Chapter Title: The River (Epilogue)

Word Count: 953 (this chapter)

Author's Notes: Final chapter. Thanks to everyone who reviewed; I hoped you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Sherlock sat by the side of the river, hidden behind the trailing leaves of a weeping willow. He was experiencing an unusual moment of stillness, both mentally and physically, as he watched the water slip past beneath him. He remembered his mother's voice saying 'you can never step in the same river twice' with an air of sadness that he had never before understood. He did now. He lent back against the grey bark of the tree, closing his eyes. After so many years of feeling so tense, of carefully constructing his mask, is was exhilarating to just be. He didn't have to pretend to be good anymore, because John would love him no matter what. But rather than make him lose all inhibitions whatsoever, that knowledge made him want to be better, which surprised him. John had so much power of him, was at once he greatest weakness and his strength, and he didn't even realise it.

Sherlock heard the willow curtain part but didn't open his eyes. John came to sit beside him, resting his head on Sherlock's shoulder, who wrapped an arm around him.

"What are you thinking?" John asked.

"Who says I'm thinking anything?" Sherlock smiled, eyes still closed.

"It's you, you're always thinking. You never stop." Sherlock heard the smile in John's voice and desperately wanted to see it. He opened his eyes. John smiled up at him.

"Hello," he said.

"Hello," Sherlock replied. "What were you doing?"

"Helping Lestrade and Angelo set up camp. When I looked up and saw you gone I was worried, so I came to find you."

"There's no need to worry; there's no one else here, and I would never leave you."

"I know that," John said quickly, "I know. It's just, well after everything that's happened I have a right to be a bit protective for a while. Besides, you seem to attract trouble no matter where you go. I thought I might have to fish you out of the river or something."

"That would be unnecessary," Sherlock said with dignity. "I can swim perfectly well on my own." John stared at him for a second, and then dissolved into helpless giggles. Sherlock joined in with a deep chuckle that reverberated through his chest and into John's head.

Eventually their laughter calmed. John sighed.

"God I'm happy."

"Me too," Sherlock said, sounding surprised. John smiled.

"I'm glad." Sherlock pressed a kiss to his head, then lent back against the tree.

"I presume you know what Lestrade and Angelo are planning to do. You care about that sort of thing."

"So do you or you wouldn't be asking," John said. "Angelo owns a restaurant some way outside the city, when everything's calmed down a bit he's going back there. I think Lestrade's going with him; Mycroft mentioned something about making him Captain of the Watch."

"He'd be perfect for that," Sherlock interjected.

"Yes, but like I said, they'll have to wait for everything to calm down first. Once Prince Jim and Princess Molly are married and crowned they'll be able to go back."

"We can't though."

"No," John's voice was thoughtful. "Did you want to?" Sherlock thought for a moment.

"No," he said finally. "No. I want to travel. I spent four years looking at maps, I'd quite like to see how the real places measure up."

"And what if you get bored?" John asked.

"Well there's always crime," Sherlock replied. Catching John's shocked look he laughed. "I wasn't suggesting I become a criminal, that's far too predictable. No, I was thinking that, when the official Watch are out of their depth, which is always, I could step in to solve the crime for them."

"A sort of, Consulting Detective," John suggested.

"Consulting Detective," Sherlock repeated, trying it out. "I like that."

"It suits you," John smiled. "Come on, Lestrade will be getting worried, you know what he's like." He stood and helped Sherlock up. They headed back to the camp, not holding hands but close enough that their shoulders brushed with every step.

"And where do I fit in?" John asked "In your consulting career?" Sherlock stopped and turned John to face him.

"You'll be my doctor," he kissed his forehead, "my entertainer," John huffed a little laugh as Sherlock hissed his cheek, "my companion," Sherlock kissed the corner of his mouth as John rested his hand on his neck, stroking his ear, "my John." Their lips touched.

Their first kiss had been the greatest kiss of all time. On the official scale, this kiss was nowhere near as important, but to John and Sherlock it meant everything. This kiss held forgiveness, compassion, love, respect and a hundred other feelings too delicate and fleeting to name. But most of all it held a promise. Because they both knew there was no such thing a happily ever after, the life they had chosen would not be easy. Sherlock would still get bored; John would still risk his life to save others. On cold days John's shoulder would ache and his leg would burn with a limp that had no right to be there, and in black moments Sherlock would still crave clear liquid in a glass bottle running through his veins. One day one of them would die, and the other would be left behind alone, because every story is a tragedy if you follow it through to the bitter end. But that was ok. Because every time Sherlock was cruel, every time John stormed out, they would think of this moment, of the rush of the water, the rush of time, and they would come back together, closer than before. Because this was true love, and that doesn't happen every day.