Shop Mobile More Submit  Join Login
About Deviant K-chow PalalumpskiFemale/United States Recent Activity
Deviant for 8 Years
Needs Core Membership
Statistics 161 Deviations 1,837 Comments 10,440 Pageviews

Newest Deviations

I know I'm not the best artist in the world. In fact I'm pretty close to sucking. But please don't hate because I'm working on getting better...even if it's not really working XD


One thing you'll notice about me is that I have a variety of favorites. Anything related to the Jonas Brothers or Twilight is from when I was a fanatic. I can't bear to part with them because I still have a weird soft spot for the stuff, even though I don't like it anymore.


WARNING: This story will contain mature themes including male on male sex, violence, and swearing. If you don't like those things then this story is not for you.

Please read the AN at the bottom :D


Sherlock actually managed to sleep, and a deep sleep at that, for a considerable amount of time. He still woke before John, however, and smiled at the sleeping face of his husband. Giving him a quick kiss on the cheek, he slipped out of bed to the kitchen. At the very least he was going to make tea.

When John woke soon after, it was to the sounds of movement in the next room. He feared for a moment that Sherlock was was trying to cook after all, but didn't smell anything. He rolled out of bed and grabbed his cane, limping his way to the kitchen.

"Good morning," Sherlock said when he saw the other entering. He couldn't help his lips twitching up at how rumpled John looked. "Tea?"

"Please," John said, moving to sit at the table heavily. He took the warm mug Sherlock offered him and sipped at it slowly, waking up more. And the more he woke, the more he realised what they were about to do today, which made his stomach twist in nervousness.

"Are you ready to meet him?" he asked, unable to keep the anxiousness from his tone. "Do you think he'll like us? What if he doesn't like us?" Hamish was just a baby, of course, but John still found himself worried. Sometimes babies just didn't like certain people.

"I've been ready since we decided we were going to do this," Sherlock said, as he sat down across from him. He reached over and took John's hand when he saw the nervous expression on his face, and squeezed gently. "Relax, love. As long as we do our job right then of course he'll like us."

John took a slow breath, but it and Sherlock's hand in his didn't help like it should. "Are you sure?" he blurted, now not bothering to hide his feelings. "I mean, what if he always cries when I pick him up or never wants me to hold him?"

"That won't happen. He will love you. And he will probably like you better because you know more about children than I do and will know how to get him to stop crying." Sherlock smiled at him. "I promise, everything will be fine. You'll be a perfect father."

John sighed, gripping Sherlock's hand tightly. "If you're sure," he murmured. "God, I hope you're right. I want him to like me."

"Aren't I always right?" he asked with a smirk. "I want him to like me too. But we're the only parents he'll ever know, so it's not as though he'll be comparing us to someone else. That helps our chances."

"Right," John said. "Right, of course. You are right, in this case. I think. I hope." He sighed again, sipping his tea again to try to calm himself.

Sherlock gave him the most reassuring smile he could and returned to his own tea. He couldn't deny being a bit nervous himself, but he was also feeling very good about this all. "Should we bring anything?"

"Maybe one of the stuffed animals we have for him?" John suggested, trying to think of things that would help Hamish like them.

Sherlock nodded. "Along that line of thinking perhaps a pacifier as well. Maybe a blanket. The baby carrier too." They'd gotten a lot of baby supplies from their wedding, and were keeping them in the second room which would now be Hamish's nursery.

"Oh," John said. "Right. Of course. We might actually need those things, to bring him home. Right. Obviously." He downed the rest of his tea, feeling stupid for not thinking of these things automatically. What if he forget something essential like that when he took Hamish out somewhere? He got up, put his mug in the sink, and moved towards the stairs.

Sherlock could see that John's panic was only increasing, and so he got up as well to follow him. He didn't want John to try to pack up the whole room to bring with them. "I don't think we really need much else besides that. We're just bringing him back here."

John, who was in the middle of loading up the baby carrier, looked down and realised that he was being a little overly prepared. Sighing, rubbed a hand over his face. "Right. Yeah." He started to take out the more extraneous items, a small teddy bear, a blanket, and a pacifier the only things left tucked inside.

Sherlock took the baby carrier when it was more reasonably packed, and then John's free hand, gripping both tightly. "We're ready," he assured his husband, giving him a warm smile. Together they made their way down the stairs and out of the flat to the street.

