Author's Note: Here it is, the last chapter and steamy man-man loving headed your way. I have started another Sherlock story…just a glutton for punishment I guess. Be on the look out though for the new one, called 'Picture Perfect' pretty clever if I do say so myself. For now enjoy the conclusion, and the whole unnecessary sex scene.

I'll Wait for You

Case 06 – Past, Present, and Future

1 Month Later…

"John on the left!" he yelled heading right, they raced through the dreary London night, suspect in their sights. The case had not been boring. A blackmailing ring, an affluent client, and a candle burning at both ends. He rounded the corner loosing him, cursing roundly, he spun then mind racing for possible alternate routes. When he heard the shot. His breath caught, "John…" he whispered, rushing head long after the sound.

He found them in a nearby ally, the solider was kneeling confidently on the blackmailers back, a knee to the spine. Sherlock approached quirking a lip, the man looked like raw hamburger, "What happened?" he asked already calling Lestrade, "He shot me…then ran into my fist, repeatedly," The lanky man was chuckling when he gave Detective Inspector their location.

An instant later they where surrounded, the yard leading the man away in cuffs. "Well done boys, bit excessive John…" snorting the solider was shrugging out of his coat moving to stand in the light of the ally. He inspected his arm, "Damnit!" he hissed, startling Lestrade and Sherlock, they both hurried over, blood was soaking though his jumper. "John!" he cried reaching out, "I liked this jumper!" he gritted out. Grey eyes blinked, as the tall man sniggered, Lestrade was gobsmacked. The doctor stomped over to the ambulance pulling off his jumper as he went, he stepped into the back and began rifling through the equipment.

Ten minutes later he had seven neat little stitches in his arm, cleaned, bandage it was a graze but furrowed it enough to bleed like all hell. Sighing he joined the others, Sherlock was in all his glory explaining how he cleverly lured the blackmailer into his own web of deceit. John smiled watching him pace and rant, his mind drifting, remembering, had it been a whole month since that night? Despite his near death, and injuries it had brought them together. There relationship had changed evolved, and John was learning that Sherlock, did indeed have a heart. One that was very delicate, and fragile. He had hid it away from the world, lest he be hurt. He'd also learned Sherlock was somewhat of a romantic. Or he'd been reading, and watching to many relationship movies. John was still smiling over a particular incident.

"John?" the solider hummed from his chair, they where between cases, at the moment the most dangerous time. It gave Sherlock time to run is genius over something else, which mostly concerned his budding relationship with John. Having spent the day seeing to mundane everyday cases in the surgery the doctor was relaxing in his chair reading the paper. Waiting for the tirade about boredom that was imminent. The silence stretched on, John curious looked over his paper surprised at what he was looking at. Sherlock stood holding what looked like a dozen dead roses in his hand. He was wearing one of John's shirts, it was too wide and too short for him, over his own striped PJ pants. His light blue robe hung askew and he was looking at him with a look that on anyone else would appear bashful.

"Sherlock?" he asked, the blushing man looked down, "Ummm it's our one week anniversary…" he said softly, John almost laughed, only years of training prevented him from even cracking a smile. He stood coming towards the man, it was astounding that he could be so innocent. John accepted the flowers, gravely, "They are black roses you know, well there's no such thing as black roses, they are just very dark red or purple and they put them in water mixed with ink to make them darker. They don't occur naturally, very hard to find, and when you do they are the most beautiful I think. Different and unique." The words tumbled out tripping over themselves, coming out tangled and muttered, yet so very sweet. John felt like a heel, one week anniversary's where high school…but he had to remember Sherlock had no experience with this. As was evident for his black roses…his twist on traditional red roses.

He pulled him close, pressing a kiss to worried lips. An action that he returned eagerly, his kissing was much improved, they hadn't clacked teeth in a long time. They parted long sensuous moments later. "Does this mean we are a couple? In a relationship?" Sherlock asked tentively, John smiled, "I'm sorry I didn't get you anything." Sherlock gave him a sweet smile, "You already did."

