It's done! : ) I really hope you liked this story, guys. I had so much fun writing it

It's pretty dialogue heavy. Bit of a heads up.

John wakes to a damp cloth on his forehead.

He still feels slightly light headed, but it's not as bad as it had been prior, though he can feel a headache coming on and he winces when the knot in his neck suddenly tightens. He sighs, and tries to ignore it as he looks around; he's been moved to a private ward, with a large window off to his right, where sunlight's pouring in and dancing on the bed covers. With a start, he realises he's wearing a gown; hospital procedure, he figures, but he still has his clothes on.

Hm.

He glances beside him, to see Sherlock asleep -

Wait.

Sherlock…?

John stares. And stares. And stares.

His hair is still full of product, he notices, and hasn't been touched at all. And the red mark on his face is still visible. But...he isn't wearing surgeons robes anymore. No.

He's wearing a deep purple dress shirt, a black jacket, black pants, and black dress shoes.

And.

His Belstaf coat, with his signature blue scarf tied around his neck.

The same scarf John had been wearing in all those months.

John blinks. Surely, he still must be asleep. But he can't be. The last thing he remembers is Stephen holding his cheek as he blacked out. But...there never had been any Stephen...right? Mycroft had said -

His thoughts are cut off when Sherlock - yes, Sherlock - stirs awake. He stretches his arms out in front of him, and yawns loudly before slowly opening his eyes, and they immediately fall on John.

John doesn't think anyone has ever looked at him like this before.

Sherlocks face is so soft and full of relief, as is his voice when he speaks to him, "You're awake."

John smiles, "What happened?"

"You had an anxiety attack," a new voice says. Both mens heads turn to see Molly at the door, a deep blue jumper in hand. She steps more into the room but still keeps a hand on the door, "How do you feel?"

"Still light headed, but it's not as bad. I have a bit of a headache though."

"Do you want me to get you something?"

He nods, "Thanks."

She smiles brightly then disappears and John listens to her retreating footsteps, before looking back at Sherlock, who's still wearing that same expression. John drops his gaze to his hands that are idly picking at the blanket, and he doesn't raise his eyes until Molly comes back with a couple of tablets and a glass of water. She leaves again after telling them she has to go back to work, but not before Sherlock gives her a quick kiss on the cheek and whispers a thank you for her help. John watches the door close, his brow furrowed in confusion.

So...that means...

"Yes," Sherlock says, as if reading his mind. John looks at him again, and his eyes are full of remorse, "So was Mycroft."

John sighs and lays his head back on the pillow, "Of course." He folds his hands together. It all made sense now - why Mycroft had given him that file and why he had somehow been in posession of Sherlocks scarf. "So Stephen Strange…"

"Isn't a real person." He exhales, "He's from a comic book. Looks a hell of a lot like me."

John snickers and sits up, reaching up to take the cloth from his forehead. He leans over to place it on his bedside table and grabs the glass of water, "How long did it take you to find the right disguise?"

"Not that long. I managed to track down one of younger clients, a teenage boy who had acquired a collection of comics over the years. Luckily he had just bought the latest Dr. Strange comic and was only pleased to hear that I would need to borrow it for some time while I got my costume in order. American accent was a little tricky though. Still needs some work if you ask me."

John laughs again. Sherlock frowns and looks around the ward, his nose wrinkling, "They don't have very good decorators, do they, hospitals?"

"Well, it is a hospital, Sherlock, I don't think having the colour of the blinds match the wallpaper is their biggest priority." He pops both the pills in his mouth and chases them down with the water.

Sherlock smiles as he looks back at him, "It should be."

"You could apply to be their interior decorators. You already pretended to be a Neurosurgeon for 5 weeks."

"Yes, and I won't be doing that again. Do you know how difficult it is to perform a brain hemorrhage with only a sufficient amount of textbook knowledge?"

John puts the glass back on the table, "I think performing a hemorrhage on someone is hard enough on its own."

