Disclaimer: I got a light up rose and a letter (a very nice letter from someone close to me) for Valentine's Day. But…my significant other did not get me what I really wanted. No Sherlock, no John, no Greg, no Alan Rickman, no Richard Dean Anderson. :( Oh, well. They're still not mine.

A/N: I wasn't going to post this until tomorrow and then I realized that it's Valentine's Day and you all deserve a gift. So here you go: the last chapter of Tales of a Sentient Skull. Enjoy!

John the Man

"Good morning, John," Sherlock called his normal morning greeting, used only when he actually had slept the night before, to his friend.

"Morning Sherlock," was the instant reply. "Anything on for today?"

"I thought I'd finish that experiment on the toes. And Molly has some new fingers at the lab if you'd like to go have a look with me."

"Do I ever not want to go with you?" John asked. "You should be nicer to Molly you know? She has a crush on you. Not that I blame her, you are very attractive. Lord knows that I'd jump you if I had limbs or any of the other necessities used for sex."

Sherlock let John's rambling fade to a buzz in the back of his mind. It was a kind of soothing background noise while he finished his experiment.

"Done," Sherlock announced as he jotted the last few notes into his lab book. "Come along, John let's go visit Molly." Sherlock turned around to collect his friend and dropped his lab book in surprise.

"Sherlock? Are you all right?" Asked the man seated in the chair that Sherlock had bought for John. The man that looked like Sherlock had imagined John would. The man that sounded exactly like the John in his head. "Sherlock? You've gone pale…well, paler anyway. What is it?"

"John?" Sherlock whispered.

"Yes?" John answered.

"You're…you're real," Sherlock shook his head, blinked his eyes and then strode over and poked John in the chest.

"Ow!" John complained and then his face paled and he looked down at his chest. "I have a chest," he murmured and reached up to rub at the spot Sherlock had poked. "I have arms. How?" He turned pleading hazel eyes up to Sherlock.

"I've gone mad," Sherlock said. "I think."

"Boys!" Mrs. Hudson called out from the stairwell. "Are you awake?"

"Yes, Mrs. Hudson," John answered before he thought about it. "Oh, right, she can't hear me as I don't exist…well, I thought I didn't."

"Good," Mrs. Hudson opened the door. "I'm off to spend the weekend with my sister. John, be a dear and don't let Sherlock burn down the house while I'm gone won't you?" She leaned over the chair and gave him a peck on the head. Then turned and left the room.

"She could see you," Sherlock said.

"Mrs. Hudson is batty, Sherlock."

Sherlock's eyes lit up. "Come along. Molly isn't and if she sees you then we'll know for sure."

"All right," John nodded and stood up. "Wow, I'm shorter than I remember."

"You're just the height I thought you'd be," Sherlock disagreed. "Where did that jumper come from?"

"My gran knitted it for me just before I shipped out."

"Oh." Sherlock paused and stared. "How did it get on you?"

"Haven't the foggiest."

Half an hour later, John was chatting pleasantly with Molly while Sherlock pretended to stare into a microscope. Molly hadn't been at all shocked when the two men had strode into the lab side by side and had only greeted them with a pleasant "Good morning, John, Sherlock." Then she'd pulled John to the side to ask him about some IT guy she had met that morning. Sherlock's phone beeped but he ignored it. It beeped again and he ignored it again.

"Oh for Christ's sake, answer your phone, Sherlock," John reprimanded.

"Busy," Sherlock told him curtly. "You answer it."

"Fine," John huffed while Molly giggled. "Where is it?"

"Where it always is, my coat pocket."

John fished the mobile out and checked the messages. "It's Greg," he announced. "There's been a fourth suicide and he wants us."

"Very well, lovely to see you Molly," he swirled away, wide grin stretching his face. He'd known there'd be another.

The Yarders could see John too and interacted with him as though he'd always been alive.

"Evening, Dr. John, Freak," Sally greeted them. "Lestrade's inside waiting."

"Thank you, Sally," John said politely.

"Neither of you better contaminate anything," Anderson warned.

"Do we ever?" John shot back. "And keep your eyes to yourself this time, Anderson. Sherlock has better taste."

"Play nice, John," Lestrade said tiredly. "Did you catch the match last night?"

"No, Sherlock had a visit from Mycroft yesterday so he took apart the telly again."

"Too bad, it was a good one."

"John! Come tell me what you think!" Sherlock called.

"Tell me about the match at the pub later?" John asked Lestrade before joining Sherlock by the body.

"Don't I always?" Lestrade laughed. "It's my turn to buy the drinks I think."

That seemed to be the end of it. Sherlock didn't plan to dig too deeply into how his skull had become a man; he didn't want to lose his friend back into silence. Besides, John was an excellent kisser and everyone knows that skulls do not have lips with which to kiss, nor do they have other parts that are necessary to a romantic relationship.