When John woke up, he wasn't in his own bed, wrapped in his own sheets. He wasn't in 221B and he wasn't in his house. His eyes darted around in brief post-sleep panic. He relaxed when he felt long, thin arms around him. He snuggled back against Sherlock, closing his eyes again.

"You don't have to go back to sleep," Sherlock murmured.

"I know," John answered, "But I don't want to move from this spot for a million years."

John felt Sherlock's chest rumble as he chuckled at John's comment. The bed shifted and John looked to see Sherlock looking down on him. He soundlessly leaned down and kissed John softly. John smiled into the kiss and Sherlock laughed quietly. John was relieved when Sherlock returned to his position behind him, pulling John close to him. John breathed in Sherlock's smell and wrinkled his nose.

"You stink," John blurted.

"Haven't showered in a few days now," Sherlock answered, "Shall I go do that now?"

Sherlock began to move away.

"No!" John shouted, "Stay. Forever."

"I will," Sherlock whispered in his ear.

"Good," John said quietly, "Because I need you. Where are we anyway?"

John suddenly looked around, remembering he wasn't somewhere familiar. He saw several tall, full book shelves filled with books, science equipment and objects John couldn't name. He saw a desk piled with books and paper. The room was incredibly cluttered. John found himself itching to clean it up.

"This is my house," Sherlock replied, "And this is my room."

"What?" John cried out.

He sat up suddenly, finding himself trying to look at everything at once. This is Sherlock's room? Wow! I'm in his room! This is his room! His room! Holy crap! John felt excitement bubble up inside him as his eyes darted around trying to take everything in. Sherlock sat up on one arm.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing," John answered, relaxing slightly, "I was just surprised. You have a very messy room, Sherlock."

"Thanks, John," Sherlock laughed, falling back onto his bed.

"I mean…It's just a bit cluttered is all," John said, trying to be nice.

"It's ok, John," Sherlock grinned at him, "I know it is rather messy. I usually just leave everything where it is and walk away. I don't clean. It's boring."

"I could clean it for you," John offered.

"It really bothers you, doesn't it?" Sherlock questioned.

"No," John answered, sheepishly.

"We'll clean it," Sherlock stated, "Just not now. I need a shower."

"Oh, ok," John answered, "What should I do?"

"Why don't you go down to the kitchen?" Sherlock suggested, "I bet you're very hungry."

"Oh, ok," John answered, "Where's that?"

"Down the stairs," Sherlock gestured towards his door, "It won't be hard to miss once you get downstairs."

Sherlock got up and stretched his back, his hands reaching up toward the ceiling. He meandered over to his closet, as John slipped down off the large bed. The sheets are slippery, John noticed. He felt the sheets with his fingertips. Is this silk? He wondered. It was a sapphire color that matched one of Sherlock's shirts, the one he'd given John to wear at one point. John smiled at the memory. He decided he loved sapphire.

He suddenly remembered he wasn't wearing clothes. He looked down at the heavy coat that Sherlock had thrown on him.

"Sherlock, can I borrow some clothes?" John asked tentatively.

"Sure," Sherlock grunted from his closet.

Suddenly clothes were flying at John from the door of the closet. He tried and failed to catch each item, stumbling over his clumsy feet. He picked up the clothes noting that the shirt was a lovely shade of periwinkle and the jeans were going to be huge on him. He blushed at the black pants that Sherlock had thrown at him, but slipped them on anyway. He pulled on the clothes, rolling up the pant legs and the sleeves as best as he could.

"Alright, I'm gonna go then," he called to Sherlock.

He heard a grunt from the closet and took that to mean Sherlock heard him. He shuffled to the door that he assumed was the exit. He shuffled his way out of it and down the large set of stairs. He looked around the room, realizing this must be a living room. He took a few steps before realizing that to his left was the kitchen. He shuffled into it, the tile feeling cold on his feet.

