*Hello lovelies. So…this is the second-to-last installment of my Johnlock piece that I've been working on. It started with The Failed Date and then Love Later. I wasn't intending for it to become a series, but it looks like it has. This has a moment of smut in it, but unfortunately I was going for feels more than smut. I am so sorry. I'm just going to say that. I am so so so sorry. Please don't hate me. See you all in the next piece!*

I.O.U.

"Sherlock. Sherlock, easy." John chuckled, trying to push the man away. "We've only just arrived."

"Yes and your point would be what?" Sherlock questioned, gently nibbling John's stubbled jaw. "Isn't this what couples are supposed to do on their honeymoon?"

"Yes it is, but this isn't our honeymoon. This is the time in-between our wedding and our reception and we are in the car that your brother hired for us."

Sherlock sighed, flopping back in the seat, crossing his arms across his chest. "You always ruin my fun."

"Well, one of us has to be the sane one in this marriage."

Sherlock grinned at John. "You know, we could skip the reception, get an early start on our honeymoon."

"No," John replied, leaning back in the seat of the car. "After all the time you spent planning this? No. We're going to get through the reception."

"But that means that people will have to give moronic speeches that mean nothing and we'll have to listen to dozens of congratulations. Do you really want to sit through all of that mess?"

"Yes Sherlock."

"Why? Because it's expected of us? Of you more than me?"

"Because it's the right thing to do, Sherlock. All of these people have travelled long distances to see us. The least we can do is be present for them." John took his hand. "Plus, Mr. Watson, we practiced that first dance so much that I'd like for us to be able to show the world."

Sherlock smiled. "I do love to dance."

"I know you do. Mrs. Hudson does too with how many times she caught us practicing."

Sherlock chuckled, pulling John closer to him, breathing in the scent of soap and aftershave. He'd grown to love that smell in the mornings when John was curled up next to him in their bed. He'd never admit it of course, but there were a lot of things that he loved about his doctor. And of course he saw all of it, every tick, every nervous habit, every smile, every change in weight, clothing, grooming habits. He knew when John was trying to impress him and when John had had a horrible day at the office. He knew when his old wound was bothering him and when he needed to sleep or to eat. It was much like having a pet. Except this Redbeard would be with him for the rest of his life. And he didn't think that would bother him.

"Sherlock?"

"Mmm?"

"What are you thinking?"

"Oh, I'm thinking about a couple of cases that I'll need to attend to when we return from Spain. Nothing too important, but they will need my attention."

"Are they dangerous?"

"Very."

"Secret?"

"Top secret."

John was grinning from ear to ear. "It sounds like you're trying to convince me to stay at home."

"God no. Quite the opposite. I mean, I married you to help me on cases."

"Is that all you married me for?"

"Yep." John looked up at him in shock before breaking into a wide grin, realizing that Sherlock was joking. "Well, I would be lying if I said I didn't enjoy your company."

They arrived at their destination and Sherlock helped John from the car. John straightened his coat and Sherlock helped with his tie. People were pulling into the reception and John and Sherlock stood at the entrance, greeting everyone, thanking them for coming. John reached for Sherlock's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze of reassurance. Sherlock relaxed slightly. Despite his feelings on marriage and love, he was willing to try for John. If this was the closest thing that he could get to love and happiness in his life, he would take it.

After the seemingly endless stream of guests, they entered the reception hall, seating themselves at the high table. The wedding party consisted of Mycroft, Molly, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson, the men seated on Sherlock's left and the women on John's right. They finished the meal and as the plates for dessert were whisked away, the officiant announced that everyone should turn their attention to Mycroft. Sherlock sighed, grimacing inwardly. He'd hoped that Lestrade would be the best man, but John had insisted that he choose his brother.

"Little brother," Mycroft began and Sherlock winced. "Years and years ago, back when you were young, I never pictured you getting married. I pictured you as a pirate on the waters, using that somewhat brilliant brain of yours to rob mariners of their money. I thought that you would become my mortal enemy and that we would be sworn to kill one another until the end of our days." The room was silent and Sherlock fought back a sigh. "But now, here we are."

"When you told me that you were intending to marry John, I was unsurprised. You always had a fondness for your pets. So why should the doctor that you'd taken under your wing be any different?" Sherlock took John's hand, watching as the man glanced up at him with hurt and curiosity. "He became different the day you faked your death. I could see in his grief, which I've personally never understood, that he loved you. That he would do anything for you. I watched with interest as he wept for you, as he visited your grave every week. As he came by, on more than one occasion, drunk to your grave and howled at the sky with an agony that could make your skin crawl."