They smile at eachother for a moment, and John feels a sudden surge of...something course through him. Sherlock drops his gaze and begins fiddling with his hands, his voice thick with regret,

"John, I...I'm sorry. For everything that I've done this week." He meets his eyes, "I had no idea how deeply I hurt you. And if I had known, I would have stopped, I swear."

John doesn't need to search his face to know he's telling the truth. He lets go of the blanket to put a hand through his hair, "It's okay. I'm sure you had a good reason."

"Of course," he says firmly, "I had to see you again, John."

John grins to himself, "And you thought dressing up as some superhero would get my attention?"

"It worked, didn't it?"

Again, something passes between them for a moment as they look at one another, but it doesn't last for long.

Sherlock takes a deep breath, "I'm sure you want to know how I faked my death - "

"No."

His brows furrow, "No?"

"I want to know why."

"Oh. I had to dismantle Moriartys network."

Johns glances at the scarf around his neck, "And did you?"

Sherlock chuckles, "I'm not even close. I only got to the U.S before finding out about the idea for Dr. Strange."

"So you decided to come back here and -"

"Yes." He pauses. "Funny how sentiment works," he finishes quietly. John licks his lips, considering this for a moment. Huh. "He had a beard, you know."

"Hm?"

Sherlock puts his fingers to his chin, "Stephen Strange. He had a beard. I would have grown one out, but I didn't have the time."

John laughs, "Pity. You would have looked good with a beard."

His cheeks instantly redden when he realises what he's said, but Sherlock only glances at him. He's too focused on picturing himself with the characters facial hair. John clears his throat, drawing Sherlocks attention back to him, "So...when do you think I'll be discharged from here?"

"Oh," he waves a hand. "You can leave whenever you like."

John raises a brow, "Oh, did you talk to the doctors?"

"Molly did. They made an acception because you're a friend."

"They can do that?"

Sherlock drops his hands back on his lap, "Apparently, yes." He hesitates, "About me and Molly - "

John smiles, "I'm fine with it, Sherlock, really. I'm happy you found someone - "

"Oh, we're not...together, John. That was just part of the act." He frowns, "She was in on it, remember?"

"Oh!" Johns cheeks flare up again, "Oh, right, I just - I just thought that, well - since…"

"Since what?"

John purses his lips, "That, well, you and Molly had been pretending to date and I - I thought that she liked you," he finishes lamely.

Sherlock stares at him blankly, "Does she?"

"I think so."

"Hm. Well, I'll have to talk to her about that some time." John looks away and Sherlock sees, "John?"

"Hm?"

"Are you alright?"

John eyes his coat, ignoring the sudden weight on his chest, "You got your coat back."

Sherlocks momentarily distracted as he picks at the lapel, "I found it in the back of your closet. Did you put it there?"

John swallows. He can't tell if Sherlock's angry or not, "It hurt too much."

"The coat? How would it, it's only..." It instantly sinks in and he lets go of the fabric to pick at his fingers again, "Oh…"

There's a beat, until Sherlock smiles halfheartedly and gestures to the scarf, "You kept this though."

"Yeah, it helped...to get through you not being there…" Johns voice trails off and he feels a lump in his throat. He can't look Sherlock in the eye. There's just too much sadness in the blue.

A silence grows in the room, until Sherlock lays a hand his arm. John lifts his gaze up to see him looking back, and his voice is soft again, "I will never leave you again, John. I promise."

His gaze is so sincere and it has Johns chest tighten with emotion, "But don't you need to dismantle Moriartys network?"

He shakes his head, "I can get someone else to do it." He smiles and his hand moves down to cover his, "You're more important."

John swallows. He struggles to speak again, to ask something that's been on his mind for hours, "At the restaurant - when you were…flirting...with me. Was that - " He narrows his eyes, "Were you really - doing that or was that for show too?"

Sherlock chuckles and the sound reverberates through Johns body, "You must have thought I was a terrible boyfriend." He laughs when he sees Johs mouth fall open,

"You utter - What if I had told Molly?"

