sherlock noticed how tense he was but gratefully didn't comment and started ripping his brother a new one as he did whenever his brother imposed himself unannounced at Baker Street. John was simply too exhausted, feeling like he'd just come home after a long trip abroad, so he let himself fall into his familiar armchair to watch the show while finding comfort in his warm tea. It still felt a bit unreal to be sitting there, everything so normal and ordinary.

"Late and useless, as usual, Mycroft."

"So I see," their unwelcome guest replied smoothly before letting his eyes slide over John, reading every little detail about him: Jim's clothes he hadn't changed out of yet, the dark shadows under his eyes, the bruises… Did he sees the stranger's eyes looking at him too? Did Mycroft see how much John loathed him now that he knew? What else did he observe about him that John would rather be kept secret? "John, welcome back. It's a pleasure to see you so well."

John gritted his teeth, didn't answer.

"Sherlock," he said turning back to his brother and lowering his voice, but not enough for John not to hear him. "Maybe I should take John to one of our facilities. I'm worried that with what he has gone through, you may find him a bit… changed."

John wanted to lash out at the annoying git, but having to deal with Jim and his vicious little games for so long had taught him to endure much worse than such a pathetic little barb.

"Do you really think I don't know about Stockholm Syndrome, brother dear? Or that John is unaware? We will get through this together. We don't need your meddling, and we certainly don't need you to whisk John off again to one of your godforsaken facilities to interrogate him for hours on end about his time with Moriarty."

"It's for your own good, Sherlock. For all you know he might attack you while you sleep. I don't intend to hurt John, only help him recover as fast as possible. He needs doctors, people who actually know what they're doing. Besides, his information may prove invaluable."

"Oh, cut the crap, Mycroft," John snapped, his fingers digging into the armrests of his chair. "We both know that even if I had anything to give you, you wouldn't use it to stop him."

"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked, rounding on him.

"I mean that Jim… Moriarty, did not 'escape' his prison, per say. He was purposefully released."

"Mycroft?" Sherlock demanded sharply.

"He's clearly delusional, Sherlock, not to mention brain-washed. Where do you think he got his information from?" Mycroft asked with a condescending tilt of his head towards John. "See? This is why it is imperative that I take him with me. He's a potential threat, to you in particular. Maybe even to himself. It's best if John is seen by specialists."

Sherlock approached his brother and John felt his heart sink. He couldn't deal with more captivity away from Sherlock, with people poking at his brain incessantly. Sherlock stared at his brother for what seemed an eternity.

"No," Sherlock drew out with disbelief. "You're lying. Do you think I don't know the tells when you are? I know you more than you care to admit, Mycroft, or have you forgotten we grew up together? You did set Moriarty free. Why? Why would you set a madman loose in the streets when you're always prattling on about saving the world?"

Mycroft sighed, dropping his inflexible 'I'm holier than thou' act and grimaced.

"Politics," Mycroft answered reluctantly, not at all abashed at being caught in a lie. "A necessary evil. Not that I expect you to understand."

Sherlock's face turned into an ugly sneer.

"Leave. Now," Sherlock said coldly, staring his brother down and pointing towards the exit as he placed himself between John and his brother.

John marvelled at hearing those two words. The same two uttered in the same way by Jim not even an hour ago. Sherlock and Jim, two peas in a pod, two sides of a coin, the yin and the yang... So similar, yet polar opposites.

"Sherlock," Mycroft tried again, using his 'reasonable' voice.

"Now!" Sherlock bellowed, fuming and looking like he might just throw his brother and his umbrella through the window just to get him out of his sight sooner.

Mycroft glanced at John one last time and left. It seemed the man was not willing to alienate Sherlock in order to get his grubby hands on him, but John still feared he might come back at a later date with enough manpower to force him into a straightjacket, maybe when Sherlock was absent so he could feign ignorance about his sudden disappearance…

"John?" Sherlock called softly.