Sherlock was winding down point proven, looking smug and self-satisfied, he turned to John sending him a quick wink before turning back to Lestrade. Case closed.

The ride back to Baker Street was comfortably silent, John sighed looking down at his jumper. Touching the tear through it, "Why that one? Why is it your favourite?" Sherlock as curious, John raised a surprised brow, "You mean you haven't deduced?' the other man shrugged, it hadn't really registered it wasn't importation information, it was one he wore more often then others and it was an especially hideous one. "You bought it for me for Christmas." He blinked looking down, he vaguely remembered Ms. Hudson reminding him he should get his friend something he had grabbed the first one he'd seen in the proper size. Now felt like an ass, he hadn't put any thought into it.

Quietly he followed John up to the flat, watching as the man tossed his jumper aside, followed by his blood stained t-shirt. As he checked his bandage, as Sherlock rolled an approving eye across the compact man's naked torso. He moved around the flat like a cat, all muscles and sinew. He was pulled out of his reverie, when a wrapped package appeared before his eyes. It was followed by a soft kiss on his cheek, "Happy one month," John whispered moving to sit on the couch. Sherlock joined him smiling at his boyfriend. He had figured the one week thing had maybe been too much, but he couldn't help feeling giddy at the gift. He opened the package, smiling softly as the crimson scarf fell to his lap. "Thank you John," he whispered leaning over to kiss him. John had been waiting for him, capturing his lips effortlessly.

Long slow kisses seemed to take on something more, a growing heat flared one that John had been trying to ruthlessly stamp out in difference to Sherlock's lack of experience. In the month following their new relationship they had slept together in the same bed every night. It was a novel way to get Sherlock to at least lie down, he enjoyed being close to John, and the solider has a suspicion he loved to cuddle. A lifetime spent at being at arms length from everyone, he was starved for the most basic of affection.

Quick fingers had Sherlock's dress shirt off, moving lower working the fastening of his dress pants. Eager hips lifted, even as long fingers where tugging off John's jeans. They never broke contact, stripped to their briefs and boxers respectively they let fingers roam and play, touching…teasing. "Bedroom," Sherlock breathed as John moved to bite pale flesh of his neck leaving barely noticeable love bites along the creamy expanse. The solider grinning against his lovers neck, in one fluid movement he wrapped his arms around the detective standing with little strain. Gasping the lanky man wrapped his legs around his waist on instinct, "John!" he cried worried he was too heavy, but strangely aroused at being so easily manhandled. Easy strides had them in the bedroom, dumping him onto the rumpled sheets and following after. Hips grinding, and he moved across the narrow chest. Playing with pert pink nipples before lower across defined abs.

Moaning Sherlock buried long fingers in short blonde hair, as John tugged his boxers off, kissing the head of his erection. Teasing him, taunting him before swallowing him whole. He arched off the bed, everything in his body taught and singing his mind deliciously devoid of thought. John was a thoughtful, through lover, but tonight Sherlock wanted to push him past the breaking point. He knew the solider was worried about pushing to far but Sherlock was ready, ready to see what it was that seemed to make good people do terrible things. He'd seen the porn, read the stories…fantasized over and over what it would be like with John. Waiting, worrying, anticipating, and tonight he was going to fulfill his fantasy.

He gasped again, John knew how to play him, he mouth was magic and it was pushing him closer, not tonight though. Long fingers pulled his hair, pulling him up he kissed him. Tasting himself on those lips, musky and bitter. He pulled away pressing his lips to John's ear, "I want you…" he whispered, trying to be like the men he'd seen in those movies he'd watched. Coy, seductive, and experienced…he felt like he came off nervous and naïve. John shuddered, his control was barely held in check. He wanted this man, like he had never wanted anything else in his life.

