Okay! You've made it to the final chapter, and thank you so much for reading! I'm having trouble picking out the two genres for this story so if a specific genre stands out to you please let me know! Again thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed! xoxo

It was something simple that finally made John see clearly. It shouldn't have happened, it was completely reckless, but leave it to Sherlock to do something so absurd.

The case had brought them to the outskirts of the city to an abandoned farm. Although, saying it was abandoned may have been a misconception.

"You're sure this is the place?" John questioned Sherlock who glared at him with all the strength of an annoyed teenager. "Right," John began to reconcile. "what I mean is, are you sure Lestrade said this place is abandoned?"

John looked out to the tall green cornstalks, brightly-painted red barn, and fresh flower beds planted outside the house, feeling uncertain that there is no one living here.

"I am positive of Lestrades words, but I am unconvinced he is correct. That man couldn't tell the difference between a-"

"Okay you've made your point, Sherlock. Now what do you propose we do? Sneak in through a window? Kick in the barn door?"

"Of course not." Sherlock scoffed. "We knock." He stated simply and got out of the car.

John struggled not to roll his eyes, and got out to follow Sherlock up to the farmhouse door.

Sherlock knocked loudly and incessantly for a full ten seconds before John had to place a hand on his wrist and make him stop.

"I'm sure they know we're here now." John stated.

After a moment of waiting and listening for signs of life inside, John spoke again. "Maybe no one is home."

Sherlock glared at the door. "The truck to the right of the house is still here. There is only one set of truck prints in the mud, and the most recent prints were made coming in to the farm, not leaving it. Obviously."

"Obviously." John repeated, never ceasing to be amazed by Sherlocks deductions.

"They might be in the barn." Sherlock was already walking in said direction before he finished the sentence.

John followed Sherlock down the dirt path towards the barn. It was a bit of a walk, but gave John the time to take-in his surroundings. He noticed the sun was starting to set, he noticed the maize held an orange-like glow to them, he noticed Sherlocks shadow turning from long to nothing as the sun disappeared below the horizon, he felt the light breeze on his skin and watched it ruffle the cornstalks. Given any other situation it may have been a lovely sight, but they are on a case, and the only thing he can focus on now is his partner before him and the barn they are quickly approaching.

Sherlock was inspecting the lock on the barn door when John approached.

"It's safe to say no one is in there then." John said over Sherlocks shoulder. Sherlock shook his head and forcefully ran his fingers through his hair. A part of John admired how the pale of his fingers and the black of his curls contrast so nicely, another part wanted to slap himself for it.

"Check the house." Sherlock said to John, who slightly jumped out of his thoughts. "I'll check the other side of the barn."

John nodded and made his way to the farmhouse, trying very hard to forget his train of thought, and thanking the heavens that Sherlock cannot read minds.

John kept his eyes on the house as he walked, ignoring any thoughts he may have about Sherlock and focusing on the task at hand. The house is quiet, no signs of life are indicated. No outside lights are on, nor the inside, but that could be because Sherlock and his ridiculous knocking terrified them into remaining invisible.

It is not a difficult land to survey. There is a house, a barn, and fields of corn.

John looked inside one of the house windows. Still no signs of life. Just an empty kitchen with a dry sink a stove turned off and a kettle sitting on top of it. Little puffs of steam coming out of it. The counter is clear except for a toaster and an almost full knife set. John sighed, they will get nowhere with this.

The light outside is beginning to fade when John hears a bang coming from the barn. He looks over and sees three men, two he does not recognize, the other is Sherlock. And Sherlock is running into the cornfield and away from the men with knives.

You see but you do not observe.

Shit.

"Sherlock!" John yells stupidly, both men look, one continues after Sherlock in the corn, the other comes running towards John.

John reaches for the gun, aims and shoots before the man even knew what was happening. He hit the ground in pain. John shot his leg, just in the right spot to impair the use of it. John ran over, took the knife, and went with lightning speed into the corn where he saw Sherlock and his attacker disappear.

John was also immediate to call Lestrade. There is no way these men are not the killers, and even more so they have attempted to kill he and Sherlock. Certainly if they are not the suspects, then they know something that the police cannot know about.

John broke through the cornfields and ran. He didn't stop until he was deep within the field. He looked around, down the rows of corn and found nothing. He listened intently for any kind of sound. Nothing.