Once they'd gotten a cab, John started biting his lip, his good leg bouncing restlessly. It was going to be alright, he knew that deep down, but he just couldn't stop thinking of all the scenarios in which it wasn't. "What if I do something wrong?" he asked. "What if I don't know what he needs when he cries?"

Sherlock frowned, turning to John and taking his face in both hands. "John. You need to relax." He kissed him firmly, slowly, to try to help calm his nerves. When he pulled away, he held his gaze. "We may not get it right at first, but eventually we'll get the hang of it. Getting nervous could create more problems than it'll solve."

John looked up at the other man, the man who was always his rock in the toughest of times, and swallowed. "Sorry..." he said, casting his eyes down. "I'm sorry. I'm really trying to calm down, I am. But...he's relying on us. I don't want to let him down."

Sherlock's expression softened and he rubbed his thumbs over John's cheeks soothingly. "It's alright. You just have to trust me that everything will be fine. We're going to do the best that we can and that's all we can do. Do you trust me?"

"Yes, Sherlock, of course," John said, without hesitation, looking back up once more. "I trust you with my life."

"Good." Sherlock grinned. "Because we're here." John hadn't even noticed, but they were pulling up to the curb already. The sight of the building made his heart pound faster, but he took a deep breath. It would be alright. He trusted Sherlock.

Sherlock got out of the cab first, and helped John out. Then, hand in hand, they walked through the doors. After they'd checked in, a kindly woman led them to the nursery, and they peered through a layer of glass at the recently born children in their individual beds. John was riveted by the sight. They were all so beautiful, but he knew that theirs was going to be the best of all. The nurse left them for a moment and returned with a small bundle wrapped in blue.

Sherlock smiled excitedly at John, and put the baby carrier on the floor before opening his arms, almost shyly. The nurse handed the baby over to him and he held him close as though he were made of glass. Gently he pushed back the blanket so that he could see his face. "Oh...John..." Sherlock's smile disappeared but the bright wonder didn't dim from his eyes as he took in the sight of the baby. Their baby. And then it returned full force as he looked back at his husband.

John peered into Sherlock's arms, at the perfect sleeping face of their child. Dark hair. God, they weren't even biologically related, and the boy would probably still look like a Holmes. "Hamish..." he murmured. As he watched, the baby woke, and John reached out to gently touch his cheek. Hamish's little hand came up, closing loosely around John's finger.

Warmth filled Sherlock as he watched Hamish's tiny hand curl around John's finger. The little boy's eyes were dark blue and big and curious as they looked up at them and Sherlock melted. He was in love with him already.

"Oh, God, Sherlock," John choked. "He's beautiful. He's perfect."

"He is..." Sherlock breathed. "He absolutely is. And he's all ours."

"Can I...?" John asked, setting his cane against the wall and holding out his arms.

Sherlock smiled and passed Hamish over to John carefully. With his hands now free, he gently ran the fingers of one over the velvety soft peach fuzz that was the baby's hair.

John supported Hamish's head carefully with his arm and bounced the child very softly. The boy gurgled, seeming pleased, and John couldn't help but grin in return. "You're so small..."

Sherlock grinned, glad to see that John seemed less nervous than before and that Hamish seemed quite content in his arms. "Told you there was nothing to worry about," he murmured into John's ear.

"This is the easy part," John replied quietly, still lost in his son's eyes. His son. Their son. "This is simple. Holding him will never be a problem."

"I seem to remember you saying that you were afraid he wouldn't like you holding him." Sherlock smirked a little but before John could say anything, he added, "Still, he already likes you. Look." Hamish was smiling and reaching out one little hand towards John's face.

John grinned again, heart lifting, and let his head drop so that Hamish's fingers tickled his cheek. "Oh, God, I hope you still love me this much when you're a teenager..."

Sherlock chuckled a little and Hamish giggled when he touched John's cheek. The nurse, who had been watching with a little smile the whole time, told them that whenever they were ready they could check out and take him home. After giving John a quick peck on the cheek, Sherlock followed her to sign the last few of the papers.

While Sherlock was busy with the paperwork, John made Hamish comfortable in his baby carrier and tucked the teddy bear into his short, chubby arms. Hamish hugged the animal gleefully, which made John smile again. He was already quite active for being so young, and that was another blessing, since it was a sign of good health.

Sherlock returned a few minutes later to find Hamish ready to go in his carrier and John watching him with a broad smile, and the sight made him feel warm all over again. He took the carrier in one hand and John's hand again in the other. "Ready?"

