After James Moriarty, Sebastian Moran turned out to be a rather disappointing foe. A mere four months after John and Sherlock's kidnapping and Moriarty's death, during which time Moran had taken over Moriarty's criminal exploits, they found themselves in a face off in a back alley of London, Sherlock with his pistol pointed at the criminal, Moran with his pistol held to John's head whom he had clutched in the crux of his elbow.

"Shoot Sherlock!" John managed to yell before Moran began strangling him, "Just do it! Shoot him!"

But Sherlock hesitated.

Just like he had ten months ago when Moriarty was clutched in John's grasp and John was yelling for him to leave. To get out and save himself.

Sherlock hesitated then too. Only now, he understood why. And he accepted it.

John had not left Sherlock's side since the morning he'd woken up when, after impatiently sitting through an explanation of his injuries, he insisted loudly and repeatedly that he be taken to the detective's room.

The doctor put up quite a fight citing reasons like 'hospital policy' and 'legal accountability' but John (who had years in the army and experience with Sherlock under his belt) held his ground firmly until the doctor begrudgingly gave in (although John suspected it was less to do with his arguing skills and more to do with the fact that Mycroft was standing outside his door when he was being taken to Sherlock's room.)

One thing John had not been looking forward to was the inevitable conversation he would have to have with Sarah. Sarah. Sweet Sarah who was innocent in all of this.

His worrying however turned out to be unnecessary since, when Sarah showed up at the door to what was effectively Sherlock and John's room and she took one look at John and the hand he was stroking tenderly, she sighed and nodded in resigned acceptance. John followed her out into the hallway and opened his mouth to explain and apologize but before any words could escape, she silenced him with two fingers to his lips, shaking her head as she did so.

"Don't say anything John." She said with sad eyes, "You'll only make it worse."

John sighed and nodded. Sarah slipped the diamond ring off her finger and placed it tenderly in the palm of his hand, closing his fingers around it with her own.

"You are a wonderful man and you deserve to be with the one you truly love. And that's just not me."

She turned than and started to walk away down the stark, clinical hallway before turning back, her eyes hard and her voice several degrees colder.

"I'll have your things sent to you. Don't call me."

She had managed to make John feel like the lowest form of life ever to slither through the mud of the earth without ever raising her voice.

A week later John sent her flowers in an attempt at a peacemaking gesture. They showed up the next day torn into a mangled heap of mulch and he never saw his favorite jumper again.

When Sherlock woke up two days later, John was the first thing he saw. John's eyes, John's face, John's lips and he smiled. The action was so new, his muscles so unaccustomed to the feeling that he tried to frown but found to his utter astonishment that he could not stop smiling. The resulting expression of mixed emotions sent John into such a fit of giggling that he fell off his char and had tears streaming down his face by the time he stopped. For good measure, Sherlock sat in his bed and sulked around his seemingly permanent grin until John calmed down and sat back in his chair, running his hands through Sherlock's mussed up hair and staring into his endless grey eyes. Colour rose in the detective's pale face and he averted his gaze, staring down at long-fingered hands resting on top of hospital linen and he tried in vain to stop the tears from falling. In a small voice that was so unlike his usual self-assured tones he practically whispered, "I am so sorry."

John sighed and moved to sit on the bed, shoving Sherlock over good-naturedly and gathering him into his arms, burying his face into Sherlock's mane of black hair.

"I know." He said into the top of Sherlock's head. "I'm sorry too."

Sherlock shifted back so he could stare at John in incomprehension.

"Why are you apologizing I–"

John held a finger up to Sherlock's lips to silence him and smiled.

"You are an amazing man Sherlock Holmes." John began, cupping his hand around the detectives face and stroking the soft, pale skin, "You are brilliant, and intelligent, and supremely self-assured."

Sherlock continued to frown unsure of where John was going with this and why he constantly insisted on state the blatantly obvious.

"But when it comes to affairs of the heart you continue to be found wanting." John closed his eyes and rested his forehead against Sherlock's, "I shouldn't have given up so easily."

Sherlock started to shake his head but John brought a hand up to stop the motion.

"I shouldn't have given upon us so easily."

He pulled back a little and stared into Sherlock's eyes.

Sherlock swallowed and nodded.

"I love you John."

John smiled and brought their lips together.

"I love you too."

"Shoot Sherlock! Just do it! Shoot him!"

And here they were. Sixteen weeks later. In a stand off with yet another psychotic crime lord, John held tight in his grasp, a gun to his temple and Sherlock, gun in hand, grip steady, waiting for the opportune moment.

"Yes, come on Sherlock, shoot. After all, he's only one man. And not a very interesting one if I do say so myself." Sebastian Moran's gaze moved to look John up and down, "I mean look at him, with his dull jumper to match his dull personality. Why, I wager if it wasn't for that small spark left over from his army days he'd probably blend right into the walls." He laughed then at his own joke and Sherlock continued to stand still as a statue not moving, not blinking, just waiting.

"We could be so much more, you and I." He continued, looking back up, "Together. Just imagine it."

Sherlock was getting bored of this. It was bad enough when James Moriarty was spouting off one of his psychotic diatribes but Moran was neither intelligent nor interesting enough to intrigue him. Sherlock would have interrupted by now if his instincts weren't telling him that the window of opportunity was growing closer.

"So why are you with this man? This boring, tedious, man. Everything about him, even his name denotes his drabness. John, such a nasty, common name. For a common man.

Moran waved the hand not clutched around John's neck to emphasize his point, the light from the far off lamppost catching the gleaming metal of the gun.

There it was.

Sherlock spared a glance at the beautiful, vibrant man currently being strangled by the crime boss and smiled.

"He is John." He said, lining up the shot, "But he's my John."

The End

My god this chapter was hard to write. It's short but I hope you all like it and thank you for waiting so patiently for it.

On another note YAY! I just finished my first multi-chaptered story! Maybe this will inspire me to finish the other four I have yet to complete.

Hug and kisses to everyone who liked this story. I'm so happy I could share it with you.