I will not panic. John thought to himself. Sherlock is alright, he knows how to handle himself. Although that did not stop Johns thoughts of Sherlock alone somewhere in the corn bleeding to death. It brought John back to his time in Afghanistan, and his soldiers bleeding out too far from John to reach. He had never felt more helpless in his life, and even more so now because he can't even find his friend.

It wasn't until the sky was black that he heard the sirens of the police and ambulance. John rushed towards the sound and discovered Lestrade arresting the man that John had shot. A few moments later, John heard rustling by the barn and discovered, to his relief, Sherlock. Although, to Johns dismay, he is fighting hand-on-hand with the second culprit.

John had just started his sprint over there when he saw it. The knife. By the time John shouted Sherlocks name to warn him, it was too late. John watched as the knife sank into Sherlocks abdomen, forcing him convulsing to the ground.

John didn't realize he was running to Sherlock until he was on the ground beside his friend, holding the bloody wound. He was vaguely aware of the Yard cuffing the man that stabbed his best friend, but he was too busy repeating his mantra of you'll be alright, you're alright, everything is alright. Not sure if he is speaking to Sherlock or himself.

Sherlock stared up at John, skin deathly pale, lips red with blood. John felt it difficult to look at, he concentrated on his blood filled hands and keeping the pressure on the wound.

"J-john." Sherlock tried to speak. John suddenly realized he was screaming for a medic, and noticed some were running towards him with a gurney. Sherlock grabbed at Johns red soaked hands to get his full attention. "Bit n-not good?" He asked, a drop of blood spilled from the side of his lip.

John looked at him in pure shock. Leave it to Sherlock to not only get stabbed, but to also question it to be a 'bit not good'.

"No." John answered, a slight chuckle falling with the word (or was it a withheld sob)? "Definitely a bit not good." John smiled down at his friend, who smiled faintly back.

The paramedics arrived with a gurney and wheeled Sherlock to the ambulance. John never left his side.

That is, until the paramedics needed to depart.

"What do you think you're doing?" One man asked John as he tried climbing in after Sherlock.

"Going with him." John answered bluntly.

"No. Only close family aloud with this sort of injury."

"But-" John didn't get a chance to protest as he was forced out of the way by another paramedic boarding, the one John spoke to followed closely and shut the doors on him.

John was stunned. He was never denied an ambulance ride. If he wasn't so shocked he would've protested, thrown a fit until they let him on. But the shock is starting to make itself known on Johns body and actions. He has been stunned into silence, and frozen in place, forced to watch the ambulance fade into the distance.

—

Lestrade gave John the location of Sherlocks hospital.

It shouldn't have been a problem. John is always by Sherlocks side when these sorts of things arise. The medics in London don't mind when one of them rides in the ambulance together. Typically they don't allow it when the victim is not breathing, but Sherlock was breathing, John made sure of that.

When John reached the hospital a few hours later, he immediately went to the desk to inquire about his friend.

"No visitors but close family at this time." She said dully, like she is bored with constantly saying those words. John is certainly bored of hearing those words. If it were up to him, he would take those words and shove them right up-

"John?"

John turned around to find Mycroft, and Greg closely behind.

"Mycroft." John frowned. "Why are you here?"

"Can I not see my baby brother in his time of need?" Mycroft pondered.

"Well, yes. But you never visit when Sherlock is in the hospital."

Mycroft hummed a moment, leaning on his umbrella. "You see, the kind Detective here, gave me a call and said no one but family is aloud to visit brother dearest. He talked me into staying with him until he is capable to leave."

John was baffled. He never thought Mycroft could be talked into anything he doesn't want to do.

"He wont want to see you." John argued. He couldn't decide which was worse: Sherlock waking up alone, or Sherlock waking up with Mycroft there.

Mycroft smiled. "Yes well someone has to it seems." With that, he walked past John and to the nurse who gave him the room number, quite loudly. John mentally noted it, etched it into every crevice of his brain so he wouldn't forget it.

Like hell if Sherlock is going to wake up with only Mycroft.

—

It took a bit of effort, but eventually John made it further into the hospital without being detected. He took the elevator to the third floor, and searched the signs for which direction the rooms went. He found Sherlocks room soon enough, just before the nurses station.

John hesitated, it is always difficult to walk in a hospital room to see Sherlock attached to the monitors and IV bags. But he needed to do this, for him. He put on his best indifferent doctors face and went in.

The room is small, and he first saw Mycroft on his phone. He glanced up briefly and smirked. "I figured you would find your way up." With that, he got up and walked past John to leave.

"You're leaving?"