"I tell you now, little brother, that you are a lucky man to have someone so devoted to you. To have someone who would love you so deeply, truly, and unconditionally. I knew the day that I met him that he would change your life and you would change his. I ask now that we toast to the lovely couple, to a long and happy marriage filled with many adventures and mysteries for them to solve." Mycroft raised his glass. "A toast, to the doctor and the detective. May their marriage be blessed."

There were a couple more speeches and then Sherlock and John cut their wedding cake. It had been a simple cake, a deerstalker cap with a stethoscope wrapped around it. It was the one thing that Sherlock and John had completely agreed on in regards to the wedding. Sherlock took John's hand as everyone milled around, leading him to a side room so that they could practice their first dance.

"Sherlock, we've practiced this a hundred times," John protested weakly. "I've mastered every bloody step, every turn, every dip. Can we please not do this right now?"

"Well it's either that or I take you on that table over there," Sherlock stated calmly, watching as John's ears turned bright pink and his mouth dropped open with shock. "It's your choice John."

"Oh no. No, you don't get to make that choice." With surprising speed, John grabbed Sherlock and dragged him to the table, bending him over it, reaching around to fumble with the belt on Sherlock's waist.

"John...easy...we are at a wed-" Sherlock groaned as John's hand wrapped around his hard cock. "Where did this come from?"

"Shut up," John muttered in his ear, stroking Sherlock with one hand as he undid his own belt buckle with the other. "You know that I've wanted you since I saw you this morning at the altar."

"Mmmmm. Is that so?"

John's hand tightened and he picked up his pace a little bit, listening as Sherlock moaned again. He tugged his underwear down before working Sherlock's down. Sherlock glanced back at him and John kissed him passionately before turning the taller man to face him.

"On your knees," John commanded, watching as Sherlock obliged. "Now, make it wet before I decide to pleasure you."

Sherlock leaned down, licking the tip of John's hard cock. The doctor groaned, eyes half-closed, eyelashes fluttering on his cheeks. Sherlock gripped his hip lightly, sucking and teasing, licking along John's shaft. John's groans grew louder and Sherlock knew that he was getting close to orgasming. He got to his feet, taking his spot over the table once more.

"Go on John. Take me."

John stepped behind him, his right hand fisting in the detective's dark curls. "Are you sure?"

"Very, John. Please." Sherlock's whimper made John shudder.

He entered Sherlock, resting his forehead on Sherlock's shoulder before beginning to set the pace. John reached around to stroke Sherlock as he thrust deep inside him. The room filled with their guttural moans and the not unpleasant smell of their sweat intermingling. John was panting for air and Sherlock looked back at him with barely contained need.

"Please John...please…"

It was that pleading tone that drove John over the edge. "Sherlock!"

"John."

John's back arched and his grip tightened. His hand became covered in Sherlock's sticky cum, but he didn't mind. They stayed coupled together for a few moments before John pulled out, straightening himself up, using a handkerchief to wipe himself and his hand off. Sherlock stood up, pulling his pants up and buttoning them. They looked at each other, breathless smiles on their faces.

Sherlock approached John, cupping his face in both hands before kissing him. John's arms wrapped around his waist as he kissed back. They stayed like that until someone cleared their throat from the doorway. They sprang apart like two teenagers who had been caught snogging after curfew. Mycroft laughed.

"Are you two done? It's ten minutes before your first dance."

"I know what time it is Mycroft," Sherlock snapped. "Give us a couple of minutes. We were having a moment."

"So I could see. Two minutes and then I'll be back to get you."

Sherlock looked to John, taking his hand, running his finger over the wedding ring. "Doctor Watson, what do you do to me?"

"I could ask the same thing of you Mr. Watson."

They both laughed and then Sherlock kissed him again, tenderly this time. As he pulled back he peered into those stormy grey-blue eyes, seeing the love and passion sparkling there. "John...I love you. If I died today I would die the happiest man in the world."

"Good thing we're going to live for another forty years then at least."

They straightened themselves up before they walked out, going to stand outside the doors to the reception hall. The music that Sherlock had written for their wedding began to play and the doors opened. The world slowed down in that moment as the doors swung open and Sherlock stepped forward with John on his arm. Sherlock didn't know what was happening. One minute he was stepping forward and the next he was on his back on the ground, John standing where he had been.

There was the sound of screams and John turned to look at him, face going pale. Sherlock took in the scene.

'Rapidly paling face, lips turning blue. Is that...blood?'

"John," Sherlock whispered in horror, getting to his feet to catch the sagging doctor. Molly was running up, Lestrade and Mycroft tackling the gunman. "John, no. Stay with me. John!"

