Fic: Coming Home (8/8)
Rating: Mature
Warnings/content: minor character death, depictions of violence; angst, slash, romance
Beta: lady_t_220. Thank you so much - I couldn't have done it without you.
Previous
****
Sunday came around, and saw Lawrence returned to his rightful place leading the service. John was more than happy to take a back seat and assist, which also left him free at times to watch the congregation. The faces of those in communion with God had always fascinated him, but there was only one face that held his attention today. He had thought of Sherlock almost obsessively since his conversation with Lawrence and was admittedly distracted. It was a relief to have Lawrence back, really, because John knew he was mostly useless at the moment.
The service ended and John joined Lawrence at the church door to talk to their parishioners. He smiled and he shook hands and he chatted idly - all on autopilot. When the last person had bid them farewell, Lawrence gave him a knowing smile and nodded out towards the graveyard. John looked round to find Sherlock hovering a little way off, his piercing gaze fixed on John.
"I'll leave you to it," Lawrence said softly, giving John's elbow a squeeze before disappearing into the church.
John swallowed and moved to join Sherlock, oddly nervous.
"What did you think of Lawrence's service then?" John asked.
"It wasn't completely awful," Sherlock said with a smile.
"Good. Did you... D'you want to come in for tea?"
"Actually, I was thinking you could come to mine."
"It's a bit of a way to go just for tea," John pointed out with a smile.
"It's not. I've moved."
"What? When did this happen?" John asked in surprise.
"Yesterday. I couldn't stand another day in that godforsaken house. I thought it was bad enough when my mother was alive..."
John smiled, a little bewildered. "So, you just moved? Where to?"
"It's a nice place. Decent size. It's got a spare room that I'm planning on turning into a lab."
"Right," John said, recognising deflection when it saw it. "But where is it?"
Sherlock hesitated for just a moment before answering. "A five minute walk from here."
John raised an eyebrow, opened his mouth to speak - and then closed it again with a snap.
"Well, let's go then," he said when he had recovered from his surprise a moment later. "Show me your new pad."
Sherlock smiled and stepped back, waving John in front of him. "After you."
****
Sherlock's new home was a modest, mid-terraced Victorian house - two up, two down - with gaudy decor to rival even Mrs. Hudson's. It was already filled with boxes of Sherlock's stuff, contents half-unpacked and scattered all over the place.
"It's nice," John pronounced with a smile. He spotted the skull that had sat on the mantelpiece at 221b in a box and went to pick it up. "I wondered what had happened to poor Yorick."
Sherlock snorted in amusement but looked uncertain as his eyes met John's. "Do you like it?"
"It's very you."
John looked around again, and then slid his gaze back to Sherlock.
"Very conveniently located."
Sherlock looked slightly shamefaced and John took a step forward. "Any reason for this particular location?"
Sherlock looked away, fiddling with the edge of a nearby box. "John, I..."
"You're an idiot," John said and Sherlock started, eyes widening in surprise.
"Excuse me?"
"You. Are. An. Idiot," John said, taking one step forward with every word until he was toe to toe with Sherlock. "And I love you."
Before Sherlock could say anything more, John was drawing him down into a passionate kiss. Sherlock let out a moan and pressed closer as John wrapped both arms around him and let himself get lost. As soon as Sherlock seemed to realise that John wasn't going to pull away - not this time - he pressed even closer, deepening their kiss as he cradled John's face between his palms. John's hands fisted in Sherlock's jacket, keeping him close, the heat of his body bleeding into John's.
When they finally parted for breath, they were both panting and Sherlock pressed his forehead to John's, his breath ghosting over John's mouth.
"John?" he whispered uncertainly.
"I'm sorry."
Sherlock recoiled in surprise. "Pardon?"
"I'm sorry. I've been stupid."
"You have?" Sherlock got out, and John couldn't help but enjoy Sherlock's confusion.
"Yes," John said with a smile, pressing a hand to the back of Sherlock's neck and leaning into him. "I've always wanted this. You. I just... It took me a while to remember how much."
Sherlock's eyes narrowed momentarily, but whatever he found in John's expression soon had him smiling widely and dipping his head to kiss him again. John clung to him, laughing into the kiss. Sherlock's hands tracked over his back and neck, grasping at cloth and hair, and suddenly there was an urgency that hadn't been there before.
John drew away with a gasp, looking up at Sherlock from under his eyelashes.
"Maybe you should show me the bedroom," he suggested, one hand curving over Sherlock's hip.
Sherlock swallowed visibly, some of that hesitance back in his expression, but he soon turned and led the way upstairs.
****
Sherlock was still looking a little punch-drunk when they reached the bedroom and he settled awkwardly on the end of the bed, watching as John took in the room. Finished with his perusal, John's eyes drifted back to Sherlock and his heart jumped at the sight of him. He stepped forward and Sherlock tilted his head back just a little to hold John's gaze, revealing the pale skin of his neck in a way that made John breathe a little heavier.
