John lifted his head from the pillow and realized he was alone in bed. He squinted at the neon numbers shining from the clock on the bedside table. He groaned. What the hell was Sherlock doing at 5 in the morning? If this racket had been enough to awaken John, Rosie would probably be crying soon. He sat up and realized Sherlock was on the other side of the room, putting John's clothes into a suitcase.

Um. Okay. He rubbed his eyes. "Sher?" he slurred, putting his head back down on the pillow.

Sherlock whipped around, his eyes alert in the darkness of the room. "Good morning."

"What the fuck are you doing?" he asked gruffly.

"I figured I would pack for you so you could sleep, but I see that was pointless."

God, he was tired. "You woke me up, you wanker."

"Oh. Sorry." He stilled his movements.

A beat.

"Why are you packing up my things?" he asked.

Even though it was dark, Sherlock's smile was visible. "You're coming home with me."

John knew he wasn't about to go back to sleep, so he reluctantly sat up. "Yeah, at some point, but why-?"

"Ah, I see the confusion. I mean you and Rosie can movie in tomorrow."

"What? What about Irene?"

A twinkle entered his eyes. "I told her you're more important."

A part of John wanted to get up and kiss him right now, but the other part asked, "Wouldn't that put her in danger?"

"No, because she'll move in here," Sherlock said happily. "I thought of this a couple hours ago. You hate it here because of the constant reminders of Mary, Rosie is too young to have much emotional attachment to this place, and I want Irene out without inadvertently killing her. It's simple but brilliant." He was immensely satisfied with himself.

John yawned. "Well...I don't like it here," he admitted. "Have you talked to her about this?"

Sherlock unplugged his phone from where it was charging in the corner of the room and handed it to him. "You can read it here."

Change of plans: I have a new location for you.

What?

You're moving into John's flat. Don't worry, you'll have the place to yourself.

…

He's coming here, isn't he? You're throwing me out over John?

Of course. Did you expect any different?

You know people are after me.

You're less likely to be found in a small suburban flat than the home of an internationally renowned detective, and you know it.

You've been with John these past few days. That's why you've been ignoring my texts.

How observant.

I guess I can't call you the Virgin anymore. How sad.

Nope. Start packing.

I didn't realise being with John would make you into your brother, the Ice Man.

That's not the case. John dislikes. You've upset him. I want John with me. So, you leave. You'll still be safe. It's simple. You'll be out before John and Rosie arrive.

And here I thought we had a special bond.

You thought wrong.

Clearly. In the end, you're the man I thought you were, I suppose. I knew that independence of yours would disappear as soon as someone had you. You were so predictable.

You're to be at the new flat by the end of tomorrow. I'll text you the address.

You won't even tell me how it was?

No. Goodnight.

John handed him back the phone. "You were blunt."

"You're pleased."

He chuckled. "I am, yeah."

Sherlock lay down next to him, putting the phone in the pocket of his pajama pants. "I was thinking-she enjoyed toying with both of us. If she ever cared about me, her manipulative streak outweighed it."

John sighed. "She and Mary really do have a lot in common."

Sherlock scooted closer. "I suppose they do," he said softly. He yawned. "I should finish packing."

"Go back to sleep, you loon. You're tired."

Sherlock grumbled but got under the covers, resting his head on John's shoulder.

"It might take more than a day to get all of my and Rosie's stuff out of here," John said, thinking about it now with a more awake mind.

"In any case, you can start sleeping at Baker Street again tomorrow night," Sherlock murmured. "We'll put Rosie's crib in your old room immediately so she'll have a place to sleep."

John tilted his head and rested his cheek on his soft curls. "You really want us there, don't you?"

"Of course," he nuzzled his nose into his skin.

They had only gotten together a few nights ago, so John still felt a sort of whiplash, but in the best way possible. He felt wanted. He was honestly still chuffed over Sherlock kicking Irene out, too. Maybe he was awful, but he didn't give a damn. "How long until Irene leaves the country, d'you think?"

"Not long," Sherlock said. "We'll be alone completely soon."

"Except for Rosie and Mrs. Hudson."

"They're family. Irene is in a strange category all on her own."

John snorted. "Sorry, just. I wish I could go back five years and tell myself that this is happening now."

"Mmm, don't start reminiscing this early in the morning," Sherlock muttered into his T-shirt. "I'm too tired.

"You woke me up."

"Now I want to sleep. Goodnight, John."

"You're an arse."

"I'm your arse."

"I like your arse."

Sherlock rolled over. "Goodnight."

Moving day was a weird, fast blur, but John was glad that this was happening.

Mrs. Hudson was positively thrilled that he and Rosie were moving in.

"It'll be just like old times!" she beamed. "Only better, because of this little one," she took Rosie from John's arms. "Besides, I'll be glad to have her gone," she said in a hushed voice, referring to Irene.

"You don't like her?" John asked.

"I don't like the vibe she gives, but more than that, I have no clue what to say to her."

Irene herself moved into John's old flat that day, sitting down on the sofa and taking out a bottle of nail polish. As she painted her nails, she realized they were staring at her. "What? I'm not helping you," she said flippantly.

They rolled their eyes and went back to moving boxes into the truck Mycroft sent for them.

Irene seemed incredibly irritated, as if she were insulted by the turn of events. Did she think he and Sherlock would never get together? She goaded John via text message about his feelings on Sherlock's phone, and now she was surprised?

John just had to ask her. "Did you think we'd get together?" he asked when Sherlock was out of earshot.

She kept painting her nails. "No, actually."

"Then why'd you do all that crap?"

"Hm?" her icy eyes flickered up to meet his.

"Why'd you try to expose me and my feelings for him on Sherlock's phone if you thought it would go nowhere?"