He laid John down on the floor, taking his jacket off, applying pressure to the wound. John looked up at him with fearful eyes and Sherlock knew the look of death on his face. "Sher...lock?"

"Hush. Hush my dearest doctor. We're going to get you help. You stay with me." John's eyes fluttered closed and Sherlock slapped him across the face, forcing him to jerk back to reality. "John, stay with me! That's an order!"

"Sherlock...I'm dying." The words were simple and calmly spoken. "I know I am. I can see it on your face. You know it...I know it."

"No. You're not going to die. We have another forty years at least...remember?"

John coughed and blood bubbled up from between his pale lips. The entire room was dead silent and Molly was taking the pressure from Sherlock. Sherlock bent down, stroking John's cheek, trying to hide the tears that were beginning to fall. John reached up with his right hand, gripping Sherlock's left, running his thumb weakly over the wedding band.

"Sherlock...I love you. I am...so glad...you became my...husband."

"Hush John," Sherlock murmured, choking back a sob. "Hush. I'm still your husband. You're still here. You're going to be fine."

John laughed before coughing again. "You always were...bad at lying to me. Sherlock...tell me...tell me you love me. Please...I need to hear it."

Sherlock leaned down next to his husband's ear, the tears slipping freely down his face now. "John...my dearest doctor...I love you. I loved you the day I met you and I will love you every day until I die." Sherlock felt John's hand go limp in his and he began to weep. "John...please don't go. Please…" He pressed a kiss to the dead doctor's lips, not caring about the blood there. "Good-bye John."

He knelt beside his husband's body, sobbing and crying, even after the coroner took his body and the only people that were left were Molly, Lestrade, and Mycroft.

"Who is she?" Sherlock asked, staring down at the headstone next to his. "Did she give any hint as to who she was?"

"Said her name was Mary Morstan," Mycroft replied, not looking up from his phone. "She also said that Moriarty sends his regards and to give you this as your wedding present."

"I knew he wasn't dead," Sherlock said softly, eyes never wavering from the name on the headstone as he took the letter from Mycroft. "I knew and yet I didn't go after him. I had to see John. And because of this...John stepped in front of the bullet that was intended for me."

"Well...now you can dedicate your time to finding Moriarty."

"How Mycroft? How do you expect me to do that? My heart died the day that John Watson did. I…" His voice filled with tears and he swallowed hard, refusing to cry in front of his older brother. "I'm not taking on any more cases. Consider my days as a consulting detective over with."

"Oh? And what will you do then? Go back to drugs? Throw away your talents?" Mycroft looked up at his little brother, frowning at the sight of the tears threatening to overflow. "Come now Sherlock, you can't seriously have been that attached to him? He was a pet of yours."

"No...he was more than that. He was...my doctor." Sherlock looked down at the ground. "Please leave me for a moment Mycroft. I wish to say my good-byes."

Mycroft sighed, but obliged. He glanced over his shoulder as he walked away. "This isn't what he would have wanted Sherlock."

"No," Sherlock agreed softly as his brother walked away. "He wanted forty years with me solving mysteries and going on cases. He wanted old age and adopting children, raising them in a loving home. And I would have loved to have all of that with him."

Sherlock opened the note, reading over it. He chuckled softly, shaking his head. Reaching into his pocket, he produced the velvet box that had once contained his engagement ring. Now it held John's engagement and wedding ring. Sherlock sat down, leaning his back against his own set down the box on John's grave. From his other pocket he produced John's gun. He pressed the barrel of it to his temple.

"So we didn't get our forty years John...what about an eternity?"

Mycroft froze when he heard the gunshot. His stomach sunk down to his toes and he was turning, running back to where he'd left his brother. A cry of anguish ripped from his throat as he saw Sherlock slumped against the grave, the gun in his left hand, his right reaching out to touch John's headstone. He was frozen, rooted to the spot at the sight of his brother's body, the blood splattered against the stone and grass.

"Sherlock...Sherlock...what have you done?"

He called the authorities before approaching what would soon be Sherlock's real grave. He picked up the paper from the ground, reading it slowly.

'Remember our first meeting Sherlock? How your boyfriend threw himself on me to protect you? I knew he would do it again. All it took was one tiny red dot and he would throw himself in front of the bullet. Remember what I told you? Remember what I said in that pool. I would burn the heart Out of yoU. Consider my debt to you paid in full. Happy marriage and all that, even though it will be short-lived. Ta-ta! -Jim'

Mycroft stood there with the note until police arrived to take away his brother's body.

"I hope you're happy Sherlock," Mycroft whispered, staring up at the stormy sky. "I hope you're happy wherever you both are as Doctor and Mr. Watson...I'm sorry brother mine. So sorry."