Epilogue: Two Thrown Together

John Watson was tired. He sat slouched over the kitchen table, screwing his face up as he sipped tea that had been sitting for ten minutes too long. It was still early morning, the street lights reflected orange in the puddles from last night's rain. The lone doctor yawned, pushing himself out from beneath the table and pouring the remainder of his tea down the sink. He pressed his fingers to his temples and sighed, feeling his head begin to throb.

'Are you alright?' A smooth baritone voice sounded from behind John, startling him.

'Yes. Yes. No.' John took a heady breath and leaned against the work top, surrendering to exhaustion.

'Talk to me, John.' Sherlock said gently, moving shadow-like towards his partner.

John didn't know, if he was truly honest with himself. Last night with Sherlock was beautiful - when it was happening. The thoughts going through his head were ones he had anticipated.

'I don't know, Sherlock. I don't.'

'Are you happy, John?'

'What? I- Yes.'

'Then isn't that all that matters? I presume that is how this type of thing works.' Sherlock smiled slightly and hopped onto the table with the elegance of a feline.

John's brows knitted. 'What type of thing?'

Despite the other man's confusion, Sherlock remained unperturbed. 'A relationship, John.'

'A rel-'

'Yes, John, a relationship.'

'I- well, Sherlock, I-'

'Let me ask you again: John?'

'Yes.'

'Are you happy?'

'Yes. Yes I am'

'Then so am I. You mean more to me than you will ever see, and more than I can ever show you. Can you accept that?'

'Sherlock-'

The tall man slid off the table top and assumed his position in front of John. 'Can you accept that, John?'

John looked at his detective for a long moment, considering every perfect angle of his face, the porcelain of his cheeks and neck, the way the dark tendrils of his hair juxtaposed the white of his soft skin. He thought about the way Sherlock felt, his touch. He looked at his chest, the place where his heart belongs, the heart which people say he didn't have. They were so wrong, so wrong. Sherlock's heart was biggest because it was new, because it was filled with something so strong it could not be ignored. It was filled with John, his wonderful John. John in all his compassion, in his tangerine, navy, grey, Christmassy jumpers. John with his sandy hair and pale eyes, his warmth, his taste of jam and sweet tea and biscuits. There was nothing, nothing about John that Sherlock didn't want to be familiar with. He wanted to tune himself to John, to share in John's self. There wasn't a part of John that Sherlock didn't need.

John reached out a hand to stroke Sherlock's cool cheek. 'Yes.'

'Can you accept me?'

John looked at the other man again. 'Yes. Yes I can, Sherlock. You are me and I am you. Let me have all of you. Let me have you.'

Sherlock laughed warmly, sliding a robed arm around John's waist. 'You are me, John. You have me, all of me, John Hamish Watson, and I love you.'

John smiled like a child on Christmas day, cheeks flushing, hands shaking.

'I love you, too.'

The shorter man went onto his tip-toes and kissed his partner, a kiss which told him that everything he had was him. Sherlock Holmes. The man smiled into John's kiss, unable to comprehend the joy that he felt, the warmth that filled his usually cold, solid body. That filled his heart. John filled him, John was a part of him. His mind rested on meaningless love songs and sonnets and-

Upon what instrument are we two spanned?
And what musician holds us in his hand?

There was nothing else now, the men belonged to one another, they could share each other. They were, finally, The Doctor and The Detective.

A/N: And there we go, finished! If I carry on writing I feel like it will become too forced and become less enjoyable. Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed, it's been lovely to just write what I want, so thank you.

The title is reference to 'Between Us Now' By Thomas Hardy:
Between us now and here -
Two thrown together

And the two lines near the end are from a lovely poem called Love Song by Rilke.