This is the final chapter, and I would just like to say thank you ever so much to everyone who has taken the time to review, for the favorites, the alerts, and for every bit of support and love I've got for this fic. It's been really fun to write, and the positive feedback has really built my confidence as a writer. So thank you, and for one final time, I hope you enjoy! ~Kate x

"What about this?"

"Chuck it"

There was a short pause while John threw the torn bed sheet into a black bin bag.

"And this?" He asked the man rummaging through boxes of junk on the other side of the bedroom. John stifled a chuckle as Sherlock turned around and raised an eyebrow at his revealing attire.

"Hmm, tempting as that is...chuck it." He said with a smile, looking away from the other man who stood in a comical action man pose, wearing a superhero cape and arse-less chaps.

John frowned. "Is that your final decision, Mr Holmes?" He purred, coming up behind Sherlock and placing his hands on the slender man's hips.

The ex-dominatrix straightened up and planted a kiss on his partner's lips, fingering the indulgent silk of the cape and letting his hands wander down to stroke over John's arse and give it an affectionate squeeze. "As delightful as that sounds, I'm afraid the idea would not seem as appealing to you if you knew exactly how those have been used..." Sherlock hinted darkly. John gave a barely suppressed shudder and tugged the cape off his shoulders, chucking it into the bin bag along with the chaps.

"Not to worry, I'm sure that we can find a use for some of this stuff." The doctor said mischievously, his eyes twinkling.

"Oh?" Sherlock replied, pulling John to him with one hand while reaching for one of his favourite props with the other. John's eyes widened considerably as the leather tip of a riding crop trailed teasingly along his calf. The smaller man swallowed and gave a little gasp of excitement when Sherlock pressed his leg between John's thighs.

"I think this-" he gestured to the stacks of junk littering the floor "can wait a while, don't you?" John eyed the only clean area of the room, the now modest yet tastefully dressed bed.

"Oh God yes."

The two men surveyed the room, taking in the clear wardrobes and the now more homely and comfortable surroundings. Sherlock's bedroom had been re-decorated, the dark blood red bed linen and drapes replaced by a more sophisticated blue. The various 'tools' of Sherlock's trade had been discarded. Six cardboard boxes filled with a menagerie of leopard print thongs, whips, handcuffs, a rather fetching nurse's uniform, and items of a decidedly more intimate nature, stood sentinel by the front door awaiting their disposal.

The riding crop lay hopefully on the top of one of the boxes. John eyed it cautiously, looking around for his partner before picking up the object and running his fingers appreciatively along its length, feeling the smooth leather and revelling in the satisfying thwack as he cracked it against his palm absently, imagining all the things he could do with that riding crop, given the chance, and the gorgeous pale rump of a certain newly appointed Consulting Detective.

"John" the doctor jumped self-consciously, nervous of being caught with a whip in his hands by the man who knew exactly how to use it. Sherlock took the riding crop from him as John turned, stroking it with something almost akin to affection.

"I suppose we don't have to get rid of everything..." He said with a sly wink as he strolled back to his bedroom with a seductive swing in his hips. John laughed when Sherlock stuck his head back around the doorframe, giving him a mischievous grin.

"Are you coming, doctor?" John all but sprinted his way to the bedroom. The cleaning out, he decided, was going to take a very long time.

"Are you sure about this?" John asked as they sat before Sherlock's laptop, staring at his webpage. Were it not for this site, John would never have taken that final leap, never taken Sherlock up on his offer. The first meeting of these two men had depended on so many variables. John could have decided against going for a walk that day, Sherlock could have taken that second turning before he walked down that path which led him directly to the man he was destined to fall in love with. It is a startling concept to even begin to comprehend, that the love of your life, your soul mate, could never have found you, or ever, in fact, will find you in the future. In spite of all this, John still firmly believed that the universe would have found a way to throw them together no matter what happened. Sherlock believed the same, albeit in a quiet corner of his mind which was still vaguely frightened by the extent of the love he felt for this man, this other human. Some part of him still struggled to express this sentiment, but he was certain that there was no one else he would give everything for as he had done for John. That's the funny thing about soul mates.

Sherlock nodded his acquiescence, his finger hovering over the button on the laptop which would erase the last aspect of his former life. John took one last look at the pictures on the webpage which had caught his attention shortly after they had first met. It had led him to the one man who had changed his life forever. The pictures were just as delicious and captivating as the doctor remembered them, but he had the real thing now, sitting by his side. John hit the button.

Sherlock let out a heavy sigh and closed his eyes, like an unbearable weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "Thank you" He murmured. John smiled, resting a hand on Sherlock's thigh and squeezing gently. As the doctor stood to leave, the detective delved into the draw of the side table and straightened up with his hands clasped tightly behind his back, a giddy smile on his lips.

"John, I've been meaning to ask you something," He said, his voice wavering slightly in a fit of uncharacteristic nervousness. The smaller man looked at him expectantly.

"You are aware of how I feel about you, and I think that this is the only logical step for us to take, since you have completely transformed my life." Sherlock said, holding out his hand. "I was wondering if you might consider moving in with me?"

