Epilogue

'Sherlock!'

A tousled head appears from behind a stack of chemistry textbooks. 'Hmm?'

'You're not even dressed!'

Sherlock's expression morphs into one of confusion. 'What on earth are you talking about John? What do you call this?' He plucks at the fabric of his dressing-gown.

John, standing in the doorway to the living room, rolls his eyes. 'You deleted it, didn't you? Damn it, Sherlock, I told you...'

'Now, wait just one second before you start hurling accusations about. What have I allegedly deleted?'

'The drinks tonight! With my old mates from the Unit? I told you days ago.'

Sherlock frowns deeply for a moment or two and then looks guilty, well, as guilty as is possible for Sherlock Holmes.

'Oh, that. Yes, I think I did delete that,' he says sheepishly.

John throws his hands up in the air and Sherlock takes a brief moment to appreciate how the movement makes his shirt tighten over the muscles in his arms. 'Damn it, Sherlock, you know how important this is to me. I told you how nervous I am about it.'

'It'll be fine,' Sherlock says, getting up from behind the towering pile of books, 'I'll go and get dressed now. How long is this evening expected to last? I have a very important...'

'I don't know, Sherlock,' John bites out, pinching the bridge of his nose. 'Before you get dressed, what d'you think of this shirt?'

Sherlock glances at it. 'Very nice. Better than the jumpers. Why?'

'You don't think I should wear something smarter? More fancy? How about my old dress uniform?'

Sherlock levels him with a pointed stare. 'John. You cannot turn up at the pub dressed in full regalia.' He walks across the room and wraps his arms around John's waist, nuzzling his nose into the soft skin at the juncture of John's neck and shoulder. 'Why are you making such a big deal out of this? Isn't it just some drinks down the pub? You do that with Lestrade all the time.' The soft tone turns slightly irritated. 'And I do mean all the time.'

John twists in his grasp so he's facing Sherlock and allows himself to sink against the detective's chest. 'I don't know. It's just... this is the first time I've really been out with them properly since you fell. It's definitely the first time I've gone out with them and been dating a man not a woman. I guess I'm scared of how they'll react.'

'If they're your friends they'll be happy for you. If they're not and have issues with homosexuality then how much are you really losing?' John remains silent and Sherlock pulls back slightly so he can examine his face better. 'If...' he begins hesitantly, 'if... we can pretend to just be flatmates again, if you want. I don't mind.'

At this, John glances up. 'What? Oh God, no. No Sherlock. I've had enough secrets to last me a lifetime. And besides...' he looks up at his boyfriend, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, '... I'm looking forward to showing you off. But only if you're dressed. So go on, you've got five minutes.'

Sherlock grumbles as he stamps out of the room but in three minutes and thirty-four seconds by John's watch he reappears. 'Will this do?' he asks. John glances up and his mouth almost drops open.

Sherlock's wearing a leather jacket with a faded slogan t-shirt underneath, a pair of dark stone-washed denim jeans and a ratty pair of converses.

'What are you wearing?' John finally manages. Sherlock looks vaguely affronted.

'What's wrong with it?'

'Well it's, it's different. What happened to the suits?'

'I had to get used to dressing casually while I was away,' Sherlock replies. 'I thought a night at the pub with your Unit mates would be the perfect time to... how do they say it?... dress down.'

'I'm not complaining,' John manages eventually, 'it's just that... Jesus, I look like a lumpy old man next to you. You look like you could've just stepped off the cover of GQ.'

'It's funny you should say that because I did get quite a few offers to model when I was younger. Of course I turned them all down. I imagine modelling's deadly boring.'

'Not helping, Sherlock,' John says through gritted teeth. Sherlock immediately shuts up and winds his arms around John.

'I don't think you've properly seen yourself recently,' Sherlock says gently, pressing a kiss onto the side of John's head.

'Eh? I do own a mirror, you know.'

'You know what I mean, don't be obtuse. We're both getting older, John, there's no denying that. So what if you have a few grey hairs creeping in? Soon I'll have them too. You might have to wear glasses, I might end up going bald. We'll put on weight and things will start to sag. That time hasn't arrived yet. Your eyes are clear, honest and beautiful. Your muscles are still a force to be reckoned with. You're compact, sturdy and ever so sexy. You tan easily, even a few hours in the sun will turn your skin golden and make your eyes stand out even more. But none of that matters. Even when you're old and look disgusting, it won't matter. Because I love you for who you are. Not what your transport may look like.'

John blinks up at him, slightly lost for words. He opens his mouth to reply but nothing comes out. Sherlock presses a kiss to his lips and then pulls back, studying him.

'Better?'

Dumbly John nods.

'Good. Then we won't have to keep standing here wasting more time. If we're going to have to endure this undoubtedly tedious evening let's get going. The sooner we get there, the sooner we can leave.'

XXXXXXXXXX

John and Sherlock wend their way through the crowded pub, eventually reaching the section at the back which John's friends have comandeered for their own. As they approach there is a raucous cheer and John turns to grin nervously at Sherlock.

'Here we go.'

In response, Sherlock flashes him a quick, reassuring smile.

'Johnny!'

A thickset man comes up to them, pulling John into a one-armed hug and clapping him on the back.

'Hey Ollie. You alright?'

'Yeah, yeah. Hey, Johnny it's been way too long. And you brought Sherlock!'