He gaped at the cleanliness of it and the newness of it. That's Sherlock I suppose. John thought with a tiny smile. He stepped to the refrigerator to find that it was mostly empty. He frowned at it and closed the door. He searched the cabinets until he found a kettle and tea (because vampire or not, no British person goes without tea). He was sipping it quietly from a plain white cup when a throat cleared behind him.

He whipped around, stumbling slightly and almost losing his tea. Before him stood a tall, pale vampire with a little bit of brown hair on his head. The vampire had an umbrella in one hand and an annoyingly long nose on his face.

"You must be the human," the vampire stated, "I can tell by your smell. Hmm. You don't seem all that remarkable."

"Who are you?" John demanded.

"My name is Mycroft," the vampire replied, "Hasn't he told you about me?"

John's heart stuttered at the name.

"No," John admitted.

"Of course he hasn't," Mycroft sighed, "I'm only his older brother and only bit of family he has. Why would he tell you? That is a lovely shirt by the way."

John blushed violently at realizing that his jealously was misplaced. He then blushed harder as he looked down at the several sizes too large shirt that he'd given up rolling the sleeves up on.

"It's not what you think," John mumbled bashfully, "I just needed some clothes is all."

"Of course," Mycroft stated, "Never mind that Sherlock has never allowed anyone to wear his clothes before."

"Shove off, Mycroft," came a growl behind Mycroft.

John was relieved to see Sherlock standing there, his hair still wet from the shower. Mycroft turned to look at his younger brother.

"Why haven't you told me?" Mycroft said in a clear, soft voice.

"Because it's none of your business!" Sherlock shouted at him, "Why are you here anyway? Don't you have lives to ruin?"

"Indeed," Mycroft answered, "Just checking on my brother. Concern for family and all that."

With that, Mycroft left Sherlock and John standing in the kitchen.

"There's barely any food, Sherlock," John said, in an effort to ease the tension.

"I forgot," Sherlock answered, "We'll go someplace."

"Ok," John drank the rest of his tea before setting the cup gently in the sink, "I need shoes, Sherlock."

"Yes, here they are," Sherlock said as a thump sounded in the kitchen.

"You have my shoes?" John questioned.

"Got them from Moriarty's place before we left," Sherlock muttered.

"Really?" John asked.

Sherlock nodded and suddenly John didn't feel so well. His knees wobbled and his stomach ached. He suddenly felt bruises and cuts on his body that he forgot were there. He shakily found his way to the floor, breathing heavily.

"John?" Sherlock was instantly beside him, holding him, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," John whispered, "I just remembered everything that happened. Please don't say that name again."

"I won't," Sherlock assured him.

They stayed still for several moments in that position. Sherlock stroked John's hair in a soothing manner and they just stayed like that. John pressed his head into Sherlock's chest, finally able to smell that familiar spice smell.

"Yes," John stated firmly.

"What?" Sherlock asked with a confused look.

"I will marry you," John answered.

"Really?" Sherlock said in surprise.

"Really," John confirmed.

Sherlock beamed down at him and John mirrored the expression. Sherlock leaned down and gently kissed his lips. John winced slightly as Sherlock's lips hit the cut on his lower lip. Sherlock noticed the wince and slid his tongue out to slide slickly over the cut. John felt a slight tingle as the cut was healed. He looked up at Sherlock with a smile on his face as hot and happy tears threatened to form.

"I love you," he whispered, his lips touching Sherlock's as his mouth formed the words.

"I love you too," Sherlock answered, his lips mimicking the slight brushing of lips.

John closed the tiny space between them, pressing his lips hard against Sherlock's. He gripped Sherlock's shirt in tight fists that said, "You're mine forever and I'm never letting go." Sherlock pulled John closer, deepening the kiss. Oh, this is so not normal, John thought, never normal with Sherlock Holmes.

Little note: Do you guys like the ending? I thought it was a good way to end...I love you guys! I will miss you!