I Am Sher-Locked Up

Finally

Hey guys! This is going to be the final chapter and I hope you guys like it. I'm really grateful for all the love and support you guys have given me. I was looking through the beginning of the fic one day and saw an authors note saying "I'm so excited that I got 100 reads!" and now here we are today with over 5 thousand reads (EDIT: we now have almost 8,000!) (EDIT: HOLY SHIT 21,000!!). Thank you guys so much, it's always been you that made this possible. I love you, and I hope you enjoyed the ride :):):)

-Hannah

***

~Three months later~

John

There really is no better way to wake up than with the love of your life's face next to yours. 

"Morning, Sherlock..." John says sleepily, a smile warming his face. "You sleep well?"

Sherlock nods, mirroring his boyfriend's smile. "About 5 hours, which is good, considering."

John inhales soberly. Sherlock had been having nightmares almost every night since he was discharged three months ago, and John was beginning to worry.

"Are you sure you don't want to see someone--" John begins.

"Yes. I'm sure. All they're going to do is give me a sedative that will dull my senses." Sherlock says definitively.

"You're going to be asleep, Sherl, your senses don't get much more dull than that!" John laughs as he sits up, stretching towards the ceiling. He can feel Sherlock's eyes on him, and realizes he's slept without a shirt on for the first time he's been sleeping with Sherlock.

"Enjoying the show, mate?" John snorts, a smile tugging at his lips. He stands and begins to get dressed.

Sherlock turns a deep red, running his hand through his hair uncomfortably, "Well, I mean, yes, but, I'm not saying that--"

"Shut up you stupid git and kiss me," John smiles into Sherlock's mouth, a sense of contentment washing over him. 

They had made it. They had defeated Sherlock's monsters, they had quelled his self-hatred, and given love to the unlovable. They finally made it to happiness.

"Are you happy, Sherl?" John asks, his breath hot on Sherlock's skin.

Sherlock's face contorts into confusion, "What do you mean?"

John pulls back, rocking on his heels. "I mean, are you happy? With yourself, with your life, with...me?"

"I don't know if I've ever really experienced happiness, true happiness anyway. I wouldn't know what happy was unless it bit me on the arse," Sherlock says slowly, "but I do believe I am experiencing it now. You make me happy. I always thought that the idea of love, of making each other happy, was a charade that lonely people took part in. But now, I don't know. I think I am."

John nods, "I think you are too. Maybe not with yourself, maybe not with your mind, but I believe you're well on the road to happiness."

Sherlock smiles and says, "I think that is a truly exciting prospect."

John chuckles as he pulls on his coat, "Anything involving you is bound to be exciting, mate."

***

Sherlock

As the detective watches John walk out of the room, he allows himself to think freely.

Life seemed so much better now. Sure, he had relapsed a few times and still had trouble with food, but it seems that the long, dark tunnel that was his life was coming to an end. He could almost taste the light that shone at the other end.

John. It was always John. John made him cry, John made him laugh, and John was the thing that saved him.

And emotions. Emotions were finally slipping  through. And he let them. Gone were the days of frantically bottling up his rage and frustation and depression and love. Thirty-seven years of compressed feelings were rattling around in his chest, and John loved every one.

God, what did he do to deserve such a man? 

"Sherlock! I've got to go to work, are you okay by yourself?" John called from the other room, a slight edge of worry to his voice.

"Yes, I'll be okay. I promise." Sherlock says truthfully. The need to hurt himself was relatively low at the moment.

As the door slams shut, Sherlock laid back down on the bed, pressing his face into John's pillow. He could smell his shampoo, aftershave, and something else that was just pure John. The smell brought a wave of joy over him, lightening the constant pressure of his depression on his sternum.

Soon, Sherlock was asleep, the scent of John weaving its way into his dreams.

And he knew he was happy. For now, all was well.

                                                                The End...?