His Very Last Vow [A Johnlock Oneshot]

Sherlock took a deep breath. He shot Charles Augustus Magnussen, and now he was reaping the repercussions. He turned to his brother and looked at him sullenly. "Since this is likely to be the last conversation I'll have with John Watson, would you mind if we took a moment?"

Mycroft looked a little startled, but glanced over to the security man and jerked his head towards the side of the plane. The security man, Mycroft and Mary walked along the side of the jet towards the wing.

Sherlock turned to John, who smiles at him and nods. "So, here we are."

Sherlock looked vaguely around the airfield and cleared his throat, stepping closer.

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes." Sherlock stated, looking at John.

John cocked his head a bit to the side, taken aback by the sentence. "Sorry?"

"That's the whole of it - if you're looking for baby names."

John chuckled and shook his head slightly. "No, we've had a scan. We're pretty sure it's a girl."

"Oh. Okay." Sherlock spoke softly and smiled, sadness tinting his features.

They both looked awkwardly anywhere except at each other for several seconds before John broke the silence.

"Yeah.." He finally turned towards Sherlock again, clearing his throat a bit. "Actually, I can't think of a single thing to say."

Sherlock looked down a bit and quirked the corner of his mouth up. "No, neither can I." He lifted his head as John stepped a bit closer and spoke quietly.

"The game is over."

Firmly, Sherlock met John's gaze. "The game is never over, John," His tone became quieter as his expression softened. "... but there may be some new players now. It's okay. The East Wind takes us all in the end."

John's eyebrows furrowed a bit. "What's that?"

"It's a story my brother told me when we were kids. The East Wind - this terrifying force that lays waste to all in its path." He sniffed, looking into the distance. "It seeks out the unworthy and plucks them from the Earth. That was generally me."

John chuckled a bit and nodded is head. "Nice..!"

"He was a rubbish big brother." They both smiled at each other before John looked down, clearing his throat.

"So what about you, then?" He lifted his head, meeting Sherlock's eyes again. "Where are you actually going now?"

"Oh, some undercover work in Eastern Europe." Sherlock replied, trying to sound bored.

"For how long?"

Sherlock looked slightly above John's head so as not to meet his eyes. "Six months, my brother estimates. He's never wrong."

John fiddled with the end of his coat a bit, worried at the answers Sherlock was going to give him. "And then what?"

Sherlock met his gaze for a moment, then looked down thoughtfully before raising his head and gazing off into the distance. He shrugged and kept his voice soft. "Who knows?"

John nodded and turned away to look across the airfield again, breathing in deeply.

Sherlock looked directly at him until he turned back, and looked down again. "John, there's something ... I should say; I-I've meant to say always and then never have. Since it's unlikely we'll ever meet again, I might as well say it now." Sherlock hesitated before taking a deep breath and meeting John's eyes. "I love you."

"Wait... What?" John was flabbergasted as he stared at his friend. With Mary and Mycroft and everyone else out of earshot, and the airplane engine roaring, Sherlock cleared his throat and repeated himself.

"I love you, John Watson. From the moment we met, I knew... I knew you were something special." Sherlock studied John's expression, hoping he hadn't said the wrong thing. "I know this is extremely inconvenient, considering I'm leaving and you're married now and-"

"Why now?" John's jaw was clenched as he looked up at Sherlock. His fists at his side and a small smile on his face told Sherlock that he was angry at him. "Of all the times you could have told me this, why now?"

Sherlock swallowed the lump in his throat as he glanced back at his brother. "John, there isn't much time-"

"No." Surprised at how broken the word sounded, Sherlock took a small step back. John clenched his fists at his sides and tried to take a steadying breath. "No, Sherlock. You're not going to do this. You can't just tell me something like that and run away. You can expect me to completely understand, because I don't."

Sherlock's expression softened. He could feel his heart fall and his stomach turn into even more tightly coiled knots as he looked down at his shoes. "I'm sorry, I... I shouldn't have told you."

"That's not what I said." John whispered angrily. He looked up at Sherlock, his whole body almost trembling. "I just don't know how to react."

Sherlock glanced back at Mary, who was making small talk with Mycroft. "You don't have to." His voice was soft as he turned back to face John.

"You're Sherlock Holmes." The blond man stated. "You barely have friends. You don't like people, let alone love them."

"But I love you, John." Sherlock looked into his friend's eyes as he shoved his hands in his pockets. "Mycroft is sending me off to die. This is my punishment for killing Magnussen." He felt his eyes prick with tears, but shook them off. "I'm not good with feelings or emotions, and I'm definitely not good at expressing or explaining them." His breath was quivering a bit as he desperately tried not to cry. "But I had to tell you-"

"You don't have to say anything else." John searched his friend's face desperately. "I-... I don't know what to say."

Sherlock saw Mycroft motion to him to hurry and smiled sadly. He stuck out his hand out to the other and nodded once. "To the very best of times, John."

John looked down at Sherlock's hand for a moment before leaping forward and wrapping his arms around the taller man. "And to the rest to come." He hugged him tightly, tears streaming down his face. "Don't you dare die on me again." He whimpered into Sherlock's coat.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John as his own tears finally broke through and started to fall down his cheeks. "I'll try not to."

"I believe you've had enough time, brother." Mycroft commented, nodding with his head toward the plane. Sherlock squeezed John one last time before stepping away and turning to the plane. He walked up the steps slowly and looked back at John.

"Take care of him, Mary." He kept his eyes on John as he mustered up the strongest smile he could. A single tear slid down his cheek one last time as he walked away, sitting down in his seat.

Sherlock watched through the window as they grew smaller and smaller as the plane took off in the air. He dropped his head into his hands and didn't try and stop the tears from coming. Why was this so hard? Why was this so painful? Why did he tell John, he shouldn't have told him-

"Sir?" Sherlock raised his head and looked at the flight attendant. "It's your brother."

He took the phone and nodded to the man before raising it to his ear. "Mycroft?"

"Hello, little brother. How is the exile going?"

"I've only been gone four minutes."

"Well, I certainly hope you've learned your lesson." Sherlock could hear something chanting in the background. He struggled to hear it, but couldn't make it out. "As it turns out, you're needed."

"Oh, for God's sake. Make up your mind." Sherlock turned to look at the window and let out a heavy sigh. "Who needs me this time?"

Mycroft hesitated a moment before sending a picture to Sherlock on his mobile phone. "England."

Sherlock's eyes grew wide when he saw the picture. Moriarty is back.

England is in trouble.

The game is on once again.