John came back to the present. Why was he worrying about maybes when he finally had his Sherlock back by his side? He smiled at his lover, crouched in front of his armchair with a worried look on his face. He stroked his cheekbone lovingly, drinking in the sight of him.

"I've missed you. So. Bloody. Much," John said.

Not his most poetic declaration of love but he felt it so strongly it just had to come out. Sherlock smiled back at him fondly and leaned into a kiss before freezing midway.

"What?" John asked, puzzled, and a bit miffed, if he had to be honest, like being handed a fresh glass of water in the desert only to have it snatched away at the last second. "What is it, Sherlock?"

"Moriarty…" Sherlock replied tonelessly, apparently looking for the right words in the cracks of the wall because he wasn't looking at him anymore. "That night, in the alleyway, he said-"

John raised his hand, cutting him off.

"I know, but it's not true. He was… winding you up, taunting you. He didn't- He never-"

Now John was having a hard time finding his words but it wasn't a subject he'd ever thought he would have to bring up.

"But he kissed you, at the hotel," Sherlock argued, his expression somber.

John blushed at the thought that Sherlock had to witness that. Guilt and shame that he had let it happen at all.

"Yes, but he's never done more than that, Sherlock. I promise. I don't think he's interested in having reluctant partners, despite his many flaws. He probably wanted me to come willingly to him," John explained with a grimace. "He's just… lonely, I guess. Wasn't hugged enough growing up, that sort of thing. Jim was rather… affectionate, for a psychopath, I mean."

Sherlock scowled.

"He kissed you. No one is allowed to do that but me. You're mine," he growled with finality and John was strangely okay with that.

"I am, and you're mine too, Sherlock." John grinned. "Us against the rest of the world?"

Sherlock launched himself at John and the armchair almost toppled over at the sudden onslaught but it fell back on its four legs after a few seconds of indecision and John let Sherlock meld his body over him. Feeling another body, it's warmth and softness, the intimacy and pleasure it could bring, without having to feel guilt or fear was marvelous. John hadn't even realized how touch deprived he'd become. Jim's touch was never welcome, feeling more like an invasion which had brought pain most of the time: nails to scratch, fingers to bruise and teeth to bite, unless he was in a good mood and gave him one of his sloppy kisses. John had kept his distance from Jim as much as he could, and had endured his touch when he'd had to, but now, with Sherlock, safe at home, John could let go, enjoy the sensation of skin sliding on skin, of the teasing touches of his fingers and the warmth of his mouth…

"John," Sherlock panted.

"Yes," John agreed. "Bedroom."

Sherlock jumped back onto the floor, as agile as a cat and pulled John out of the armchair. John marvelled momentarily that they had managed to get comfortable at all on the rather small piece of furniture until he suddenly found himself flung over Sherlock's shoulder.

"What? Sherlock! Let me down!" he exclaimed but a laugh escaped him at the absurdity of his position, giving lie to his mock outrage and Sherlock marched towards their bedroom.

"No. You're too slow and I want you now."

ooo

The next day, John stirred into wakefulness by the delicious smells of bacon and eggs, coffee and toast. He sighed happily. His Dreams had returned to the comforting dancing swirls of colours, he was back home with Sherlock, they had talked for hours, and John had been thoroughly shown how much he had been missed. Several times. John really thought Sherlock was trying to kiss, lick and fuck the very image of Jim out of his head at one point, not that he was complaining but he'd probably be limping around today.

And now Sherlock was making him breakfast on top of everything else? Maybe he should go help him out before he started ruining it by experimenting because so far it smelled heavenly. John stretched and sat up when he felt someone stir in the bed next to him.

"Sherlock?" he asked, puzzled, when he glimpsed his wild mane of dark curls.

"Uhm?" his lover mumbled, blinking up at him.

John looked towards the door, then back at Sherlock.

"If you're here, then who's making breakfast?"

Sherlock froze for a second, possibilities lighting up his face before it fell again after each of them was successively dismissed. He gave a small shake of his head. He didn't like admitting he was stumped and John was worried that he was.