He closed his eyes briefly trying to reign in his lust, Sherlock was inexperienced after all. When he reopen them the lanky man had a bottle of lube in hand. "Oh my god…" he puffed out all but ripping his own underwear off, John had the bottle in hand, harshly demanding that Sherlock give everything to him. Callused fingers where pressing against him gently massaging, Sherlock tried to relax, remembering what he had read. John's kisses where do wonders distracting him, as fingers where slide inside him pressing, pushing, stretching. It was an odd feeling, not wholly uncomfortable. Just odd. This blunt fingers where scissoring, and Sherlock was loosing his mind.

John felt the heat around his probing digits, the body beneath him trembling, and his own painfully hard arousal begging for release. He withdrew his fingers, preparing himself he looked into gray eyes, "You sure?" he nodded hiding his face against John's collar bone, bracing himself as something much larger and thicker then fingers was pressing into him. He held John tight as he slowly slid past the ring of muscle. The pain was sudden and sharp, burning, he cried out involuntarily. John stilled instantly, pulling him close kissing where ever he could, whispering nonsensical things.

The pain was fading, replaced with a feeling of fullness, he gave his hips and experimental twist. "Ok?" John sounded strained, and Sherlock nodded, he moved forward again inch by inch until he was fully inside. "Oh god…" he whispered, trying to stay still, Sherlock panted it was so different, so new, the sensations where running though him. He wanted to move. John was braced above him, breathing erratically his eyes closed tightly. Gray eyes watched intently as he rolled his hips. "Don't…" he said weakly, Sherlock rolled them again, watching his control snap.

"Oh god Sherlock," He began moving his hips, slowly at first but gaining speed, long legs looped around his waist as he pushed forward. Sherlock moaned John's name, gasping and crying. John was inside him, he could feel every inch of him moving, and pulsing, but something was unattainable. Just out of his reach. John moved faster, watching the pleasure and pain cross his lovers face. Gritting his teeth he paused, grabbing Sherlock close he pulled him upright into his lap changing the angle, and hitting something that made his lover cry out in pure pleasure.

"Oh God John!" he cried out as he began riding with abandon, "John…John…" his mantra was whispered in his ear. Stars where dancing behind his eyes, as he clung to John controlling the pace, every movement and oh god he was hitting something so deliciously pleasant inside him. The tightness surrounding him was forcing him closer, Sherlock's moans and cries as he slid in and out of that sleek body holding him tight. Every lonely late night fantasy was being played out and reality was so much better. "Ahhh!" Sherlock cried out a sudden wetness spilling across John's stomach. That tight heat got tighter, and John gave his own soft cry "Sherlock," he breathed spilling deep inside the other man.

They froze like that, locked together so intimately, John ran fingers through curly hair. Basking in the haze of after glow, "You ok?" he asked his lover softly, Sherlock was suddenly embarrassed, an odd feeling for him. He was suddenly worried he hadn't been any good, that his inexperience had ruined what he knew he would hold in memory forever. A soft kiss was pressed against his temple, as callused fingers tipped his chin up. Blues stared into gray, "I love you, you know…" John said very matter of fact without fear or trepidation. His heart wanted what it wanted. Sherlock felt like he'd been hit by a truck, he didn't know what to say all these feeling where to new, to fresh.

They disentangled then, cleaned, they curled together in bed, Sherlock still strangely silent. His mind in turmoil did he love John? Was it just baser emotion then that of lust? "Stop," the blonde man muttered yawning, "Stop what?" he asked finally, "Stop thinking, your thinking too much about what I said. I said what I said because I needed to, and you needed to hear it." He said simply, eyes closing, suddenly blissfully sleepy in the warm cocoon of blankets. Sherlock closed suddenly tired eyes as well, perhaps John had the right idea.

In the time to come, their bond would be tested, pushed past the breaking point. That in between however, would make them. Forging a connection between them that even death would not break. For now though, they headed down the stair and out into the London night, a crime scene waiting, and a puzzle to solve. John watched over his love, this man who made the impossible probable, he smiled to himself as grey eyes gleaming with a fevered light headed off on the chase. I'll wait for you Sherlock… his heart cried out as he followed close behind, until then Captain John Watson would follow him to hell and back.

End.