Don't Leave Me Part Two

One Year Later

Sherlock stood in front of a full length mirror, trying in vain to tie his inky black tie. He wished John was here.

"Do you need help?" A voice called from behind him. Sherlock's lips turned up and he spun around. John was grinning at him, his eyes slightly blurry from the long night. Watson placed his hands on his wheelchair and pushed himself forward. Sherlock kneeled down to his level, scooting close the John's half naked body. As Watson looped the tie around his boyfriends' neck Holmes' eyes traveled down John's golden muscled chest, memories of last night exploding into his mind. Since the bullet that had once made John immobile pierced his spine, he couldn't move as much as he used to. But last proved that physical therapy had been working. John's lips had skated over every inch of Sherlock's body; his war-worn hands touched and stroked every piece of him. John finished the last loop, adjusted the tie so it was straight then sat back in his chair and admired how handsome Sherlock was. Holmes leaned over Watson and placed a sweet lingering kiss on his lips. He stood back up and looked back at the mirror.

"Don't forget to take The Pill." He told the blonde, who in response, took his chair and started wheeling away fast. Sherlock spun around to see his boyfriend's weak escape attempt. He hustle after him, grabbed the handles of his chair and wheeled him backwards.

John sat pouting in the kitchen as Sherlock rummaged through his dozens of bottles of medication. John had been taking handfuls of pills ever since he had gotten shot, but The Pill was the worst. It was beige and scratchy and was the size of his thumb. Holmes found the correct bottle, shook out the horse pill and handed it to Watson. While the dark haired man fix him a glass of water, the blonde stared dreamily at his butt. It was round and perky, and a lot firmer than one would suspect, he knew because of the many times his hands had drifted to and gripped it. He gave a small smile and wheeled himself forward, just inches from Holmes' body. Sherlock was well aware of this instant closeness and pretended to be busy as he finished filling the glass. John looped one of his fingers in Sherlock's belt loop and tugged him closer. They had been in witness protection ever since that night they crossed Francis. They were tucked away in a neat little suburban house in East London, it started out as just a safe house, now it was so much more than that. It was where they could love each other and be themselves in the privacy and comfort of their own home. The accident had put a strain on their relationship; the feeling that had poured out of them like a running faucet couldn't be taken back or ignored. The first time John had gained consciousness he had woken up in the hospital and the first thing he said was 'Sherlock.' There was a faint rustling then a tall dark frame was hovering over him. Sherlock had grabbed his hand and began to cry. He blamed himself for him getting hurt and he said that he could never forgive himself. With the little but of strength John had in him, he squeezed Sherlock's hand and told him that he was alive because of him.

"I…I still love you Sherlock." Holmes looked up at him, dark eyes shining.

"How can you love me…after everything I've done?" He had asked him. Then they kissed; a kiss that held power and longing and trust and passion and a million other things. That day they were sent to witness protection. Back in the present, Sherlock allowed himself to be pulled down into John's lap. He was considerably taller than him so he sat sideways and leaned his body against him. John kissed Sherlock on the side of his neck, feeling the quick thump his pulse against his mouth. Holmes closed his eyes as John's lips traveled up the side of his throat and floated across this jawline.

"I love you." John whispered into his ear, his breath tickling Sherlock. He smiled.

"I love you too." He told him.