"Where's my gun?" John asked and Sherlock pointed at his pile of discarded clothes.

John rummaged around for it, threw on Sherlock's silky dressing gown while Sherlock wrapped the sheet around him and they slinked into the kitchen where he could hear someone whistling a cheery little tune that seemed familiar to John, but not as familiar as the figure moving around the kitchen like he owned the place.

"Jim," John sighed, resigned, dropping his gun because there was no way Moran didn't have his own weapon pointed at him from somewhere.

"John!" Jim exclaimed, sauntering over to him with a spatulas in one hand and a plate of scrambled eggs in the other. "You look positively ravishing this morning," he added, peeking down his half closed dressing gown.

John tensed when Jim leaned closer still, conditioned as he was not to react when the man claimed a kiss, but Sherlock's naked arm suddenly shot out from under his sheet, his palm landing flat against Jim's chest, stopping him inches from reaching John. John looked up at Sherlock and smiled in thanks. He should really learn to stop freezing like that whenever Jim approached him. It was worse than a weakness, it was almost an invitation and that made him sick.

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock demanded. "How did you bypass security."

"Oh, please," Jim scolded. "It wasn't even entertaining finding a way in. You might as well get rid of it all, an army wouldn't stop me from visiting my Johnny boy."

"He's not yours," Sherlock growled, pulling John closer against him.

"Yes, I can see you've been trying to undo all my hard work, Sherlock. But whatever you do, I'll always be in there now. Won't I, John?" Jim replied tapping the side of his skull with a manic display of his teeth.

John scowled at him. He didn't answer, which was answer enough, but he knew that Jim had dug a dark little nest deep in his mind that nothing short of a lobotomy would ever get rid of, and Jim chuckled darkly, knowing he was right and that he had won a battle if not the war.

"Let's eat breakfast!" he said jovially, ushering them into the living room, where, unsurprisingly, they found Moran. "Come on, it's getting cold and we have a lot to discuss."

"I highly doubt that," Sherlock muttered but took a seat, looking regal as ever, even half wrapped in a sheet of dubious cleanliness.

John sat next to him, leaving Jim to take the seat in front of him and Moran sitting across, already piling bacon on his plate. Was that man just never bothered by anything. Ever? A Kidnapping? Sure. Beating someone up? No problem: how hard should I hit? A bit of murder and mayhem? Sounds like fun. Eating breakfast with your arch-enemies? As long as there's bacon.

Jim kept his eyes on him, even as he talked to Sherlock.

"It's not like you actually have a choice anyway. I could just kill you now and take John for myself."

"No you won't," John said calmly, surprising even himself.

"No?" Jim asked with a pleasant smile.

"No. It's like you said. If Mycroft killed you, it would create a chaotic void, but if you killed Sherlock, it would create a similar void all the coppers in the country wouldn't be able to fill. It wouldn't create chaos but an absence even you would feel: a boredom of such epic proportions you might as well just shoot your brains out now."

John served himself a cup of tea, feeling Jim and Sherlock's eyes on him but purposefully ignoring them until they sorted out their little dispute, hopefully without resorting to any more death threats. John prayed he was right though, that Jim wouldn't shoot Sherlock right here and now just to prove he was wrong, but John didn't think he would, mostly because he hadn't Dreamed it, but also because Jim had been the one to ask what would happen to John if Sherlock was killed. Now, even if Jim discarded the supernatural element, after the episode at the hotel, he should know John would not live without Sherlock by his side.

"Point taken," Jim said with a chuckle.

"You've rubbed off on him," Sherlock muttered.

"Not as much as I wanted to," Jim replied with a devilish grin and Sherlock promptly tossed a toast at his head which Moran aptly intercepted and ate. Jim didn't so much as blink. "So, I thought that instead of stealing John every now and again, we would play a little game."

"And John is the prize I suppose? You're insane," Sherlock spat.