John smiles. 'Yes, I did. I figured he'd been hidden away for long enough.' John raises his voice to carry to all his friends, most of whom are still sat down. 'Everyone, this is Sherlock Holmes.'

There's a chorus of welcome and then Ollie tugs them down to sit at a central table.

'So tell us, Johnny, what's new?'

'We haven't seen you for ages,' someone else chips in.

Sherlock glances at John, who is looking distinctly nervous. Sherlock doubts anybody else would be able to pick on the subtle signs, but he can see them all. A slight tightening of John's jawline, his fingers clenching slightly on the side of the table.

'Well, I'm seeing someone new,' he begins, squeezing Sherlock's thigh slightly under the table.

'You broke up with that bird? What was her name? Jeanette?'

'Yeah,' John says heavily. 'Yeah, that's over. The thing is, I'm dating someone and it might come as a bit of a surprise. I know it did to me.'

'Who is it?' Ollie asks. 'Do we know her?'

'You know him, Ollie. I'm going out with Sherlock.'

There's a dead silence around the table before the majority of John's friends burst out laughing.

'Yeah right!'

'Good one, Johnny.'

'Seriously, who is it?'

John frowns and takes a deep pull of his drink. He glances at Sherlock who is looking supremely unconcerned.

'I'm not joking. I'm going out with Sherlock. Ever since he came back we've grown a lot closer.' John's eyes flash as he looks around the tables. 'For any of you who can't handle that, I suggest you leave now.'

There's another long silence. Then one man gets up, defiantly. He meets John's eyes and sneers openly.

'Never had you down as a cock-muncher, Johnny.' With that he leaves, shouldering his way through the crowd. A couple of seconds later three more men leave, although looking slightly embarrassed as they do so. They can't meet John's eyes and somehow this hurts him more than Paul's exit.

These are men he's served with, men he has trusted with his life, men he has stitched up on occasion when necessary. And they're willing to just abandon him because of who he chooses to spend his life with?

Ollie, on the other hand, is looking thrilled.

'You're looking very happy, Ollie,' John ventures, clutching onto Sherlock's hand for support. He feels long, thin fingers twine around his own and immediately feels more able to cope.

'Sure I'm happy. You're happy, that's enough for me. I always knew Sherlock was someone special to you. I'm not much of a reader but I always read your blog. I loved all your adventures and shit. And to be honest it doesn't take a genius to read between the lines.' He smirks. 'You've had it bad for a long time, mate.'

'I wish I'd realised it when everybody else did,' John says wryly.

XXXXXXXXXX

'See, it wasn't that bad, was it?' John asks as they enter the living room. Sherlock glowers at him and immediately stalks over to his abandoned experiment.

'If by not bad you mean that you managed to elimate those of your friends who can't accept homosexuality, then yes.'

John rolls his eyes and puts the kettle on. 'You liked Ollie. I know you did.'

'He was marginally less dull than the others,' Sherlock admits. John laughs and wanders over to where Sherlock is sitting. He wraps his arms around his waist and bends down so that he's able to press light kisses to Sherlock's throat who automatically tips his head in order to give him better access.

'There was a reason I said we'd leave early,' John murmurs, his fingertips stroking small circles on Sherlock's hip bones. Involuntarily Sherlock shifts himself on the chair, moving into John's teasing movements.

'What was that, then?' Sherlock manages.

'You're the genius in the room,' John breathes, moving his fingertips lower. 'Deduce.'

Sherlock lets out a little gasp as John's teasing hands skate over his groin.

'You require sex,' Sherlock says, tilting his hips further forward so that he's in danger of sliding off the chair.

'Good deduction,' John replies, massaging Sherlock's crotch, feeling the ridge of flesh harden under the denim of his jeans.

Almost immediately Sherlock decides that his experiment really isn't that pressing and can wait until the morning. What can't wait, however, is the desire to submit to John fully. Within minutes both men find themselves in the bedroom and Sherlock has divested himself of all of his clothes so that he ends up nude, sprawled on the double bed. John stands in the doorway, slowly stripping, all the while watching Sherlock.

'I love you,' John murmurs, stepping forwards, fully naked now. Sherlock sighs and lets his head fall back onto the duvet.

'I know. Just get on with it, will you?' As if to reinforce his point he tugs himself a few times. John climbs onto the bed and swats his hand away.

'Uh-uh. I'm not going any further until I hear it from you.'

'Hear what?' Sherlock demands, playing dumb.

John merely cocks an eyebrow at him and leisurely runs a hand up and down Sherlock's torso, feeling the outline of ribs and hip-bones.

'Fine. John Watson I love you. I love you more than my family, more than my violin, more than London, more than the Work. Now will you hurry up and fuck me?'

John smiles, attempting to hide how touched he is by Sherlock's words.

'Fine.'

And he proceeds to do exactly as Sherlock requests... as he always will.

I considered the last chapter of this fic as the end, but then decided that an epilogue might be nice to wrap everything up.

I am very sorry about the sporadic updates for this fic but I have decided from now on not to upload any story until I've completed all of it. Thanks to everyone who's stayed with this story. I've now almost completed a Beauty and the Beast themed Sherlock story that I hope you'll all have a look at. The first chapter should be uploaded in a day or two.

Much love and thanks

Electrogirl