John reached out a hand to trace his fingers over one impossible cheekbone. "Look at you," he whispered. "You've hardly aged. And still as beautiful as ever."
Sherlock leaned into his caress, reaching out to rest one hand on John's hip. "John," he whispered, his eyes fluttering closed.
John bent almost double and caught Sherlock's mouth in a gentle kiss, sliding his hands up Sherlock's arms and then under the edge of his suit jacket, guiding it over his shoulders. Sherlock shrugged it the rest of the way off and then he was pulling John insistently towards him, until John had little choice but to follow him down onto the bed.
Stretched out side by side, John traced a hand down Sherlock's neck, skimming over his collarbone through the thin shirt. Sherlock trembled and reached for him again, drawing him into a hungry kiss. John moaned against him and pressed forward until he was half over Sherlock, before dipping his head to press his tongue to the curve of Sherlock's neck. Sherlock whined and his hands scrambled for John's jumper, tugging at it impatiently.
"Off," he commanded in a rough voice.
John moved away just far enough to pull his jumper over his head, and then he was leaning in to kiss Sherlock again, his hand going to the buttons of Sherlock's shirt. Sherlock suddenly went still underneath him and John pulled back in confusion, his brow knitting into a frown when he saw the strained look on Sherlock's face, the way his eyes were screwed shut.
"Sherlock," he whispered. "What is it?"
"Just... Please, keep going," Sherlock said a little desperately.
"Are you sure? You don't seem to be enjoying it much right now," John said.
"I am," Sherlock said, his eyes flying open to meet John's, before flicking down to where John's hand rested on his half-undone shirt. Suddenly, the reason for his unease became clear.
"I want to see you," John said softly.
"Yes, yes," Sherlock got out, nodding jerkily as he closed his eyes again. "Get on with it."
"Sherlock, if you want me to stop-"
"Please, John!"
"Okay," John whispered soothingly, slowly continuing to unbutton the shirt. "Okay."
Once it was undone, John spread the shirt open across Sherlock's chest - and he couldn't help but pause as he took in the scars revealed underneath. Sherlock wriggled out of the shirt, his eyes still closed, and John let out a gasp as he finally caught sight of the two worst injuries - gunshot wounds - in his left shoulder and just below his ribs on the same side.
John found his hand hovering over them helplessly. "Do they hurt?"
"Only occasionally," Sherlock got out in a strained voice and when John glanced up, his eyes were open once more, and he was watching John intently.
They shared a long look and then John leaned in to kiss him again, his lips just skimming over Sherlock's. Sherlock let out a choked noise against his mouth and his hands flew to John's shoulders, holding him close. Sherlock's left hand was trembling, perhaps unsurprisingly, and John drew away gently, sitting back until he could take Sherlock's left hand in his. Sherlock watched on with heavy-lidded eyes as John pressed a kiss to his knuckles.
"It shakes when you're emotional?" he whispered.
"Yes, I'd noticed that too."
"Still not interested in therapy?"
"I don't need a therapist. I've got a priest. Of sorts."
John let out a huff of laughter, and continued to hold Sherlock's gaze as he pressed his mouth to the back of Sherlock's wrist.
"Come back here," Sherlock said in a low voice, reaching out for him with his free hand. John smiled, releasing Sherlock's fingers and shifting back up to rest on his elbow on the pillows. He paused, holding Sherlock's gaze as he rested a hand just to the side of the scar on his shoulder.
"You don't need to hide from me," he said firmly. "Ever."
Sherlock's eyes seemed to water for just a moment, but then he blinked rapidly and leaned up to capture John's mouth once more.
It was like a dream - just like the dreams that had tormented John all through the last three years - to have Sherlock underneath him, his skin warm and soft and real under John's hands, his body pressed against the length of John's. John almost didn't know where to start, what to touch first, what to do now that he finally had Sherlock back where he had always belonged.
John broke their kiss with a gasp, pressing his forehead to Sherlock's. "I missed you," he said brokenly, finally letting the floodgates open. "I was so lost without you."
"John," Sherlock got out in a voice thick with emotion, his hands momentarily tightening their grip.
"I didn't want to live without you. Don't want to live without you," John breathed out, catching Sherlock's lips in a hard kiss. Sherlock moaned deep in his throat and then his hands were at the buttons of John's shirt, deft fingers slipping them undone in no time and shoving the shirt off.
The rest of their clothes soon followed until they were pressed together, skin-to-skin, hands running reverently over heated flesh and grasping at hair, mouths coming together in surges of passion. Despite himself, John had to fight back the tears when he pressed his open mouth to Sherlock's throat and was overwhelmed by the taste and smell of him. Sherlock seemed to realise straight away and he cupped John's face in his hands and drew him back into a gentle kiss. John trembled and sunk into it and, before he could blink, Sherlock had reversed their positions, looking down at John with shining eyes. He looked like he wanted to say something, but it never came, and then he was leaning down to kiss John again.
