Forever

John was sitting in his arm chair, reading the paper as rain hit the window on the other side of the room. He felt eyes on him. He could feel the stares but he didn't dare look up. He was mad. Ferrous even. Mad that he had done this to him. Mad that he had left him alone for three bloody years. 

Mad that he loved him after it was all said and done. 

"John..?" Sherlock's voice was barely audible being just above a whisper. 

John ignored him.

"John? Please..." Sherlock sounded pitiful. 

John turned the page to the paper. He was going to make Sherlock suffer as long as he could. He was alone for three years. He was depressed, alone, and pissed all that time. Depressed his best friend had killed himself. Alone in the world he didn't want to be in anymore. Pissed that Sherlock had done this to him. 

Sherlock stood and moved over to John, snatching the paper out of his hands. 

"Listen to me..." He begged, his eyes sad and a little annoyed. 

"Give me the paper." John argued, letting the hard edge very noticeable in his voice. 

"John..." 

"Give me the damn paper." John said, standing as well and taking it back out of Sherlock's hands. 

John stared him down, Sherlock looking actually upset. They stood there in heated silence for a few very long minutes before Sherlock turned and left the flats, taking his coat and flinging it over one shoulder as he left. John stared after him for a while before collapsing into his chair, hiding his face in his hands with the newspaper over his lap. 

Sherlock came an hour later, a bag in one hand and his other hand hidden in his coat. John glanced over at him over the top of his book. They glared at each other in silence before John buried his nose back into the book. Sherlock walked briskly through the room and into the kitchen, out of sight from John. 

John could hear Sherlock banging around in the kitchen, listening to the sound of glass on counter and metal against metal. John lowered his book, marking his page, to his lap, staring into the kitchen, unable to see Sherlock. 

"What in bloody hell are you doing in there?!" John called, letting the irritation seep into his voice.

Sherlock smiled to himself and didn't answer. He had a thing of flowers in a vase and was just banging bowls around to get John's attention. Food from their favorite Chinese place was in it's containers on the table. Now all he needed was John's attention. 

He picked up a glass, one they never really used, and dropped it on the ground, letting a loud gasp escape his lips. He heard John stand in the living room, but no footsteps followed. He waited in silence, hoping John would come, but nothing happened. 

John stood, rooted to the spot, half wanting to run to make sure Sherlock was okay, and half wanting to sit back down. He didn't want Sherlock to win, he wanted to stay mad at him. Sherlock had ignored him for three years. Slowly, still watching the kitchen door, John sat back down.

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he heard the sigh of relief as John sat back down. He grabbed another glass and picked it up, dropping it again. He waited a few seconds, with no response from John. Left with no choice, he picked up a bit of the broken shards on the floor and slit his arm long and deep. He let the piece fall to the ground and gasped loudly in pain, making sure to let out a loud, shuttering breath. Soon enough, John appeared in the doorway, staring at the dripping blood.

"You idiot..." John muttered, but he brushed past Sherlock and went for his doctor bag. "Sit..."

Sherlock sat down in a stool and watched John, holding his arm and hissing in pain while touching it.

"Stop that!" John angrily took Sherlock's hand and pulled it away from his wound. He quickly started cleaning it. "How did you manage this?" John asked bitterly. 

"Glass." Sherlock said simply. "John, I..."

"Don't talk to me." John said sharply, cutting Sherlock off. "I'm only helping you here then I'm not talking to you again."

"Should I just leave again?"

John stopped. He was in the middle of cleaning the wound, the cotton ball placed on the opening. His heart dropped. He didn't want Sherlock to leave again... But that's what he seemed to be pushing for. Ignoring Sherlock, not talking to him, not wanting anything to do with him. John looked up and saw Sherlock was looking at the wound himself. He pulled his arm away and stood. 

"Flat's yours." He grabbed a towel and started to the door. 

John stood and went to the living room. "Sherlock..."

"It's fine, John... I obviously hurt you. You're safe, the snipers are gone, thats all that matters. You don't need me anymore." Sherlock turned the handle.

"Sherlock, wait..." John shut the partly open door with one hand, grabbed Sherlock's waist with the other and leaning partly over Sherlock to reach the door.

They stood there for a few seconds, Sherlock's hand on the door and John leaning over him. 

"Sherlock... Please, stay..." John muttered, not letting go of the door.

He felt if he let go now, Sherlock would still leave. He couldn't go back to being alone again. He couldn't go back to that depression and pain and loneliness. He felt Sherlock move and backed up as Sherlock turned to face him, his back to the door. 

"I'm sorry John..." Sherlock refused to meet his eyes. "I did what I had to do. I saved you. You're alive and now... I don't know..."

"Thank you..." John sighed deeply. "I understand you only did what you did for... for me... But it still hurt." 

"I know." 

They stood there in silence for a minute, neither knowing what to say or do. Neither wanting to meet each other's eyes. Sherlock shifted on his feet. His brain worked at speeds over what he could make things out clearly and his heart was pounding the inside of his chest. He had to stop thinking and just act. Just stop thinking and act. Just stop thinking.

Sherlock stepped towards John and placed a hand on his shoulder. John opened his mouth and looked up at Sherlock to say  something but Sherlock caught his lips before the first word escaped. 

The kiss was slow and deep. John smiled to himself at how messy Sherlock was, how unsure he was at every small move. John moved his hands up to rest on Sherlock's cheek and the small of his back. He felt Sherlock's other hand on the back top half of his leg, holding him. John moved his tongue and ran it gently along Sherlock's lips, just along the crack. He stuttered and opened his lips to let John in. 

He was slow, letting his tongue snake into Sherlock's mouth and wrap around his with no such hurry. 

As they broke apart, both breathing a little heavier, Sherlock looked deep into John's eyes. 

"I love you..." Sherlock breathed before realizing what he was saying. He had truly stopped thinking. 

"God, Sherlock..." John breathed back, scanning Sherlock from his eyes to his chest and back up. "I... I love you, too..."

Sherlock took John in an embrace, holding him tight and resting his head on his shoulder. He didn't want to let go. 

"How long?" He found himself asking, closing his eyes.

"Forever."