"You said it, Sherlock doesn't want me here. And now that you're here the problem is solved. Have a good evening Doctor Watson." Mycroft left the room, letting the door close behind him.

John turned back to a sleeping Sherlock. He could hear the incessant beeping of his heart on the monitor. John has never felt such a relief. He sat down next to his friend, placing a hand on his wrist with a sigh.

"Reckless bastard." He whispered fondly and laid his head on the mattress beside their hands.

Some hour later, a nurse walked in. She looked at John and he knew what was coming next. "Are you family?"

John, who has just about had it with everyone today, replied "Yes."

The nurse looked confused. "Oh, the man that was here earlier said he didn't have any other family-"

"I'm his husband." John spoke smoothly and without a second thought.

"O-oh," the nurse stammered. "Of course, my apologies." She said and went about checking his vitals.

"How is he?" He asked.

"He's stable. The Doctor thinks he will be just fine." She said, with a gentle smile.

John nodded once, "Thank you." He said, and she left the room.

A moment later a man in a lab coat walked in, the Doctor.

"Hello, I'm Doctor Harrison." He shook Johns hand. "I've been informed you are Mr. Holmes' spouse?"

"That's correct." John confirmed without a flinch.

"So I'm right to assume you will be taking him home?"

"Yes." John answered. These are all standard questions that he has asked before.

Doctor Harrison looked down at his clipboard. "Alright well his vitals look good, his heart and breathing is stable and regular. Luckily he wasn't injured anywhere too deadly, so no internal bleeding. But you should keep an eye out for any bruising in the area, and also bleeding. It wasn't exactly a clean cut, so make sure he doesn't stretch or move too severely to tear the stitches."

John nodded right along with the Doctor as he explained Sherlocks predicament. He listened as he explained the medicines that he could have for pain, that he will need his rest and proper nutrients, and that he should be free to go by tomorrow morning.

"Thank you." John said. The Doctor handed him the clipboard and told him to sign the bottom half that Sherlock will be taken care of when he leaves. John signed it John H Watson-Holmes without question.

He handed the release form back, and the Doctor left.

John sighed, and absently took Sherlocks hand, squeezing it. Little did he expect Sherlock to squeeze back. John looked to his face immediately and found big blue eyes on him.

"You said we were married." Sherlock stated, voice raspy. John got up quickly and poured him some water.

"Small sips." He instructed as he brought the cup to his mouth.

"John I am perfectly capab-" Sherlock was cut off as the cup pressed to his lips.

He did as John told and took small drinks of the water. Once he was finished, he spoke. "Why?"

"Why?" John questioned him.

"Why would you tell them we're married?" Sherlock asked him. "You loathe when anyone thinks you're gay."

John thought a moment, and realized he hadn't thought about it at all.

"I had to, they wouldn't let me see you otherwise." John explained.

"So seeing me was more important than hitting on the nurse an hour ago?"

"You were awake- never mind. Yes, yes it was." John answered. He didn't even pay close attention to her appearance. However, he now realizes she was attractive with long red hair and green eyes. He probably would have hit on her if he ran into her at the Tesco.

"I don't understand." Sherlock frowned, and John raised his eyebrows. It's a rare occurrence when Sherlock doesn't understand something.

"What isn't there to understand? I told a little lie to get in here." John tried to shrug it off.

"Obviously." Sherlock stated, annoyed. "But usually you deny having any sort of romantic relationship with me."

John thought about this. "Yes," He said. "but maybe I don't mind so much anymore." He couldn't believe the words coming out of his mouth, but he was even more surprised at the utter truth behind them. All this time, John was in the dark with himself. Little did he know that he just wasn't ready to accept it.

Sherlock frowned. "John." He stated his name, much like he does when Sherlock is not quite following what John is saying or doing.

John sighed, the poor sod must be going crazy trying to deduce him. Yet there is nothing to deduce with Johns words, they mean exactly what they sound like. Except Sherlock needs it spelt out for him. John smiled, this was one of the reasons why he felt strongly for Sherlock—even when he is a genius, he doesn't always get things right away. It makes Johns heart thud heavily in his chest. His genius, his uncertain man, his annoying git, his Sherlock.

"Maybe," John began, suddenly sure of his words. "I never minded at all. Maybe I wasn't ready to admit it."

Sherlock stared at him with deducing and unreadable eyes for a long while. The silence expanding throughout the room and speaking volumes in Johns ears, Sherlock is starting to understand.

"You're not straight." Sherlock deduced.

"Not entirely, no." John answered.

"Yes, I know that John." Sherlock said, and looked away to play with his blanket like he is bored.

