Author's Note: Well, this is it.

Chapter Fifty

When John woke the next day, Sherlock was standing over his bed.

He started suddenly, jerking awake, before his brain recognised the figure and realised that it was not a threat. He rolled over, and pressed his face into the pillow. "For God's sake," he groaned. "Please tell me you've not been taking lessons from Twilight."

"Who's Twilight?" Sherlock asked.

"It's a book about..." John started, and then shook his head, rolling over again to face him. "Never mind. Is there a reason you're standing over my bed?" A beat, and then he added, "No, wait, first things first, have you been standing over my bed for long?"

Sherlock shook his head. "Only a minute or two," he said, which made John feel a bit less uncomfortable.

"Well, at least you haven't gotten to the point of watching me sleep," he said. "Don't do that, by the way. Second question, why are you standing over my bed?"

"I came up to make sure you were still alive."

John was not sure what answer he had been expecting, but that was not it. He frowned, shifting and grabbing one of the pillows from under his head. He propped it up against the head of the bed and sat against it, rolling his shoulders. His body still felt sore from the full moon. "Why wouldn't I be alive?"

"You don't usually sleep in this late."

John frowned, and then reached over for his phone on the bedside table, turning on the screen. The clock read 11:53 AM.

"Is it almost noon already?" he mumbled, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. Being in the army had caused him to become accustomed to early mornings, even when he had nowhere to be that day. Now that he was home, he had started taking more daytime naps, following full moons or occasionally following nights where he was kept up late with investigations, but if he was not kept out of bed the night before, he was usually awake early. He could not remember the last time he had slept in past eight, let alone slept through the entire morning.

There was a mug on the bedside table still half-filled with tea. John could vaguely recall making himself a cup last night and taking it up to his room. He must have been so exhausted that he fell asleep before he had even finished it.

He glanced down at his wrist, gently tracing a finger over the two neat puncture wounds. They scarcely hurt now; he had almost forgotten they were there. It was like he had been injected using two unusually thick needles. There was no trace of blood.

Last night felt like something of a dream, like it had not really happened. A part of him wished that were the case. He wished that last night had been a dream and his (now ex-)girlfriend had not been a hunter who had been interested in John purely because John was a werewolf with a vampire who had somehow, at some point, become his best friend. However, the marks on his wrist told him that all of it had been real. The one normal thing in his life hadn't been all that normal after all, and now he just had to learn to deal with it.

"I got a text from Mycroft this morning," Sherlock said, sitting down on the edge of the bed and bringing John out of his mind. He dragged his gaze away from his wrist to look at Sherlock as he continued, "Everyone we know to be a part of the organisation – that is, the hunters, not Moriarty's network more generally – who were in London purchased either plane or train tickets this morning. They're all gone."

"And Mary?" John prompted, trying and failing to sound nonchalant.

Sherlock did not meet his eyes. "We're not sure," he confessed after a pause. "I asked Mycroft to trace her, but there's been no sign of her since last night. Her flat has been emptied entirely. The only evidence she existed at all is the note she said she left in your office."

John slumped back against the pillows. Despite everything, a part of him was disappointed that he might never see her again. Another part of him was relieved. "So that's it, then. It's over."

Sherlock smiled wryly. "I don't think it's ever truly over. We only scratched the surface of Moriarty's network. We might not be able to seek it out now ourselves, but I don't doubt that we'll see it again. A consulting detective and a consulting criminal; I'd be surprised if our paths never crossed again."

John found himself hoping they wouldn't, though he did not say this aloud.

Silence fell between them for a moment, though it wasn't tense or awkward. Sherlock's gaze had taken to wandering around the room again, the expression on his face thoughtful. Perhaps he was still thinking about the case. John wondered if it annoyed Sherlock, that he had not really been able to solve it.

John brushed his fingertips over his wrist again, and considered getting up and dressing, making the most of the small amount of the day that he had left, before Sherlock spoke again.

"I've been thinking..."

"Really? You, thinking? Whatever was that like?"

