A/Note: Thanks redcatgirl, zyke39 and LotusBlossomGenie for favoriting my story. And all the funny, lovely and insightful reviews. I always try to write back, this is what is fun about publishing, the back and forth with the readers. It really shows me that there are people out there that think my stories are worth reading. Thanks to all of you who stuck to this story, despite my iffiness with the chapters (I'm not that scattered brained, I swear).

So this is it, the final chapter. Enjoy!

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12. The morning after

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He jolted awake, a little disoriented. This was a different bed. Bigger, softer and... He was not alone. Opening his eyes he turned around. Sherlock was there this time, sleeping. He watched the smooth pale back moving with his breathing. It was already broad daylight and, looking at the clock on the bedside table, he was surprised at how late it was. Well, they didn't finish until the first lights of dawn made the bedroom less dark, but it was already past one in the afternoon.

He smiled remembering the previous hours.

He had fully expected a switch this time, and had been a bit nervous about it. He was surprised when Sherlock clearly indicated what he wanted from him.

Once they were lying on their backs, panting, sweaty and exhausted, Sherlock had turned his head to face him, bewildered.

'I didn't have a chance to ask you last time, how did you learn this?'

'I'm an average adult male. I've had sex before.'

'No, I mean, this.' He indicated the wet sheets between them. 'No one else has ever been able to do this to me.'

'What? Give you an orgasm?'

'Noo,' he huffed, 'without touching me.'

'Oh. That.'

'Yes, that. All these years I've wondered if perhaps you weren't as inexperienced with men as you claimed.'

John frowned, 'I'm surprised you don't know.'

Sherlock too frowned, he hated not knowing.

'Know what? What did I miss?'

John raised himself on his elbow, looking amused. 'In the army, they address me by my rank. But I'm actually an army doctor.'

Sherlock stared, how did I miss that?

'I had already graduated from Uni when I enlisted. I've always had a fascination with both professions, so I found a way to combine them.'

'So when you ran to the injured soldier...'

'I was doing my job as a doctor. That's why I was in the group heading to a hospital in Kandahar. And rescuing the convoy that was attacked. And trying to save as many as I could on that third time. I was doing triage on the field.' He looked down and smiled. 'And, as you can imagine, when I wasn't doing emergency surgery, my duties did include taking care of the general health of our men. I had never done anything of this sort (he waved a finger between their hips) before I met you, but I knew what to look for and gave it a go. I guess it was - is - beginner's luck.'

That's why he's not squeamish about the blood and gory of my cases. That's how he recognised the human heart. That's why he said "I've got work to do". That's why he asked all those intelligent questions about the bodies during dinner.

Sherlock grinned, this only made John more appealing to him. In a flash, he saw a future with him.

A future with someone else had never been something he had coveted, but now it was as if the gears of a clock had fallen into their slots. He could imagine the laughter, the companionship. He could see himself telling John about the cases. Perhaps John would even agree to help with the investigations by examining the bodies, interrogating suspects, chasing criminals. A soldier and a doctor! He was perfect. Sherlock laughed. John didn't understand why, but joined in, just happy that they were together.

...

And he's still here.

His stomach growled. It had been a long and active night and he had slept through half of the day. Many hours had passed since his last meal. He remembered seeing the awning of a café downstairs when they came in last night. Judging by the lack of milk, sugar and biscuits, he thought of going downstairs to get some food and tea for them. He'd love a shower right now, but was afraid of waking him up and spoiling the surprise breakfast.

He brushed his teeth with his finger, found a flannel and took a whore's bath (smiling at the appropriateness of the expression). He got dressed and, as an afterthought, scribbled a note and left it on the bedside table, just in case Sherlock woke up to find himself alone. He waited until he was downstairs at the vestibule to put his shoes on.

Not knowing what Sherlock would like, he ordered both tea and coffee for him, tea for himself and a couple of sandwiches. Sipping his tea as he waited for the food, he let his mind wander, still thinking about the previous evening. Once he looked up at the mirror behind the counter, he was surprised to see his own smile.

As soon as he stepped out of the café he halted, almost dropping the cardboard tray with the cups. He felt the hair on his nape stand up.

The man in the expensive suit was waiting for him, one hand in his pocket, a smirk on his face. Without a word, he opened the car's door.

'I need to get back,' he indicated the tray.

'We won't drive anywhere, this will be quick. I thought you'd rather discuss this in private rather than on the street.'

Just then a little old lady excused herself, walking between them and eyeing them suspiciously.

He sighed and followed the man into the car.

'How did you even know I would be here? Do you have people following him? And why? Who are you? I need answers this time. And I will warn him that he's being followed.'

'No need for animosity between us, Captain Watson. He knows I keep track of him. I assure you, there are no evil motives for my presence here. That man upstairs is my younger brother. I'm Mycroft Holmes.'

