Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any recognizable character and am not making any profit by using them.

Enjoy!

o o o

Hazard Control

o o o

Epilogue

o

On the morning of his birthday on January 6, Sherlock slowly comes to awareness because someone is pressing tender kisses on his face.

"Happy Birthday, love," John murmurs against the detective's skin, adding another kiss. Sherlock kisses back, not quite awake, and feels a gentle hand on his cheek: "I'll be back at noon," John's voice is soft, "go back to sleep."

Much to the doctor's chagrin, he couldn't take the whole day off, since the flu is going around again and he has to cover for a colleague. At least it's only a short morning shift, he tells himself, turning around for one last glance at Sherlock, who has already dozed off again. It'd be so much better if John could crawl back into bed with him, especially since it's not even light outside yet; the rest of the world seems cold and unwelcoming in comparison to this.

With a pang of regret and a sigh, John closes the bedroom door behind him. Sherlock looked so peaceful and utterly relaxed just now; inviting. John subconsciously smiles as he heads down the stairs, because it is in fact not that much different to how Sherlock is around him these days when he's awake.

Something Mycroft said to him on Christmas Day comes to his mind:

"My brother has never seemed so content," Mycroft stated, "he always carried a pain with him, hidden deep inside what he calls his Mind Palace. You've changed that, John. You've eased it."

John can't but feel a little proud as he considers this.

Sherlock wakes up two hours later; the scent of freshly-baked pastries is filling the air, and he can hear Mrs Hudson's electric coffee grinder downstairs. Groggily, he turns onto his side and closes his eyes once more, just for a few seconds. He's 36 as of today, who'd have thought. There were moments when he didn't expect to live that long, and it seems quite an achievement. Not only his age, though, but everything which has happened: he has found someone who loves him, and they are going to get married. Amazing, considering that he was a loner for most of his life, didn't want anyone to come too close.

His fingers touch something other than cloth, something which seems out of the ordinary in a bed. Curiously, Sherlock opens his eyes: there's an envelope lying on John's pillow, with Sherlock's name on it in the doctor's meticulous handwriting.

Sherlock opens it and pulls out a letter.

Dear Sherlock, it reads,

We've already talked a lot these past months and I'm glad we did, but I still feel there are some things left unsaid.

I love you with everything that I have, and I'm in awe that it is enough. It's overwhelming, amazing, that you love me back. I've always thought you're capable of feelings, I just didn't expect this. I didn't expect the new 'us' to be so amazing. Because that's how it feels like, amazing, and it's getting better every day. I worried about how things'd turn out once we'd be back home, but I now realize I needn't have.

Needless to say I'm so happy that you're here with me, on this day, that I can touch you and feel your warmth and your heartbeat. The world was a horrible place without you in it, and I never want to experience that again (which is another way to say 'many happy returns' I guess- in fact, I'd rather say 'as many happy returns as possible').

You're the best thing which has ever happened to me, Sherlock, so please forgive me for being soppy- this just wanted out, and I thought I'd better write it down in case you'd start laughing at me (or scowling, I haven't made up my mind about that).

I have furthermore tried to come up with how to call you- something which only I would be allowed to say to you. I quickly dismissed these: Darling. Dearest. Honey. And a lot of others (we've talked about that, remember?). Then I recalled what you told me: you love best about me that I love you. And that was when I realized that I don't need any other term of endearment, because no matter how many other people call you by your name, it's still special between you and me (which makes me very wise, I believe. Yes, my wisdom is also responsible for the fact that I didn't include a smiley face just before this sentence. And after it). And soon I'll get to call you husband, which no one else will ever be able to do, and I feel giddy just thinking about it.

Anyway. The bottom line is the same as the one I've almost started with- I love you, Sherlock Holmes. I hope you'll have a long and healthy life, and tonight we're going to celebrate the start of this new year.

Happy Birthday.

John

There is a postscript scrawled underneath, obviously written in haste and with another pen:

PS: And now I have to work even though I'd much rather be at home today. At least I'd already written this letter, but I'm sorry I can't be there to make you breakfast and take you back to bed afterwards. Mrs Hudson's on to it instead. The breakfast, I mean.

This time, he had included a smiley face.

o

The End

(for real this time)

o

Thank you for reading. Please leave some feedback.

o

Update March 2014: This story now has a little companion-piece called "Close to the Heart",

which you can find on my profile.

o