Sherlocks heart had stopped. It must have. His body was numb, no air in his lungs, is brain had stopped dead.

"For him, I'd live this life a thousand times again. It would be worth it…"

He forced himself to breathe. How had he ever found him? How lucky had he been to ever have known a person like John?

What could he do now that he was about to loose him?

Suddenly the door behind him crashed open. He turned, swiftly, prepared for just about anything.

"Sherlock?"

Lestrade. Useless. He couldn't do anything either. Then Sherlock saw what was hanging over the inspectors shoulder.

"Lestrade!"

The inspector almost jumped back as Sherlock threw himself at him, tugging him closer.

"Sherlock? What the hell…?"

Before he could do more, the tall man had liberated him from the sniper riffle that was hanging over his shoulder and dashed back to the ledge, preparing the weapon with a speed that would have made John proud.

"Sherlock? What are you doing?"

"Stopping him!"

He took aim, didn't take time to look at John, that was time he didn't have, and pulled the trigger.

It almost made John jump with fright. That would have been a stupid scenario.

Suddenly, just as he was about to give up, there was a sound he had heard way to many times before, under the blazing sun in a far off land. Not even a second later there was a loud shout.

The man holding Linda suddenly fell back, hand clamped over his shoulder. Linda herself fell more controlled, almost cracking her shoulders out of place as she twisted her arms down and around her legs to get her hands in front of her body. Military training indeed, obvious enough for John as he saw her now.

Enough about that, back to business.

As he turned back, so did Moriarty. That man however, certainly had no military training what so ever. He was way to close (guns are long-range weapons, only amateurs got so close) and his aim was off. John had no problem tackling him down, not from his higher position from the ledge. Childsplay when he didn't have to worry about a hostage.

"Bloody hell Sherlock! An inch to the left and it would have been miss Haart's head!"

"Lucky shoot then!"

He didn't waste time, had only given John a second. He would use it, oh the good doctor would use it. One does not survive the battlefield without becoming hard. John would use it.

Down the stairs again, bumping into half of Scotland yard, forcing them to turn back again, out onto the street, being saved by Lestrade from oncoming traffic, who cares about laws at this point, and forward, praying the elevator is working because he has really had enough of stairs, the god damned stairs.

Moriarty is not a fighter. John almost pulls his punches when he realizes. Then he remembers Carl Powers shoes. The bombs. The lives. The pool. Linda's black eye. Sherlock. And he hits him again.

Jim might not be a fighter, but he is a survivor. He roars and kicks and lashes out and he gets a lucky one over John's left temple, just enough to daze him, just enough to get out from under him.

John is on him in a second again, crashing into him, forcing him up against the small house with the stairs, growling in his face and for a moment, he sees fear in Moriarty's eyes.

Then there is a quiet noise, a whimper of sorts, and John glances over his shoulder to see that the man has gotten up, has stuck something into Linda's body, right over her hipbone, and that the woman is falling backwards, blood running between her fingers.

He grits his teeth, because he knows. Moriarty smiles, because he knows too.

"Save her, or stop me. Pick one, doctor."

He trows Moriarty away, rips his jacket off and slides down on his knees by the woman's small body.

"I'll leave you to Sherlock, and pray he gets you before he sees her like this!"

He doesn't look as the two men leave the roof, doesn't care if they heard him, if they care. He presses his hands down around the handle of the knife, pulls it out and covers the wound with as much fabric as he can. She cries out between her teeth, her back arched and her hands clamp down over his.

"It's ok, Linda, you'll be just fine."

"Bullshit doctor… Wounds to the stomach are… Unpredictable… Probably… Fatal…!"

"Relax, you'll be fine…!"

"John..!"

"Just relax!"

"John! What is it…?"

"What is what?"

"What is… The one difference… Between you and me?"

"Not now…!"

"Now, John, cause I'm not leaving this world without you knowing!"

"You're not dying!"

"You don't know that! Now… What is the difference?"

He looks at her, her nails digging into his hands, her teeth glued together in pain, her eyes wide and dark, locked on his. She needs this, if she's dying she needs this and John is not sure she will live. So he thinks, like he does when Sherlock asks him too. He says the first thing that pops into his head.

"You're a woman…?"

And she smiles. And he understands. And suddenly, the London sky is just a bit brighter.