When Sherlock trailed soft kisses down John's neck and over his chest, John bucked helplessly into the touch, his body desperate for contact after three years of deprivation. He let out quiet gasps as Sherlock drifted teasingly light touches over his torso, and arched into him as long fingers swept up his thighs. Sherlock pressed his mouth to John's sternum and his eyes flicked upwards, his expression uncertain for just a second.
"I hate that look," John whispered, reaching down to brush his thumb over Sherlock's temple. "I wish I could make it disappear forever."
John coaxed Sherlock back up his body, letting out a low moan when the erection he had mostly forgotten about slid against Sherlock's belly. For a moment, he could hardly breathe for the wave of want that crashed over him and he closed his eyes with the sensation, moaning again when Sherlock pressed down against him. When John's eyes fluttered reluctantly open again, Sherlock was watching him with pupils blown wide, his mouth parted almost unconsciously as he gave another slow, deliberate thrust. He had never looked more beautiful.
Sherlock paused, searching John's expression for permission, and John nodded jerkily, hands pressed against Sherlock's lower back. "More," John got out breathily. "Just like that."
Sherlock gave him a wolfish smile that made his heart stutter, and then thrust again in one long, drawn-out movement. It was almost too good, the drag of skin against skin and Sherlock and the kind of intimacy that John had been without for far too long. He closed his eyes again and arched into Sherlock's next move, his hands settling in a tight grip on Sherlock's hips as Sherlock pressed a kiss to the underside of his jaw.
"God, I missed this," John whispered.
Sherlock let out a choked noise and suddenly shifted, wrapping a hand around both of them, his head pressed to John's shoulder. "John," he groaned.
"Oh God, yes," John moaned, the increased pressure setting off a cascade of sensation through his body. He twisted his head to capture Sherlock's mouth and Sherlock kissed him back desperately, shifting, sliding and eventually sending them both over the edge with a surprised gasp.
****
John let out a long breath, idly threading his fingers through Sherlock's hair. Sherlock shifted against his shoulder, his breath tickling John's skin.
"I really should be getting back," John said reluctantly. "Lawrence will be wondering where I've got to."
"Stay," Sherlock said, his voice muffled against John.
"I wish I could but, you know, officially I'm still a deacon. I'm not supposed to be here. It wouldn't look very good."
Sherlock said nothing, but he let out something close to a sigh. "How could I forget?" he whispered. "I won't make you choose. Again."
John laughed and wriggled out from underneath Sherlock's head, forcing Sherlock to turn onto his side. "I've already made my choice," John said, pressing his hand to Sherlock's cheek and leaning in to press a brief kiss to his lips. "I made it the moment I really started thinking about the possibility of us being together again. You will always come first, Sherlock."
Sherlock looked a little dazed but he leaned in for another kiss. When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against John's, his eyes closed. "John, I want... everything. With you. I want to spend every single moment with you, for the rest of my life."
"Careful," John teased in a low voice. "That sounded almost like a proposal."
"If I could predict your answer, it would be."
John recoiled in surprise, eyes flying wide open to flick over Sherlock's face. "You... You're serious," he said after a moment.
"Why wouldn't I be? And you just said you didn't want to live without me. Unless that was just the heat of the moment?"
John let out a shaky breath and rolled onto his back, running his hands through his hair.
"I've upset you," Sherlock said.
"No. No, just surprised me."
"I won't mention it again," Sherlock murmured quietly, and John reached out for him, drawing him close once more.
"No, look, I just... We've only been back together ten minutes."
"I don't see how that's relevant."
"You wouldn't," John said with a laugh. "It's just that, we need time still. And I've got to figure out leaving the Church and what I'm going to do with myself and- you know, this is the second time, I'm going to start getting a reputation..."
"I understand," Sherlock cut in, leaning in close, his breath on John's lips. "Forget it. Delete it."
"Sherlock-"
"For now," Sherlock insisted and John finally acquiesced with a nod and a slight sigh.
"I love you," John whispered, cupping the back of Sherlock's neck.
"I love you."
Sherlock finally pressed their lips together and John wrapped both arms around him tightly, losing himself in the moment. It felt like coming home.
THE END
****
Notes: I just want to say a big thank you to everyone who has followed me (and Sherlock and John) through this roller coaster journey. I feel like I've spent most of this year absorbed in this world and I am truly sad to be saying goodbye, but at least John and Sherlock finally got their happy ending! I hope you've enjoyed this as much as I have and hopefully I'll see you again soon. Thank you again, you lovely people. yalublyutebya