Sherlock glared, and continued, "Even though we're no longer investigating this organisation, I'd like you to continue your work with me. Having your medical expertise, among other things, could prove very useful in future investigations."

John nodded his head, not needing long to consider the offer. He had gone with Sherlock on a handful of non-organisation-related cases during their investigation, and it had been an interesting experience. It made him feel useful again, too, like he felt when he was in the army. As a general practitioner at a surgery, he could only help a little, but as a detective, or at least a partner of a detective, with knowledge in areas that Sherlock did not possess, he could do so much more. "As long as you're not planning on telling me to quit my day job to help you, y-"

Then he was cut off by Sherlock continuing, "And I think you should move in with me."

John blinked. "What?"

"It's practical," Sherlock said quickly. "It would be inefficient if I were to need to call on you for investigations while you were staying at a separate address, not to mention we'd save on cab fares to and from the Yard if we did not have to make two stops. That, and if you're to..." he hesitated, somewhat awkwardly, and continued, "monitor my feeding habits, so to speak, it would be vastly preferable if you were here. Besides, I'm sure Mrs Hudson will be pleased to have someone eating her groceries."

John thought about the miserable little bedsit that he had been living at since he had returned to London. He thought about the camera in his kitchen, and his difficulties falling asleep at night ever since they'd found it. He thought about how often he had found himself looking online for other available places, but always finding that they were out of his price range, his army pension coupled with the small amount that he earnt working part-time at the surgery putting a huge limitation on his options.

He thought about how much more comfortable he had always felt, coming back to Baker Street rather than going to his own place, and he thought about the past few weeks, living there. He thought about Mrs Hudson, as well as Sherlock. He thought about how easy it had been to settle into a routine living at Baker Street, not to mention how much better he had slept, knowing there was someone else to keep watch over the flat.

"So, if you'd like to," Sherlock finished, almost nervously. "I'd like you to move in with me."

John waited for Sherlock to meet his eyes, and then smiled. "Yeah," he said. "I think I will."

Author's Note: And we're done.

This fic has been the longest that I've written - longer, even, than my own fiction works - and it's been an absolutely wild ride. This has been the outcome of almost two years of work, of using opportunities when I didn't have to study to write, or writing frantically on a morning before I had to catch a bus. When I started this mid-2014, I did not expect this to be the end result.

The original plan for this fic was going to only have about twenty chapters. In my planning phase, I jotted down all the major plot points, and figured I'd work around them. Originally, there was no organisation, and there was no Moriarty, and no Mary. In the original plan, the climax was their first encounter with that hunter, and then it was going to conclude much in the same way that the current story has concluded, albeit with much less time to properly develop their relationship. The addition of the organisation came as a result of a comment I received on the hunter chapter - a comment that said they were wondering whether or not the hunter worked alone. My mind saw this and ran away with it, and this was the end result. So, to the person who inspired that idea, thank you.

I owe a lot of thanks to a lot of you. Firstly, to Becca (Ao3's LlamaWithAPen), who I've been thanking every chapter since she started helping me with this fic, and who I still cannot thank enough. If it weren't for her, this fic would have many more typos in it, and probably would not make nearly as much sense. I also have her to thank for being my moral support and helping me make sure that every chapter I posted wasn't terrible.

And secondly, and equally as importantly, I owe a million thanks to everyone who has followed this story, and especially to those who have commented. Your comments and reviews have helped motivate me to keep writing and updating as regularly as I could manage, as well as inspiring me with regards to some of the points in this fic (as I've already mentioned). Never underestimate the power your comments have. Anyone who writes on this site will agree with me when I say they mean the world.

And so this is the end. However, if you've liked my writing style, then I'll let you know that I'm already working on another fic: this one, a series of one-shots, alternate universes and alternate ways that John and Sherlock could have met. I'm accepting prompts for this fic already, so if you have any ideas, feel free to shoot me a message, and if you've enjoyed An Unusual Association, then please keep an eye out for my next one.

And now, my friends, I bid you farewell, with another huge thank you to every single one of you who has followed this story for so long. Thank you for everything, and goodbye for now.