"I never slept with him… He didn't get it at first… Stupid git… But once he got it… It just made him more abnormal… Tried to convince him… Didn't listen, never does…."

"Linda… Please…!"

"Promised I wouldn't tell, but you are perfect John, you had to know because he will never tell you… Stupid prick…"

"Hang in there! Look at me Linda…!"

"Tell him… Please John… Take care of him… Oh God he will be mad at me…"

"Who? Linda! Answer me!"

Sherlock arrives just in time to grab her hand, to see her smile, before her eyes roll back in her skull and her hands go limp. Lestrade got a helicopter the moment Sherlock let go of the riffle, and it takes her to the hospital. She is critical for hours, a miracle she even made it to the ER. Sherlock refuses to leave. John stays too. Lestrade tells everyone to just bloody back off all ready. Sherlock admits in a corner of his mind that he has a friend.

Sherlock breathes a bit easier when they tell them Miss Haart will live to fight another day. She will have a scar, and must stay of solid foods for two weeks, but she will live. John almost cries.

Sherlock buys a flower, a gladiolus, and then he sits there and stares at her as she sleeps the drugs off. John doesn't even bother to nag at him.

"Did you get him?"

Nineteen hours and seventeen minutes, not that Sherlock was counting.

"No, sorry."

"No worries, you will…"

"Of course…"

"How long was I out?"

"Almost twenty hours."

"Damn…"

"Did you think I'd be mad at you?"

"Huh? No, what made you think that?"

"John said you mumbled something like that."

"No, not you. Sorry, I was a bit delusional. You know, with the blood loss and all… What do the doctors say?"

"Soup and bedrest for the next fourteen days. The scar will never fade."

"I can live with that."

"Mh."

"How's John?"

"Just fine. He went to fix something to eat."

"Ok. And you?"

"No physical injuries."

"Not what I was asking."

"I'm fine."

"Bull…"

"You are awake, I'll be fine now."

"Better."

"Hm…"

"I… might have… Oh never mind. You'll find out soon enough…"

"What did you do?"

"You'll see…"

"Linda!"

"Ah, detective inspector! And John too! Nice to see you!"

"I'm not finished with you yet…!"

"Sherlock! What on earth has gotten…? Never mind! Get out! This is a hospital for Gods sake!"

"And you dated that guy?"

"Stop making me laugh, my stomach hurts like crazy!"

Mycroft comes the day after, and afterwards John wonders if he planed it.

"Mycroft? Never thought I'd see you at my bedside! I'm afraid I'm not of much use to you at the moment…"

"Oh, this is a social visit, please relax."

"My my, two Holmes coming to see how I am in one day! I feel so pampered!"

Sherlock grunts and crawls deeper into the chair. John snickers on the other side of the bed.

"We have a problem my dear."

"Yeah, I noticed…"

"I promised I would take care of whatever situation might pop up, but I'm not certain of what you would prefer, miss Haart."

They all look at her. She is small and pale, still a bit grey around her eyes and in the corners of her mouth, but her eyes are clear and she sits up straight.

"Kill me, Mycroft."

Two pairs of eyes stare at her in disbelief, the other closes and nods slowly.

"Yes, that would be best…"

"Wait! What, no! How is that for the best?"

"Moriarty knows who I am, he will come after me."

"But killing you…?"

"Is the best way to keep him of my track."

Mycroft nods and turns to to leave. Sherlock closes his eyes, like he understands. John doesn't know who to scream at.

"Linda Haart died from her wound, a loss to all who knew her. I will miss you."

"Don't worry Mycroft, I'll haunt you."

"I sure do hope so…"

Then he is gone. John can't stop thinking something's wrong. He missed something important.

"When you say die…?"

"It's what the medical records will say. It's all Moriarty will ever find."

"Where will you go?"

John breathes. Sherlock understood, even if it took John a minute.

"Home."

"He will find it."

"No, he won't."

"He's smarter then you think!"

"I'M smarter then you think! Honestly Sherlock, you are so thick!"

He stares at her, then he squints his eyes together, deducing the living daylight out of her taunting smile and then he grins.

"Your engagement ended when you married him."

"God that took you long enough!"

"You're married?"

"His name is Thomas! Oh you'd positively hate him Sherlock! He's everything you're not!"

"I'm so happy for you."

"You'd better be! I just love him to bits!"

"He's the one that would have been mad at you?"

