Hey guys, I've never written a fanfic before in my life, but I might write more if you guys like this. Please let me know what you think, I really want to hear it even if it's negative. Follow, review, all that good stuff. Don't expect quick updates, though. I work hard to try and keep everything in character, and I'll admit that John is a challenge. There will eventually be Johnlock, but not slash because that's not how I picture their relationship. Anyways, enough of my rambling. Hope you enjoy!

"John, there's something…" Sherlock paused. John looked round at him. "…I should say, I've meant to say always and I never have. Since it's unlikely we'll ever meet again, I might as well say it now." Sherlock looked at the ground.

John squinted up at his friend. He shifted in the uncomfortable silence. "Well?"

"It's something that I realized quite recently, but there was never really a good opportunity to tell you, what with… things the way they are." They made brief eye contact, then it was John's turn to glance at the pavement. Sherlock's eyes lingered on his face for a moment more. "These sentimental things are hard for me, as you well know."

John laughed. "Yes, that is true." He blinked. "Wait – you, sentimental? I thought you were… well, caring's not an advantage, right?"

"Yes, while I don't usually like to be hindered by emotions, this may be the last time I'll ever speak to my best friend."

"You sound like you're dying or something," John said. He almost laughed, but his smile died when he saw the look on Sherlock's face. "You're not – Mycroft wouldn't… he wouldn't send you on some suicide mission, would he? I mean, he said himself that he worries about you." John searched for an answer in his friend's eyes.

Sherlock offered no comfort, however. "Like I said… he's a rubbish big brother."

"No, Sherlock – you can't make a joke out of this. It's not funny," John said. He paused, then looked up at Sherlock. "Wasn't once enough?"

"Yes, well, that time it wasn't real."

"But I thought it was." John's voice broke.

They looked at each other. Sherlock opened his mouth to speak.

"Sherlock," Mycroft called. "You've had your moment, it's time to go."

Sherlock sighed. "To the very best of times, John," he said, holding out his hand.

John looked at Sherlock for a moment. They shook hands, and John Watson's best friend in all the world turned away and boarded Mycroft's private plane.

Sherlock watched his only friend shrink into the distance. He was holding hands with Mary, a dark speck of grey against the tarmac. John would never know now what he had meant to say. Perhaps he would figure it out, but by then, Sherlock would be long gone. Maybe it was better this way. Now he could live a happy life with Mary and their child and never wonder what might have happened if Sherlock had said something before.

Sherlock, deep in thought, didn't notice the flight attendant until he said, "Sir? It's your brother." The man handed him a phone.

"Mycroft." His brother's voice came through the phone. "I've only been gone four minutes… Oh for god's sake, make up your mind," Sherlock said, exasperated, but curiosity got the better of him. "Who needs me this time?" Sherlock heard his older brother sigh.

"England."