Sherlock waves a hand as his laughter subsides, "Oh, she wouldn't have minded. Although, if she does have some affections for me as you say she does, she probably wouldn't want to officially date me after this was all over." He chuckles again and John joins in. The unspoken tension's passed, and John is strangely thankful.

But they still haven't moved their hands.

There's another ripple of silence, but it's a comfortable one, and John licks his lips when he sees their hands. He takes a glance at Sherlock, who's adjusting his scarf, and slowly slips his fingers between his while keeping his eyes on him.

Nothing.

John smiles as he gently squeezes their hands together, and that...somehow manages to register with him. Sherlock looks from them to Johns face, but doesn't say a word and simple squeezes back.

"Mrs. Hudson didn't sell my violin, did she?"

John snickers, "Not yet."

"Good."

"She has been sitting in your chair though," he teases.

Sherlock shrugs, "As long as my cigarettes haven't been touched, then she's forgiven."

"You didn't get to smoke on your trip around the world?"

"Never had a chance. It's a tiring thing, having an arch-enemy."

John smirks, "Yeah, it's too bad you can't smoke in here."

Sherlock meets his eyes as he nods to the door, "Could I smoke outside? Or is there some..policy against that too?"

John can't help it. He laughs hard and his shoulders shake, "No, go ahead. They're pretty chilled out with that rule."

"Good." He pauses as he takes his hand off his, "You don't mind, do you?"

John gestures a hand to the door, "Go. You've probably been dying for a smoke since you got here."

"You're right, I have."

He stands, but is clearly hesitant to leave. John smiles.

"Go, Sherlock. I'll still be here, I promise."

Sherlock nods and takes a couple steps forward, but just before he gets to the door, he whirls back around and heads back to John, and John's stunned into silence when Sherlock suddenly takes his chin to kiss him gently on the mouth. John closes his eyes and places both his hands on Sherlocks shoulders, one of Sherlocks hands moving to his cheek while his other fiddles with his scarf. He draws back to hand it over, and he grins when he sees Johns face is flushed.

"Thanks."

He waits for John to wind it around his neck before kissing him again, and it's deeper this time. When they part, they're both smiling like idiots.

Sherlocks eyes meet his, "Keep it. It suits you."

"What about you?"

He grabs his coat lapel again, "I've got this, remember?"

John stifles a laugh as he watches Sherlock leave, but not before winking at the door, "I'll see you soon." When it shuts, John settles into the mattress. Now everything makes sense. He sighs. He can't imagine what Mrs. Hudsons reaction is going to be when she sees him.

Molly returns a few minutes later to check on him, a pitcher of water in hand, and she's surprised to find Sherlocks gone. She sits in his seat, topping the glass up as she speaks, "Did Sherlock leave then?"

"No, he's gone outside to have a cigarette."

John blushes when he hears his voice has gone husky, and he clears his throat as Molly looks at him curiously. But when he sees her smile, he knows she understands, and she puts the pitcher beside the glass. He's expecting her to start on it, but she's quiet instead as she looks around the room.

John decides to begin the conversation, "How long have you known?"

"What?" She looks back at him, "Oh, I helped Sherlock fake his death."

"That's...pretty impressive, Molly."

She smiles, "He doesn't like me, you know."

"Sorry?"

"Sherlock. He doesn't like me in that way. We only dated to keep up the charade, and to make you jealous - I…" She goes a pale red. "I mean - I didn't…"

John grins, "It's okay. He told me." Okay, that makes a lot more sense.

Molly sighs in relief, "How's your head?"

"It's getting better."

She reaches for the cloth, "Did you want me to soak this again?"

"No, I'm alright."

He watches her play with it in her hands. She really doesn't know what to say. John picks at the blanket again, until she stands from the chair, "Where did you say Sherlock was again?"

He motions to the door, "He should be right outside."

"Thanks."