She grins at John and he can see the pure love on her face. How se kept it hidden so long is a mystery.

"He hated the idea of me taking this job, made me promise for once to come back alive…"

"You almost didn't…"

"But I did!"

"So Linda Haart s just a cover, an alias?"

"Mh, I use it as a code-name when I'm doing Mycroft's…"

"Legwork?"

They laugh, even Sherlock smiles a bit.

"So, miss Haart dies and I go home as Mrs. Bailey, as I should have years ago."

"You'll be miss Haart again soon enough."

She glares at Sherlock, because it's true and they all know it.

"Sherlock, we should get home…"

"True. Linda, keep out of trouble and come see us before you go home will you."

"YOU keep out of trouble and I just might!"

She does, a week later. She comes a little before noon and picks up her bag. She kisses their cheeks and hold them tight, both of them, before shoving a big bouquet between them and disappearing down the stairs. The card has both their names on it, so they read it at the same time, the only two words scribbled down.

Tell him!

They glance at each other, and John must admit he likes to see Sherlock blush.

"Did she…?"

"Yeah…"

"And you didn't…?"

"Leave? Of course not."

"Then… Are you…?"

"You're the genius, you figure it out. I'm putting these in water…"

He flees into the kitchen so that Sherlock won't see the wide grin of pure happiness that explodes over his face. It takes a good thirty seconds for him to get his face to take any sort of normal shape again, and in that time, the detective has cracked it.

Long arms slide around his ribcage, a long body leans down a bit to curl around his back, soft lips brush against his ear.

"John?"

It's a question, and John knows the answer. He turns around, still in Sherlocks arms, and smiles, and Sherlock smiles back.

They stay on the couch all day. Sherlock ignores his phone and John has never felt so loved in his life. They watch crap telly and talk and Sherlock curls up against him like a way to big cat and John pets his hair, traces his ears, down his neck to his collarbone. Then he stops, and Sherlock does not ask him to continue.

Sherlock figured himself out years ago, John has only debated this for a few months. Sherlock lets him figure it out in his own time. It's not like he is ever going to let John go, they have the rest of their lives. No need to rush.

Lestrade sighs and rubs his temples. John is so embarrassed that he could die. Sherlock has never looked so smug.

"You did it on purpose…"

"John looked like he needed a hug…"

"And a snogg?"

"Well, Anderson was annoying me… He really shouldn't be so sensitive!"

"You're enjoying this!"

"Oh, I saw you crack a smile too Lestrade, relax!"

"Still, Sherlock…!"

"Oh it's just a bit of vomit, just let it go!"

John tries his best not to laugh.

"Guess I should just be happy the two of you finally got it on…"

In the other end of the island, the door to a small flat in Edinburgh opens and closes gently. A bag is dropped on the chair and a pair of black vance are placed between the big sneekers and the small winter boots.

A figure gently sneeks over the bare floorboards between the worn out turkish carpets. Slowly, not to disturb the other person sleeping, the short person creeps into the bed, spooning up against the much taller man.

"How was he?"

She sighs. He probably heard her coming in the door. She can never sneek up on him.

"He's just fine. I might have stirred up his life a bit but he's better off for it."

"How long are you staying?"

"I'm home now. I'm going to stay for a long time."

"A week?"

"A month at least. I'm off solid foods for now."

"I see."

She snuggles into his back. The past ten days slowly fades from her mind. She is home now, and she could care less about Sherlock. John's got that bit covered.

"Mycroft will come before the month is up. You're the best he's got."

"Oh he'll leave me alone if he knows what's good for him."

"Why?"

She grins. She found an interesting pice of information on Lestrades computer. She can get a lot of paid vacation from that.

"I have dirt on him. A big pice of dirt. A month worth of dirt."

"Ok then. Will you help me out at the workshop then? I could use a secretary…"

"Of course."

"I love you baby."

"I love you too Tommy."

Linda closes her eyes and for a while, the world is as perfect as it gets.

[A/N: There might be more... Maybe... If all of you who faved and subrsribed to this story COMMENT! XD Sorry but I hate getting fave and sub Emails but no reviews! It pisses me off! You don't even have to be nice, bitch all you want, I'll take the haters any day! Oh, and IF there is a sequel, it will be a new story, not chapter! Thank you for reading! Yours truly, Tai!]