Hey guys!

Well, this is it. How did that happen? I've decided not to do an epilogue, as I wanted to leave the ending open. Though I think that this last chapter still ties things up quite nicely, and answers all of your questions. Or at least I hope so, anyway. And even though I've been looking forward to writing this for a while, I'm still quite sad that it's all over.

I never expected this fic to be as successful as it was, and I just want to say thank you to all of you. Whether you've been reading this from the beginning, or whether you're reading it long after it's been finished...thank you. I've gained some great friends because of this fic, and discovered some amazing fics myself.

Thank you to: hAde, Belen09, pruplip4, Lusaida, Cumberbatch of Derren Brownies, DoctorSherlockLove, WickedFlamePrincess, ellieee98, foonkey, Sentimental Star, McKenzieAnne, greengirl16, lauraiscumberbatched, A Lotus Flower, GoTherka, Sparticus328, MorwnIthil, Wolfwish, cathernatural.812, xNeariax, Revella, tipthecabbie2.0, MeMyselfI, TheLastofUs, ruthybev, Sienna, mailaine, Serenityofthematrix, b-b-b-benedict, Kestrel98, and ashley.!

And I want to say a special thank you to BritishSweden, and my wonderful beta-reader lDLETEEN! I can't even put into words how grateful I am to the two of you! And if any of you are looking for anything to read, please look at these two's profiles because they're both fantastic writers! And now I'm running out of adjectives...

When I started writing this fic, I was in a really bad place. And even though I still have bad days, it's getting better. And I like to think that some of that is because of all of you, and the support you've given me.

So thank you, and enjoy.

Megan

oxox

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January 15th, 2013

19:05pm

"John."

John's mind went blank. He opened his mouth, but no words were willing to come out. His heart stopped, as he looked up at the man he'd dreamt of seeing again for so long. He blinked several times, the lights in the restaurant suddenly too bright. The conversations and chatter of the other people too loud. He could hear the clatter of knives and forks, his head beginning to pound. He could feel his palms sweating, and wiped them on his pants absentmindedly.

He swallowed thickly, not knowing what to do. Well, what could he say? For a whole year, he'd believed Sherlock was dead. He'd stood at his grave, and mourned him. He'd cried over him, night after night. He'd stayed in his apartment for months on end, and nearly drank himself to death. All because of this one man. Because he'd had the nerve to leave him.

Even though John knew the truth now, he couldn't help but be a little angry. All he would've needed, was one word. Just something to let him know that Sherlock was alive. Maybe then he wouldn't have destroyed himself the way that he had.

Because he had. He had utterly destroyed himself while Sherlock was gone, and he knew it. He was a mess. He looked in the mirror in the morning, and he didn't even know who he was anymore. He didn't even feel like himself anymore. And he knew that Sherlock could see it too. The way he was looking at him with those big, sad eyes...John could practically see his heart breaking.

But that didn't stop him from being angry. He stood up, facing Sherlock. He clenched his fists at his sides, trying to prevent himself from doing something he might regret. His shoulders were shaking with anger, and he felt a painful rage begin to simmer inside him. A year. A whole year, he'd been gone. And without so much as a word of warning, he thought he could just come sauntering back into John's life -

"You...cock!" John cried, gripping the table for support. He saw Sherlock flinch, and looked around him, suddenly very aware of the other customers. He shot them an apologetic look, though luckily there weren't that many of them. Glaring at him suspiciously out of the corners of their eyes, they continued their conversations, now muttering under their breath.

"John, I-"

"How? How could you do that to me?" he continued, only lowering his voice very slightly. His heart was pounding loudly again, but this time he ignored it. He hadn't realised before just how much he'd wanted to say this. "I waited for you! For months! I waited for you to come back. To tell me that it was all a joke, that you weren't really dead. To tell me just how stupid I was for even believing that you could be-"

"In my defence, I really did think you'd figure it out soon enough-"

"No! You're going to let me speak now! You've said quite enough!" he yelled, holding a hand up accusingly. He wasn't going to let Sherlock weasel his way out of this. Not yet, anyway. He was going to get out what he had to say first. Then Sherlock could sweep in with his big, apologetic speech or whatever. "After a while, I just gave up. I figured that if you were going to come back you would've done it by then. I figured that you wouldn't...that you wouldn't have been able to let it go on for that long. That you wouldn't have been able to watch me suffer like...so I gave up. I gave up on you."

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it again. John desperately wanted to know what he had to say, but he just didn't seem to be able to stop himself. He swallowed thickly, feeling tears burn at the back of his throat. His heart was banging against his ribs, and his hands itched just to reach out and touch him. To just make sure that he was really here. That this was really happening.