"Wha-wait you know?" Now John is the confused one.

Sherlock looked up. "Yes, John. I've always known. Do you take me for a fool?"

John was dumbfounded. "Er- no Sherlock. Of course not."

"You've been in denial since the day I met you at Barts. I couldn't understand what you were saying to me just now because I already knew this. I assumed you knew that I knew. Apologies for grasping that you had no idea of my knowledge on your sexuality sooner."

"How could I-"

"How could you know that I know something you buried so deep that even you didn't know you know?"

John blinked. It took a second for him to answer. "Er- yes."

"Easy John. It's what I do for a living." Sherlock leaned back against his pillow and sighed.

This was not how John had imagined the conversation to go.

They were quiet for a moment, John wasn't sure what to say on the topic anymore. Instead he thought it be best if his friend got his rest. Just as he spoke, Sherlock also spoke.

"You should get some rest-"

"Do you have feelings for me?"

John stared at Sherlock with wide eyes. Sherlock looked at him with his typical indifferent gaze.

"Forget I asked, it's obvious." Sherlock brushed him off with a wave of his hand, and relaxed back into his pillows.

"Is it?" John asked him.

Sherlock sighed, and tried not to cringe at the pain it caused his stomach. "Yes, John." He shut his eyes as if he could fake sleeping so John would stop speaking.

"How?"

"Honestly John, are you really so obtuse?" Sherlock looked at him with his blank stare.

John glared at him. He has gotten use to Sherlocks insults, but they still get to him when it comes to his intelligence. "Why don't you enlighten me with your knowledge? Unless you think my small brain won't comprehend it."

Sherlock gave him the really John stare. "You're being dramatic."

"You're avoiding the subject." He shot back.

"It is obvious for ten reasons."

"Ten?"

"Yes that is what I said."

John rolled his eyes. "Alright get on with it then."

"The first is rather simple, Mrs. Hudson-"

"Mrs. Hudson-" John tried to question.

"Do you want to hear it or not?" Sherlock snapped. John shut his mouth. "Your utter need to repeatedly deny her comments about our relationship and your sexual orientation said it all. Any straight man would be comfortable enough with his sexuality that he could laugh it off. You, however, look like a teenage girl whose diary was stolen and read to the entire study body."

John glared at him. "I do NOT-" He began.

"The second is Mycroft and Craig,"

"It's Greg." John corrected.

"You're easily irritated and uncomfortable with the two of them in the same room as us. Separately you're perfectly alright, but together… Well, let's just say you see them like a reflection of us." John gaped at him and Sherlock cringed. "Not that I approve of you seeing Mycroft as my reflection, but given the circumstances I'll forgive you."

"And what circumstances are those?" John asked him.

"Your struggle, obviously. And I can only understand your mindset in that case. Mycroft is my brother after all, however it is quite clear I'm not that fat."

"Sherlock he is not-"

"The third is that day on the crosswalk when that absolutely dimwitted and repulsive man came onto me," Sherlock didn't bother to hide his cringe. "I simply stated we were sleeping together and whisked you down the street-"

"You did not whisk me." John argued. "You took my hand and dragged me down the street."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Don't bother me with semantics John, the point is you did not pull away or let go until we were back at Baker street."

John stared at him. "Maybe I was just too shocked to react."

Sherlock made a noise that sounded like a restrained growl. "Quit dancing around the facts. You were in the military, of course you weren't too shocked to react."

John didn't say anything, and after a moment of awkward silence Sherlock went on. "Number four is when I met your sister."

John stiffened. His sister and this topic have always been a bit of a sore spot, especially after the few times she and Sherlock have met.

"You don't need to explain that one." John said, looking uncomfortable. Sherlock watched him with his calculating eyes and then nodded. John relaxed. It has been hard enough constantly denying it with his sister, to hear it said out loud now that he was wrong each time she's announced it to the world, to know that his sister knew something about himself that John didn't even know… well it is a bit troublesome.

"Number five is the bar with you, myself and Garrett-"

"Greg-"

Sherlock smiled. "Oh John, how ignorant you were then. It makes me question your capability to hold your liquor."

John pressed his lips into a fine line. "Yes yes alright. I wasn't fully myself that night."

"Could you really not tell that the woman looked exactly like me?"

"Frankly, I'm surprised even you still remember this."

"I remember everything John. Alcohol does not effect my mind palace."

"Can we move on to the next please?" John rested his elbow on Sherlocks bed and placed his head in his hand. He can feel the stirrings of a headache starting.