John gave a little huff of laughter, gazing around the small flat at the organized mess. He saw the violin, nestled in its case, the reams of sheet music scattered on the floor, the skull on the mantelpiece, the mugs and plates stacked by the sink, and the two vacant armchairs by the fireplace. Finally, John looked at the man in front of him, the brilliant, insane, handsome, terrifying, genius Consulting Detective, and he smiled.

Sherlock Holmes suddenly had his arms full of John Watson and he staggered backwards with a helpless cry of happiness as they embraced. "Yes, yes, of course" John was murmuring, holding Sherlock tighter than he had ever held anyone before, as though the very existence of humanity depended on this one compassionate gesture. The doctor was not a man particularly acquainted with physical contact such as hugs, but he shoved aside his masculine instincts easily to hold the man he loved.

John released his new flatmate and they kissed, closing his eyes and savouring the moment. When John opened them a small silver key was dangling in front of his face. "You might be needing this," Sherlock was saying as he laid the key carefully in John's open palm.

While the couple reflected on their sudden change in lifestyle, John eyed the stacks of boxes by the door. "This will be very nice, very nice indeed, as soon as we get all that junk cleared out." He pointed to the remnants of Sherlock's former life.

"Yes, I think so. Then you can move in at once!" The other man said excitedly.

Sherlock took John's hand and led him to the door of their flat. "I believe a celebration is in order, Doctor." He said, winking at John and grabbing his coat off the hook as they walked down the stairs.

On their way to the door the couple passed the now empty side room on the ground floor which looked decidedly lonely and sad.

"Ah yes, I have neglected to mention that Molly sent me a text this morning, she got the job." Sherlock informed the man by his side.

John nodded happily. "Good for her, I thought it would be difficult, seeing as she was working for you for so long" he said, bumping his shoulder against Sherlock's bicep companionably.

The taller man chucked, "Yes, as you can imagine, working for a male prostitute is not exactly a position suitable to display on her CV."

"Well, I'm sure St Bartholomew's has never had a finer mortician!" John declared with a grin. "Who knew she had all those qualifications?" He added with a hint of confusion.

"Yes," replied Sherlock, "it is a mystery as to why she chose to work for me, but people are infinitely puzzling beings."

John nodded in sincere agreement. "So what's going to happen to the room?" He asked curiously.

"My, or rather, our landlady Mrs Hudson has reclaimed it for her own use. I believe she intends to move back in downstairs. I think you will like her, she makes superb chocolate cake." Sherlock explained. The two men closed the door of 221B Baker Street and went out into the brilliant sunshine.

They took a right at the end of the road and crossed over into Regent's Park, walking aimlessly through the many lanes and tree lined paths which criss-crossed over one another sporadically. The detective brought them both a coffee and they sauntered through the open green space hand in hand, admiring the scenery.

When they turned down a stretch of the park they both recognised, John's breath caught in his throat. They sat on the same bench the doctor had chosen in what seemed a lifetime ago now, their hands joined like vices between them, the doctor and the consulting detective. When John looked up at his partner, he saw the same awe reflected in Sherlock's eyes. It seemed so long ago that their paths had crossed, and fate had thrown them together in such a reckless game of chance.

A few weeks ago, John Watson had been a lonely, broken man. He had a scar, he had a limp, and he had let them define him because he believed that there was nothing of substance or any trait worthy of consideration within him which he could offer the world besides this empty, ghostly exterior. On that distant day John Watson sought comfort in the arms of an equally lonely, broken man who sold his own body for sex. On that day, a relationship was born which would shape both their lives.

On that day, John Watson and Sherlock Holmes fell in love.

A lot had happened.

In Baker Street, bin men collected boxes of junk left outside flat 221B. As it was lifted into the truck, one box fell open, exposing the contents to privileged bystanders. Nobody said anything, but they were all secretly startled by the sheer amount of spandex.

In a dark little room somewhere just outside of central London, a disused crutch was gathering dust, its owner long since cured of his pain. On the table sat a loaded British Army Browning L9A1, polished and gleaming, ready to be taken in hand once more.

Sherlock jumped, his hand twitching into his coat pocket from where he had been stroking his thumb idly over John's knuckles. John watched as his partner pulled out his BlackBerry and glanced at it with an apologetic smile to the other man. His face lit up excitedly.

"It's Lestrade," Sherlock related. "I've been summoned!" He stood up and grinned, "My first case John! Are you coming?" John smiled, stretching up on his toes to kiss the consulting detective.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world" He whispered. They grinned at each other, and John took Sherlock's outstretched hand.

The two men ran laughing through the park, their coffee abandoned on the bench. "Hurry up John, the game is ON!" Sherlock called over his shoulder as he dragged the army doctor behind him into the next adventure.

And so that was how it was going to be, the lives of these two men, one big adventure.

John's feet pounded the concrete and ragged breath tore through his lungs in joyous laughter as they ran on, faster and harder than either of them had ever run before.

Together, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson ran to their future which stretched before them, more infinite and vast than they could have ever imagined, greater than they had ever dared to dream...

~ THE END ~