Thanks to MapleLeafCameo for looking over this for me. Also, I don't own them so I can't profit from writing about them.

Moving boxes could be seen in every room of 221B. The bookcase was empty, there were no experiments to be found and no papers littered the floor. Sherlock Holmes placed his violin case on a sturdy stack of boxes and then reached for the pile of folders sitting on the living room table. Deciding it was best to keep them all, he laid them in the last open container and sealed it shut with packing tape. Reaching over for the paper John had left him, Sherlock drew a line through the last item listed. There was nothing more to do.

Thankful they had kept the sofa clear of debris, Sherlock sat down. Feeling his phone vibrate in his pocket he reached in and read the text waiting for him. Leaving the party now, I'll be home soon! Love you! Glad he had declined the invitation to John's retirement party, Sherlock glanced around the room lost in memories. Remembering when he had first shown John the flat, bullet holes long papered over, when he had returned to John after a three years absence, the first time they had had sex on the kitchen table, celebrating John's 65th birthday with friends and family. The list continued until Sherlock shook his head and went up to their room.

He checked to make sure the cardboard wardrobe boxes holding his suits were still upright, put the two piles of clothes left out for the next day on a nearby suitcase and then lay down to wait for John. Despite being 64 years old, Sherlock was still full of energy. However, even with the help of friends, they had been packing nonstop for quite a few days and resting for a few minutes seemed like a good idea.

Waking from a light sleep, Sherlock heard the flat door open. Knowing John hated it when he yelled down the stairs, only because he was now a little hard of hearing, he took his phone in hand and texted I'm in the bedroom. A few minutes later, John opened the door and smiled.

"Decided to have a bit of a kip?" he teased, as he shuffled to his side of the bed.

"Hardly," Sherlock scoffed, "I simply felt it best to wait for you in here."

John toed off his shoes and lay down against Sherlock's right side, mindful of his husband's knee. Ever since being injured the year before, it was a source of discomfort if knocked too hard or when it was damp and cold.

"Perfectly sound reasoning." John smiled as he nestled his head against Sherlock's chest and felt a long arm wrap itself around him, bringing him in tight. "I see the list had everything checked off."

"Yes, there's nothing left to do except have dinner and get some sleep."

"We'll have dinner in a little while. I can't believe that, after all the time it took to pack everything up, we'll soon be taking it all out again. I'll be honest and say I'm not looking forward to that. Who would have guessed I'd soon need a break from the start of the retirement that's supposed to let me relax a bit?"

Sherlock hummed before saying, "We did it John. We actually made it to retirement."

John hugged Sherlock close. "Yes, I have to be honest and say there were times I thought it might not happen. But despite the best attempts of the world's criminals these past thirty years, we're still here."

"I never imagined I would make it to my fortieth birthday, let alone retire to Sussex," Sherlock answered. "Never mind having you come with me."

"Only took you turning fifty before you'd believe me." John teased, "And here I thought you were supposed to be the genius in this relationship."

John's right index finger began to wander across Sherlock's chest, slipping through the spaces between each button on his waistcoat. By the time the detective had reached his forty-second birthday John had suggested, very gently, that a new style of wardrobe might be a good choice. Despite the history of weight gain Holmes men seemed to endure as they got older, Sherlock had remained almost as thin as when the retired army doctor had first met him.

Nevertheless, John had thought it a good idea to mature his husband's wardrobe. Of course he had needed to be clever in how he brought up the subject. John had found out years earlier that stroking Sherlock's ego was a good way to introduce certain changes. He had mentioned seeing a set of clothes that he felt would look quite sexy on the lanky genius. Still being dressy but allowing the fit of both shirt and trousers to be more relaxed. John admitted to having wanked off to the image of Sherlock wearing the outfit with the pleasurable addition of a waistcoat.

Three days later two outfits, exact replicas of the one John had described, were delivered to 221B. Naturally a jacket had been necessary to complete the outfit but it wasn't an exaggeration to say both men were very appreciative of the new clothing style. Especially after they had come quite hard. Soon Sherlock had replaced all of his younger style of clothing with a wardrobe that complimented who he had matured into.

Now, as his finger dipped between another set of buttons to caress soft skin he knew as well as his own, John took a moment to reflect on the major change that would occur the next day. It would be a lie to say John wouldn't miss their flat at 221B Baker Street just as much as Sherlock. The flat had been their home for decades and there were a lot of fond memories floating through each room. However, as John had heard said before, 'the only thing constant is change', and life had continued to change as time passed.

Mrs. Hudson had been gone some years and, while her nephew Donald was a nice chap, the family dynamic was no longer there. After a cancer scare ten years earlier, Mycroft had taken a much less active role in politics and announced he had finally married Anthea. John had a feeling the declaration was for a wedding that had actually taken place many years before. Sherlock was also convinced that, while he might not travel as much as he once did, Mycroft still had a firm hand in the running of the British government. John figured he was probably right.

Molly and Lestrade had married before Sherlock had finished with Moriarty's network and now had five grandchildren. Even Donovan had finally given the cheating Anderson the boot and found someone who could truly appreciate and care for her. Sherlock had grudgingly accepted that he wouldn't be able to run through the streets of London forever and had worked with the police. Now there was a course specially designed by the world's only consulting detective that each officer took. Sherlock told John there were three men and one woman who looked very promising indeed and he felt a bit better leaving his precious London in their hands.

John was drawn out of his musings when Sherlock shook his shoulder lightly.

Inhaling, John looked up. "Sorry, I was woolgathering."

Smiling fondly, Sherlock repeated his earlier question. "I asked if you had the bears Mrs. Hudson made packed away with the skull so we can put them on our new mantel first thing."

Chuckling, John reached up to run the back of one hand over the face he knew as well as his own. "Yes, Doctor Bear and Detective bear are wrapped in tissue as is the skull. We might be in a new home but our mantel decorations will remain the same."

"You misspoke in your last sentence, John."

Confused John asked, "What do you mean? All three things will be on our mantel in Sussex and have been here in Baker Street for a long time. How am I wrong?"

Sherlock patiently clarified. "You said we will be in a new home. Our living space will change that is true. However, my home is not a physical place but you. That is something that will always stay the same, for you are my sanctuary."

Touched, John fought back tears as he choked out the words, "You ridiculous man. You really are a romantic sometimes."

"Only for you," Sherlock promised.

Content, both men gave a sigh as they daydreamed of the future adventures they would share.