John squeezed Sherlock's hand. "Yes," he said, determined. "Yes, I think I am ready. Are you?"

"Yes." Sherlock looked down at Hamish who was still smiling and hugging the teddy bear, looking up at the two of them. "I think he's ready too."

John's heart swelled. He was so in love with both of them. Years ago, he would never have pictured his life turning out like this. Yet now he couldn't imagine things any other way. "Let's go, then."

Sherlock grinned and led his family out the door. He still loved that word, that he could use it that way. How he had thought that he could go his whole life without this, he didn't know anymore. They caught another cab, loading the baby carried carefully inside and settling in for the short ride back home.

Once they had arrived at Baker Street, Sherlock paid the fare, then maneuvered his way out with Hamish's carrier. He gripped John's hand again as well, giving him a warm smile before heading up the stairs to the flat. Their whole little family was coming home together as one.

John was now feeling much less nervous, and much more excited. Although he did have to mentally check and make sure that everything was clean and ready in the flat for Hamish's arrival. He didn't think they'd forgotten anything, and he was certain that Mrs. Hudson had double and triple checked as well. And thankfully when they stepped through the door, everything looked alright.

He closed the door behind them when they were inside, and then turned to Sherlock with a broad grin. "Well...Here we are." He looked down at Hamish, whose big eyes were looking all around curiously. "Welcome home, mate."

Sherlock set the carrier down on the coffee table and John joined him, both of them staring down at the little boy with wide smiles. Hamish matched those smiles, arms reaching out and legs kicking. The detective brought a hand up, holding a finger out for Hamish to grab onto. "How did we get so lucky?"

John shook his head. "I have no idea. But I'm so glad we did. He already seems smart and sweet and friendly and healthy..."

"Yes. He's amazing." Sherlock looked thoughtfully at Hamish, who was trying to tug his finger into his mouth. He seemed naturally to have all these traits, and there were many other good traits he would pick up from both of them. But he couldn't help but wonder what else he might inherit, from the less desirable traits that he had. He didn't want Hamish to be anything like how he was before he met John.

John watched Sherlock and could practically read his mind. In his eyes, Sherlock's thoughts were painted clearly across his face. "Don't think like that," he said. "His life will be different. He'll have you and I. We'll raise him properly. He'll learn to trust feelings, and that loving is okay."

Sherlock looked up at John when he seemed to hear exactly what he was thinking, and smiled softly. He'd always been the only one who really understood, without him saying a word. "I know. We'll make sure of it."

"And he won't have just us," John reasoned. "He'll have Mycroft, Lestrade, Molly, and Mrs. Hudson.
More family than he'll know what to do with."

"An unconventional family at that," Sherlock said with a little grin. "But not necessarily a bad one." He'd never admit how the past few months had in a way reinforced the fact that they all were indeed family to him, but he was sure that John would know anyway.

"No," John said. "The best family ever, in fact." A small gurgling sound made them both look back down at Hamish. "Sounds like someone needs a bottle." He kissed Sherlock's cheek and then hobbled towards the kitchen to make one.

Sherlock scooped Hamish out of the carrier and cradled him in his arms, moving to sit in his arm chair. "You have no idea what we went through to get you," he said softly, making Hamish look at him curiously, not understanding a word. "But it was all worth it." He lifted the little boy towards his face, kissing his forehead.

It wasn't long before John was coming back with a warm bottle, and he handed it to Sherlock while he perched on the armrest. Sherlock tested the bottle on his wrist, something he'd learnt to do from Molly's parenting book, and then held it to Hamish's lips. The baby immediately latched on, sucking down the liquid gratefully. John draped an arm around Sherlock's shoulders and watched him feed their son.

No words were needed now, so the only sound in the flat was Hamish's drinking. The two men watched with loving eyes until the last drop of formula was gone. Then John stood, taking Hamish gingerly and putting him over his shoulder to burp him. He patted his back until a soft burp came out. "There we go. Now you won't get a little tummy ache," he said, pulling him back and nuzzling his face in Hamish's stomach. Hamish babbled with a toothless smile.

Sherlock stood as well, staring reverently into John's arms as Hamish's mouth stretched into a yawn. "Looks like he's ready for a nap," he commented softly. His little eyelids were drooping already.

"Let's get him into his crib," John whispered. He passed Hamish over to Sherlock so he could grab his cane, and they headed up the stairs. Once in the nursery, the taller man lowered the little boy into the crib, staying at the edge to watch him slowly breathing. He was now fully asleep once more, just as when they'd first seen him, and looked more angelic than ever.