The corner of her mouth twitched up. "I was having fun. I liked watching you two dance around each other."

"You thought our unhappiness was funny," he said flatly.

"Incredibly," she purred.

John didn't have it in him to be angry anymore. "No wonder you got tangled up with Moriarty and Mary," he said tiredly. "You were all malicious at heart. Even with Sherlock, you acted like you cared about him but you enjoyed making him uncomfortable."

She rolled her eyes and looked down at her hands again. "Did you think I was actually nice deep down and just needed someone to reach out to me?" she asked dramatically and with disgust.

"No," he shook his head. "I've always known we'd be better off without you."

She began painting the nails on her other hand.

John decided he was finished talking to her for the rest of his life, and turned on his heel to grab another box from Rosie's room.

That night, he got into bed in Baker Street for the first time in several years.

"Finally home," he breathed, pulling the duvet up.

Sherlock smiled and placed his hand on top of John's chest. "Indeed," his voice rumbled.

He turned his head on the pillow and started kissing him softly. Sherlock was calm and sleepy and tasted like mint, and John was finding that this was one of his favorite Sherlocks. Their lips moved lazily, both too tired to do anything beyond this, but it was nice. He was kissing his man in 221B, their home. How could he complain?

A couple weeks later, Irene left the country for the United States.

John and Sherlock asked Mrs. Hudson to take Rosie for the night so they could celebrate.

There was a bottle of wine in the kitchen-a gift from some grateful client Sherlock couldn't remember-so they got drunk together for the first time since John's stag night. Tonight ended exactly how John wanted to end the stag night, however-with the two of them sweaty and naked and drunkenly giggling in bed. They had-well, if he were honest, they had just humped each other a bit until they came, but the wine loosened them up enough so there were no awkward feelings and it probably felt better than it should have. John didn't care. It was just fun to spend time with Sherlock like this.

Sherlock's head was on his chest and his long finger was tracing patterns into John's chest hair. "D'you think we'll be hung over again?" he asked.

"Hmm, maybe," John said, sniffing. "Guess Greg was right. We're lightweights."

"Ugh, I felt awful last time," Sherlock moaned.

"We don't have anything on. We can sleep in."

They fell into comfortable silence. John closed his eyes. He felt pleasantly sleepy. He really wasn't as drunk as last time, although Sherlock seemed like he was. He was content to lie here all night. The weight of Sherlock on him was nice and the rhythmic tracing on his chest was putting him to sleep.

"John?"

"Hm?" he opened his eyes.

Sherlock tilted his head and looked up at him with glazed over eyes. He was pink from his cheeks to his chest from sex and the wine. He blinked lethargically, his hand stilling and resting on his chest. "The past couple weeks, I've been thinking about some stuff."

"What kind of stuff?"

His expression grew serious. "Well. I'm very happy with you."

"Yeah?"

"Happier than ever."

"Then why the frown?"

"Maybe you were right," a troubled wrinkle formed between his eyebrows. "Maybe I wasn't complete before."

John wrapped his arm around his waist. "Nope, no. You were. I was being an idiot. You were and still are your own man, you're just happier now 'cause we love each other."

"But I feel complete with you now," he insisted. "I feel like this was missing all my life."

John was touched, but Sherlock seemed perturbed. "I feel the same way, but, I dunno. I think it's a good thing. For me, anyway." He sighed. His head was too cloudy for this. "Maybe we're soulmates so we couldn't be complete without each other," he joked, closing his eyes. But he opened them again when he felt Sherlock jolt up.

"That's it!" His eyes were wide. "I'm my own complete half, and you're yours. You're your half. I'm my half but I needed yours."

John started wheezing with laughter. "Oh my god, you're sloshed! Sherlock Holmes, believing in soulmates?"

"It's the only reasonable explanation," he said hotly, glaring and pouting. "It's logi-logi-smart."

"You can't even talk straight," John rubbed his eye. "God, should've known the wine was a bad idea."

"You're making fun of me," he crossed his arms over his chest.

"You're gonna be humiliated tomorrow when you remember you thought the most logical reason is we're soulmates."

"What else could it be?" he scrunched his nose up in annoyance. "I've never felt this good before. I feel like I have everything. What's it mean?"

John reached up and placed his hand on Sherlock's arm, smiling wide. "It means you've been a romantic all your life and now you're in love."

He hummed thoughtfully, nodding. "A romantic...makes sense."

"I wish I had a camera right now."

"You're still teasing."

"I'm so in love with you."

Sherlock's gaze softened. He lay down and curled back up on John's chest. He was quiet for a few minutes.

John let him think.

Sherlock gazed at him, eyes half-lidded, and propped himself up on his elbows, using John's chest as a table. "I still think you're my better half."

"And you're mine," John told him sincerely, cupping his jaw and placing a gentle kiss on his lips. Sherlock's elbows were digging into his skin a little, but that was all right. "But I fell for you because you've always been you and so sure of who you are. You're your whole person but now your heart's happy. That's all. Um, does that make sense?"

"Maybe not," Sherlock laughed lightly, "but I think understand." His smile fell a little. "I still think...if I'd been ready and told you how I felt after Battersea…"

John shook his head and stroked his thumb over his warm, pink cheek. "Hush. We could be here all year if we started with 'what ifs.' We're here now, after all that time." His heart felt full, and he wasn't drunk enough to blame the thickness in his throat on the alcohol. He breathed deeply, just gazing at this brilliant man on his chest. This was John's life now, and no one was going to get in their way ever again. "I'm just really glad you love me, out of all people."

Sherlock's face broke out into a full toothy grin, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and the blue in his eyes twinkled. "Of course I do, John," he murmured, voice soft and deep. "I always will."