"Number six is Angelos, that one should speak for itself as well." Sherlock looked to John as if he asked a question, but said it like a statement.

"I've stopped correcting Angelo." John confirmed.

"Very good John, you're catching up." Sherlock praised him in a patronizing tone. "Number seven is my parents," Sherlocks face contorted at his mention of it. "you felt offended and hurt when my parents started acting like the homophobes they are. Yet you wonder why I try to avoid them." He added the last part as an after thought.

John was about to defend himself. He was going to tell Sherlock he had no idea his parents were such uptight assholes, that he didn't know Sherlocks sexuality, and that his parents made it clear that he needs to marry a woman.

However, Sherlock continued on before John got the chance. "Now eight, Irene Adler."

"She explains nothing!" John exclaimed in defense. "If anything, it told me you were straight."

"It was an act for the case, John. It was quite clear you were jealous of the attention she received from me."

John scowled. He tried to think of a good response but came up short. Sherlock is not wrong, in the mix of him denying his sexuality, John was jealous that Irene got Sherlocks attention. John was suppose to be the one who kept Sherlocks mind interested, not her.

"Then there is your parents." Sherlock smirked at this.

"Oh god," John said and dropped his head to the bed. His almost headache is now a full-on headache.

"Don't be embarrassed, John. I rather like your family."

John turned his head on the mattress to look at him. "Yes, they have a habit of befriending everyone they come in contact to."

"They also knew you were gay. There is nothing more telling than your family knowing something about you, even when you don't. Consciously anyway. They did raise you."

John raised his head up, blood pounding in his forehead as he did. "How does that explain your parents then?" John countered, ignoring the pain.

Sherlocks eyes went cold. "My parents are the exception, and they were never around to begin with."

John looked away, feeling like he may have made a mistake bringing it up. He could only imagine what it was like for Sherlock and Mycroft growing up. He saw two children surrounded by everything they ever wanted… except their parents. John imagined they had a different nanny every week, that their parents promised to be home occasionally but 'something came up'. He could picture them growing colder as the years went on, and more intelligent based on all the home schooling and tutors they had.

"Don't feel sorry for me, John. It was for the better." Sherlock said, his eyes stayed blank. John wasn't convinced. Not just because of the look he is giving him, and the slight weariness in his voice, but because of the way Sherlock had actually apologized to him the night after their dinner at the Manor.

"Right," John began, "Number ten?"

Sherlock perked up just then, his mind back to a good train of thought. "The letters from Moriarty."

So much for a good train of thought, John thought.

"How could you even know about those?"

"You kept them. That's what puts them on this list."

"That could mean anything, Sherlock." John was shaking his head and leaning back in his chair. He refused to look him in the eye, and just stared blankly at his legs under the sheets. Just the mention of Moriarty and the letters made John feel the loss, anger, and hurt all over again.

Sherlock must've picked up on it. Of course he would pick up on it. "I'm here, John. I'm not going anywhere anymore." He said in a surprisingly gentle voice.

John slowly looked up at him and saw the complete sincerity in his face. That doesn't take away from the pain he suffered that year Sherlock was gone, and how much anger he still holds for the man himself for leaving him behind.

John scrubbed his hands over his face and through his hair. They are past that now, Sherlock knows what he did, John knows why he had to do it, and they both know it will take a lot of time to heal that. It's only been 6 months since his return, a month for John to finally talk to Sherlock again, and two weeks for him to convince John to live with him once more.

John shook his head. That is not the topic right now. Right now, John had something else on his mind. "Okay," John sighed, looking Sherlock in the eye. "Now what?" He questioned him.

Sherlock frowned at the inquiry. "It's quite obvious, John." Sherlock stated to him.

John raised his eyebrows, waiting for Sherlock to share 'the obvious' with him.

"Kiss me," He said. "Kiss me now, John Watson." He demanded.

John's heart leapt out of his chest. He stared at Sherlock, his hair is rumpled all over from being in the hospital, his skin more pale than usual, eyes heavy from the effort of staying awake to talk to John. The Doctor inside of him said he needs to rest, but the best friend in him said he needs to do what he told him to do.

All this time, it's taken John all this time, a denial into an ambulance and hospital room, for John to come to his senses. Who knew it would be something so simple to make John realize that everyone was right?

This is his flatmate, his best friend, his partner in crime (literally), and now his lover.

So, before Johns school-girl nerves could talk him out of it, he leaned up from his chair and kissed him.