"I wasted...months of my life. I wrecked myself, to the point where I didn't even know who I was anymore. I was so close to just...ending it all. And the only thing that I had left...the one thing that made me cling on to my pathetic excuse of a life...was those letters. Because I thought that maybe if I could just keep it up for that one year, that at least then it would mean something. That I would mean something. Because I'd have some kind of sense of achievement again."

John knew what was coming, and he bit his lip, trying to stop himself from saying it. He'd never said the words out loud before, though it had always been a certainty in his mind. Somehow, saying the words out loud made it sound more...real. Before, it had only seemed like another one of his strange fantasies. Even though he had been seriously considering it.

He didn't want to say it. He'd never intended for Sherlock to know. But the words were crawling up his throat now, and he didn't seem to be able to stop them. In a way, he wanted to say it. He wanted Sherlock to know what this had done to him. Wanted to see the look on his face when he finally understood what John had been going through.

Blinking back tears, John forced himself to look Sherlock in the eye. He'd never seen him look so...small. His eyes were wide, and fearful, and John could almost swear he could see hints of tears in the consulting detective's eyes as well. Sherlock was breathing rapidly, clenching and unclenching his hands nervously. John found he wanted nothing more than to just reach out and take them in his own.

"This morning, when I read that letter...I was going to kill myself." John admitted, lowering his voice so that nobody else heard. He looked at the ground, not wanting to look Sherlock in the eye anymore. He wasn't sure he could face the mix of emotions that he saw there. "I was going to read the letter, and then I was going to get my gun and...well, you don't need to know the details."

"So...what stopped you?" Sherlock asked, swallowing thickly. John looked up, tilting his head to the side.

"Isn't it obvious?" he replied, but Sherlock still looked blank. John shook his head, stepping away from the table reluctantly. "Well firstly, Mary turned up. She said she wanted to stop me from doing something stupid after reading the letter. I didn't tell her what I was going to do. My plan was just to wait until she was gone, and then do it. But then I read the letter."

"John, I'm...I'm sorry."

"I know you are, Sherlock." he replied, taking a few more steps towards the consulting detective. "And I forgive you, I do. But that doesn't mean that I'm not still angry. You left me like that for a year. You stood by and watched as I fell apart. Maybe there was nothing you could've done, I don't know. But you could have tried. You could have found a way to tell me. So yes, I'm angry.

I'm angry because you lied to me. You stood up on that rooftop, and you lied. I'm angry because I've spent a whole year of my life mourning you, while you were out there travelling the world. I'm angry because other people knew, and I didn't. I mean for God's sake, even Mycroft knew! Mycroft! But most of all, I'm angry because...well, because I love you. I love you, you absolute dickhead."

Before Sherlock even had time to say anything, John reached up, meeting the other man's lips with his own.

It was unlike anything he'd ever experienced before. He'd been kissed before, but this...this was something else. Whenever John had kissed a girl, it felt awkward, and unbalanced. It just felt wrong. He'd always had the impression that kissing was just supposed to be that way. But kissing Sherlock felt...right. It felt equal, and John mentally slapped himself for not doing this all those years ago when they'd first met. It sure would've saved them both a lot of time.

He raised his hands to tangle them in Sherlock's hair, as he felt strong arms wrap around his waist. He noted absentmindedly that Sherlock tasted like salt and cigarettes. Normally, John would have found this combination altogether unpleasant. But somehow he found himself quite addicted to the taste, and clinged to Sherlock tighter, not wanting to let go.

Angelo made his way over to the table, about to ask if they were ready to order. When he saw the couple kissing in the middle of the restaurant, he stopped in his tracks, dropping the menus he'd been holding. Customers turned to him to see what was going on, but he just looked at the two men, grinning from ear to ear. Clapping his hands loudly, he muttered to himself.

"Finally."

"So how did you know Mary, then?" John asked, as he continued to shovel food into his mouth. It had been an hour now since Sherlock had walked back into his life, and already, it was as if he'd never left. They had fallen right back into their usual routines, except John had actually managed to convince Sherlock to eat this time. John hadn't noticed it before, but Sherlock actually looked a lot thinner than when he'd last seen him.

Despite this, he was still just as beautiful as John had remembered. He was clean shaven, and his hair was perfectly combed. He was dressed in a tight-fitting suit, with the purple shirt that John loved so much (though he'd never tell him - he didn't want him getting any more vain than he already was). But even though he was still so undeniably perfect...there was still something just different about him.

"I had to interview her once over the assassination of a bank manager." Sherlock replied casually, and he saw John's eyes widen in shock. "It wasn't her, of course. Huge misunderstanding. Somebody tried to frame her, but I figured it out and got her cleared of the charges. We got along quite well, so we kept in touch. I'd almost consider her a friend, if I went in for that sort of thing."