He lays his head against the pillow as she moves out the room and he begins to close his eyes. He hasn't felt this comfortable in so long, and he swears he can almost sink into the mattress; he doesn't feel light headed anymore, and his headache is just about gone thanks to the ibruprofen Molly had given him…

He's just drifting off when the door creaks open again, and Sherlock comes through into the room. He smells strongly of cigarette smoke, but John can tell he's tried to hide it with a breath mint. As he comes closer, he realises he can also detect a hint of strawberry body spray - Molly must have leant it to him when she had found him.

Before John can voice a hello, or a cheeky quip, Sherlock kisses him lightly on the forehead and produces a small brown teddy bear from behind his back as he sits beside him on the chair. John laughs as he brings it to eye level to read it's tummy, and he blushes when he sees it say "I Love You" in thin blue cotton.

"What, they didn't have 'Get Well Soon?"

Sherlock smirks, "Unfortunately, they weren't having a sale."

He kisses him on the lips this time, and John captures his bottom lip between his teeth right as he goes to move away. Sherlock opens his eyes to look at him, and Johns heart leaps when he sees they're brighter than usual. He goes to kiss him again, but Sherlock draws back at the last second to sit back down, and his face is completely lit up, his mouth pulled in a lopsided grin. John twines their hands together as he searches his mind for anything he might have forgotten.

"Do you have anymore questions?

John chuckles, "You know you're reading my mind, right?"

Sherlock raises their hands to his lips and lightly kisses Johns knuckles, "Am I?"

"Shut up." He pauses, "Actually, I do have one more question."

"Ask away."

"Did you talk to Mycroft about this?"

Sherlock lowers their hands back onto the blanket, "He called me in for a little chat after he saw my behaviour at the restaurant. He was worried you would catch on quicker than we had planned."

John snorts, "He's lucky I'm an idiot, then."

"Yes, I still need to talk to him about that."

"You're not going to cause a scene, are you?"

Sherlock grins, "Would that make me a bad boyfriend?"

"It would make you a stupid one."

He kisses John for a final time and lets go of his hand to cup his cheek, his voice low, "Just for the record, John, I was never embarrassed when people assumed we were together. I thought that by me not saying anything, it would encourage them more."

John giggles, "Well, they won't need to assume anymore, will they?"

"No. And good thing too. I was tired of dancing around this."

John pulls him in for a hug, breathing in the faux strawberry spray on his coat, and Sherlock rests his head on his shoulder, his hand on the middle of his back, "Have you been sleeping in my bed since my death?"

John hesitates, "Would that be good or bad?"

"Depends how you look at it. I had been planning to ask you to move into my room when I came back, but you can stay in your single bed if you would prefer."

John hugs him tighter, "Yes, I have." He lets go to kiss his cheek, "And I'll take you up on your offer. Starting tonight," he adds with a wink.

Sherlock grins.

In the cab ride on the way home, John falls asleep on Sherlocks shoulder with their hands clasped together. Sherlock kisses his hair, complete elation floating through his body, and he gazes out the window. When they pass a security camera, Sherlock carefully holds their hands up with a wide smirk and mouths the word "Happy?" before it disappears from view.

From his security room, Mycroft smiles to himself as he takes a large bite of lamington. While Sherlock could be an idiot sometimes, he really had to hand it to his little brother for finally coming to his senses. He really thought he had been pushing it the other night, but of course, he had rightly underestimated Sherlocks knowledge of John Watson.

He wipes a piece of coconut from his mouth and turns to his assistant, who's eyes are kept on her Blackberry, "Anthea?" She looks at him, but he doesn't stray from the security footage, "Cut off all surveillance in 221b Baker Street."

"Are you sure, sir?"

He smirks, "Positive."

"For how long?" She pockets her phone.

He watches as the cab stops outside the flat, and Sherlock pass over some money to the driver, before the door opens and Mrs. Hudson steps out to hug the pair.

"Indefinitely."