'You spy on your own brother?'

'My reckless brother has a tendency of getting himself into all sorts of troubles. I keep an eye on him for his own safety. He constantly outsmart my agents, but I have good back up methods.'

'What exactly do you do, Mr. Holmes, that you have "agents" under your employment?'

'Oh, I just occupy a minor position in the government. "Agents" perhaps makes it sound more dramatic than it really is,' he dismissed John's question with a wave. 'I saw in your files that you have returned unable to perform surgeries due to your shoulder injury, Captain. Or perhaps I should call you Doctor, now that you have been discharged? I was deeply sorry to learn that; quite a blow to such an accomplished army surgeon as yourself.'

John remained silent. He had a hunch he knew where this was going.

'Certainly you cannot live solely off your pension, not in London.'

'Look, if you came here to bribe me, I told you before, I'm not interested. I'm not an invalid, I can still practice medicine.'

'So you would step down from surgery to locum work?'

'Taking care of patients is not a step down.'

The elder Holmes gave him a piercing stare that had a similar quality to Sherlock's. Other than that, they looked nothing like each other.

'My brother is not one to have relationships, yet he went after you, after five years without contact. Why? What is it that made you the exception?'

Sod if I know. He shrugged, 'My awfully good looks?'

'I take the fact that you are here very seriously, Dr. Watson. Sherlock doesn't "see" people. But it appears he's seeing you.'

'Mr. Holmes-,' John caught himself. He didn't care for Mycroft's attitude and innuendoes, but he wouldn't take that bait. He took a deep breath. 'We're done here. Good day to you.' He tried the door handle, but it was locked.

Mycroft gave him a hard stare. 'Before you go, Dr. Watson, I need you to understand this: Sherlock has made bad decisions in his past, some of which almost cost him his life. When I became aware of it, it was almost too late. I vowed to never let that happen to him again, whether he likes it or not. And that does include screening for - unsavoury characters.' Mycroft raised an eyebrow and his eyes sparkled dangerously. He spoke slowly now. 'And I will always intervene if the need arises.'

John felt his grip on the cardboard tray tighten. But to his surprise, Mycroft's expression changed into a more relaxed and agreeable one.

'I've seen your files, Dr. Watson. Very informative and impressive. It tells me that if Sherlock has an interest in you, and you in him, you might yet be the maker of my brother. And believe me Doctor, if that comes to pass, no one would be more delighted than I.'

'A bit early for you to say things like that. And I would appreciate if you let us figure things out on our own, at our own pace.'

'Very well, Dr. Watson.' He pressed a button and the doors unlocked.

John started opening the door when Mycroft spoke quietly.

'Just. Be kind to him.'

John turned around, eyebrows drawn together. Mycroft turned his face to stare straight ahead. 'Good day, Dr. Watson.'

...

When he walked in, he heard the shower. He placed the food onto the kitchen table and saw a note.

If I'm still in the shower when you get back
(and if my brother hasn't put you off),
please join me.
SH

He smiled and in a flash remembered last night's (or early morning's) conversation that had followed once their laughter had died a bit.

...

'I understand now why you wanted the lights out.'

'Mm?' he tried to sound neutral, aware that the bedroom was not as dark anymore.

'You might be uncomfortable about your body and your scars, but there's no reason to feel embarrassed. I felt your scars.'

'I know.'

'So I already know what they look like. And I don't think any less of you for having them. Much the opposite. And even if you are not as muscular as our last time together, you are by no means out of shape.' He turned onto his side and touched John's chest. 'I still enjoy touching you,' he said.

...

John smiled at the memory. He picked up the sandwich bag and the tray with cups and put everything in the fridge. They could warm up the tea and coffee later. He pulled his jumper over his head, turning towards the sitting room to drop it over the armchair's back. Only then he noticed his cane on the floor, by the sofa. He had gone downstairs and back up without it.

He blinked, surprised. Then he smiled and turned towards the bathroom.

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J+S

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A/Note: Oof. Too late and I'm too sleepy. I might have to fix typos tomorrow...

Thank you for reading. This is the end. Leave me a note if you can, that would make me really happy. :)

Happy shipping,

BJ

Update: There were some guests reviews towards the end. In case it was one of reviewers with whom I had been exchanging messages, as they were posted by guests I couldn't reply to you. But I appreciated the comments, especially about how "Iceman-esque" my Mycroft was. I enjoy writing him, it's fun.

The note on the table originally didn't mention Mycroft, but then I figured that Sherlock would already know it, even without looking out the window. Including that on the note put John at ease, so he wouldn't have to start an awkward conversation about being approached by his brother with the bribe offer. Sherlock would also know that John would be weirded out about it and wouldn't want to waste time with that while they could be groping in the shower. Or whatever it is that they end up doing in there. ;)