John rolled his eyes at that comment, but ignored it. He breathed a sigh of relief. "For a minute there, I thought you meant that Mary actually was an assassin!"

"Well she is," he said, just as John had continued eating. His eyes widened again, and he spluttered, struggling to swallow. Sherlock tilted his head to the side, looking ever so slightly amused. "Well, at least she was. At the time I interviewed her she was, but not anymore. She said she wanted a 'normal life'. To be honest, I was quite glad. It meant I didn't have to cover up for her anymore, not that I minded, but-"

"You let me stay in the house of an assassin?"

"Former assassin." Sherlock pointed out.

"You let me stay in the house of a former assassin?"

"In my defence, I wasn't actually around at the time. I gave you her address so that you could listen to her play the song I wrote for you, how was I to know that you'd stay over Christmas? Not that it was a bad idea. I had hoped to introduce the two of you at one point, though now it seems that I don't have to. But let me assure you, you were completely safe."

"I know that. It just would've been nice to know, that's all." John mumbled, as he continued eating. Mary...an assassin? It just didn't seem to make any sense in his mind. He'd thought Mary was a part-time nurse. Or at least that's what she'd told him. But maybe she was, he didn't know. He supposed it didn't really matter now. He knew the truth, and it wasn't really going to affect his opinion of her.

Like he'd said before: if Sherlock trusted her, then so did he.

"Well sorry, again." Sherlock muttered, and John could tell that he meant it. There was something in his eyes...something that had never been there before. It looked almost like...guilt. Whatever had happened to Sherlock over the last year, it had changed him. And John wasn't sure how he felt about that yet. But for now, he was hoping that it was for the better. "Sorry. Sorry for...for everything."

"Sherlock," John reached across the table, and took Sherlock's hand in his. The feeling was unfamiliar, but not at all unpleasant. It was just...new. The corners of John's mouth twitched up, though Sherlock suddenly looked very sombre. "You don't need to keep apologising. I forgive you, okay? I forgive you. You've explained what happened, and I understand. I can't say I agree with the way you did it all, but...I forgive you."

"John, you're acting as if I broke an expensive vase, or accidentally used your toothbrush. I faked my own death for an entire year. That's not something that should be forgiven this easily."

"So what, now you're saying that I shouldn't forgive you?"

"No, I...I don't know," Sherlock shook his head, looking down at the table. Taking a deep breath, he looked John in the eye, keeping their hands intertwined on the table. "I just...I know that I don't deserve your forgiveness, John. I know that. But the problem is...I need it. I've spent an entire year running round the world dismantling Moriarty's network. I've killed people, I've gotten people hurt...I've put my own life in danger more times than I can count. And I did it all...for you. So that I could come back, and beg for your forgiveness."

"Sherlock..." he whispered, genuinely touched by Sherlock's words. He'd been trying not to cry ever since Sherlock had arrived, and up until now he'd succeeded. But he could feel himself tearing up, and had to take a small breath to stop himself from crying. "You don't need to beg for my forgiveness, or anything like that. You already have it. I love you. I'd forgive you anything."

"And I you." he replied, the beginnings of a smile playing on his lips. His thumb traced patterns on John's hand, making his heart skip several beats. John felt like a lovesick teenager, butterflies and all. And though it should have made him feel stupid and childish...he loved every minute of it. Because he had Sherlock back, and that was all that mattered.

"Even if I brutally murdered someone?" John asked, humour in his voice. Sherlock laughed, the sound pulling at John's heart. He'd waited so long to hear that laugh, and it was worth every day he'd waited.

"I might have to draw the line there." Sherlock considered, his brow furrowing in mock thought. "Though only because I fear it may interfere with my work if you did. If you covered it up well enough, I might be able to just let it go. But work comes first, you must understand."

"Before me?"

"I suppose I could make an exception," he mused, slowly sliding his hand out of John's. For a moment, John looked down at their hands, confused. But then Sherlock smiled. "Though you'll have to convince me."

John grinned, leaning over the table, and capturing Sherlock's lips with his own. His hand went up to cup the other man's face, and he felt Sherlock's fingers playing with the hair at the back of his neck. He didn't think he'd ever get tired of this. The feeling of kissing Sherlock was entirely unique, unlike anything John had ever felt before, and he doubted it was like anything he'd ever feel again.

Completely oblivious to the people around them, Sherlock pulled back from the kiss, and leaned his forehead against John's. They were both grinning like idiots, and Sherlock's hands were shaking. John reached up, and took Sherlock's hands in his own once more. He felt a laugh erupt from somewhere inside him, and Sherlock began to laugh too. Because they were finally together.

"Convincing enough?" John asked, grinning like a maniac.

"I'm not sure...try again."