"You're just getting that now?" Jim asked, amused, as he balanced on two feet of his chair before slamming the chair back down on all four. "It's that or I snatch him from right under your nose again. So, what shall it be? Do you want to play a game and let me win an honest date with John, or should I just kidnap him, again? Because I'm not giving him up."

John wondered if he should feel flattered at this point, but what those two men saw in him to the point of fighting over him like two hyenas over a carcass, he'd never understand. He shook his head and returned to his tea. Seeing Moran eat had cut off his appetite.

"Come on, you only have to win the game for me to back off… until the next round. Aren't you confident in your own capabilities, Sherlock?" Jim taunted.

"Oi!" John intervened. "You're not killing people to play your games! I know you like arranging murders," he said pointing at Jim. "And I know you like solving them," he added pointing at Sherlock, "But you're not killing people to play games and certainly not because of me. You'll have to make do with smuggling, blackmail, embezzlement and whatever it is villains do as a secondary hobby nowadays. Is that understood?"

"You mean you actually agree to this madness?" Sherlock asked, eyes wide.

John shrugged.

"I trust you, Sherlock. You won't let him win," he told him, snatching his hand to drop a kiss there, to which Jim pouted, while Sherlock looked smugly pleased. "It beats getting kidnapped all the time. Besides, it'll keep both you and him occupied, and that can't be a bad thing. It's certainly a sight better than you trying to kill each other all the time. It'll be like a holiday for me."

"Why, Johnny boy," Jim purred. "You're being so convincing, I'm almost starting to think you want to go on a date with me."

John snorted.

"Don't hold your breath. Even if you win, you know full well it'll be a one-sided date. I'm not worried."

"You're underestimating me, Johnny boy. Well, I'd better be off before your dear brother smells a rat. You still have that pink phone, Sherlock?" Jim asked, sparing Sherlock a glance. John didn't know what he was referring to but Sherlock nodded as everyone got up from the table. "It's a deal then," Jim said offering Sherlock his hand. "Game starts tomorrow at noon."

Sherlock looked dubiously down at the proffered hand but shook it.

"At noon," he said gravely.

"John," Jim said offering his hand to shake too, in a rather rare show of propriety coming from him.

John smiled in approval and took his hand, but was immediately yanked forward so Jim could steal a quick kiss, releasing him in a heartbeat before Sherlock could react.

"Told you you underestimated me, Johnny boy. I look forward to our date," Jim said with a wink and left, Moran shadowing him as always.

"I certainly hope he enjoyed that," Sherlock muttered, pulling John into a hug before dropping a kiss on the top of his head. "Because that's the last time he's touching you. I'll never let him win. Ever."

And John believed him, without question, without doubt, without the shadow of a 'but'. Sherlock never made promises he didn't intend to keep and he'd break the world before he broke this one. John believed in Sherlock more than he did in his Dreams, more than he did anything else in the world. Sherlock would protect him just as he'd protected Sherlock, and John trusted he'd take the broken pieces of his mind and find a way to put them back together again, loving the fractures and jagged edges just as much as if he was whole, because John would too had their roles been reversed.

ooo

The next day, at noon exactly, Sherlock's pink phone chimed.

Lost: London Stone. You have until noon tomorrow. Send my love to John. xox JM

"He can't possibly mean…" John said, his mouth hanging open.

"Oh, I think he does," Sherlock chuckled. "Come on, John! The game is on!"

A/N: For those who don't know: The London Stone is at first glance a simple block of limestone and has been the subject of various legends, including that Brutus brought it here from Troy, that it marked the site of Druidic sacrifices, and that London's prosperity depended on its safe keeping. Some think it's the point from which the Romans measured distances.

Hope you enjoyed the rather bumpy ride :D

If you did, I'd love to receive your faves and/or reviews on the way out!

I'll be writing a lot more Sherlock fics and Sherlock/Harry Potter Crossovers, so be sure to stay tuned!

Thank you all 3