John stood beside his husband, leaning on his cane. "No experiments until he's at least fifteen," he decided firmly. "And no dating. Ever."

"Oh, come now, John. How is he supposed to have any fun?" Sherlock asked with a cheeky grin, but as he continued, his tone became more serious. "He needs to know that it's alright to fall in love with anyone. I don't want him to think he has to like boys just because of us."

"He's our son, Sherlock," John said, grinning right back. "I doubt he'll be quick to let anyone influence his thinking. He'll think for himself."

"You're probably right." Sherlock put an arm around John's waist. "Our son...I love saying that."

John grinned once more, broadly. "It does feel nice," he confirmed. "Our son."

Sherlock pulled John closer into his side. He found himself thinking that he could stay like this forever. He and his husband, looking down at their angel of a son. To think that only a few years before, such an idea would have made him cringe. "Thank you, John," he said.

"For what?" John asked. "I haven't done anything." He tilted his head back to peer up at Sherlock.

"For coming into my life and changing it. Changing me." Sherlock smiled down at him. "I'm so much better than I was."

John chuckled. "You can hardly thank me for that, Sherlock," he said. "It's not like I did it on purpose, really."

"No, I suppose not," Sherlock said. "But it's because of who you are that it happened. I could never have opened up to anyone else. Anyone else probably wouldn't have lasted here for a week."

John took Sherlock's hand, squeezing it. "I'm glad. I don't think I could have been happier with anyone else if someone had gotten to you first." He planted a kiss on Sherlock's cheek, and as he did, he heard a soft sound like Hamish might stir. While he stayed asleep, John took it as a sign that perhaps they should leave. He gestured to Sherlock and they exited the room, closing the door behind them.

"Maybe we should try to get a little extra sleep while we have the chance," John suggested as they walked down the stairs.

"I probably shouldn't. It will mess up what little of a regular sleep cycle I have," Sherlock said. "But if you want to nap, I'll lay down with you."

John nodded slowly. "Yes," he said. "Yes, I really need some sleep, if that's alright." He was already tugging his husband to the bedroom so they could lay down. It seemed he was nothing but tired these days. While their lives had been insane for the past few months, he couldn't help thinking that maybe he could blame it on getting old as well, which was a depressing thought.

Sherlock climbed into bed with him, laying on his side facing his husband. He smoothed back John's hair from his face and pressed a kiss to his forehead, feeling a crease under his lips. "What is it?" he asked, knowing he was troubled by something.

John gave a small smile. The genius had always been able to read him like a book, and it seemed being in this relationship had only made him more sharp to John's thoughts and moods. "Nothing," he murmured. "I've just been so tired. I'm getting old, Sherlock."

Said detective quirked his mouth to the side and pulled back to meet John's eyes. "Well, if you're getting old then I'm getting old. There isn't more than a five year difference between us and in the scheme of things that isn't much." He stroked his fingers down John's cheek. "We can't avoid aging, love."

"I wish we could," John admitted. "Really. When I first met you, for a while, I felt young again. Like, almost teenager young. It was incredible. And now I'm feeling older than ever." He turned into Sherlock's touch, appreciating the comfort.

"That's life, so I've heard," Sherlock said softly, keeping his hand on John's face. "But at least we can grow old together. Keep taking cases for a while, retire together, raise bees..."

John quirked a smile at that. "Raise bees...?" he murmured. "You want to be a bee keeper? Well...I guess they would hold your attention."

Sherlock smiled in return, glad he could cheer John up a bit. "We'd have fresh honey for our tea in the morning. And you're right, I need something to keep me occupied. My body may slow down, but I doubt my mind will."

"Mmm, your body won't, if you start taking care of it properly," John said. "Eating and sleeping regularly."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Yes, mother, if you say so."

John grinned, and swatted him playfully. Somehow, the other could always make him feel better. "Oh, don't be like that," he said. "You know you'd be helpless without me."

Sherlock smiled softly, fondly. "You're right. I can't survive without you." He leaned forward to kiss him tenderly.

"Well, then, hopefully you'll never have to," John breathed against Sherlock's lips. "We'll always be together."

Sherlock hummed in agreement. "Always." He let his hand trail back to John's hair, stroking it soothingly as he held the man he loved in his arms. “Do you remember what you said, when you were standing at my grave that day? That you owed me so much. As much as you may say that, I think I owe you that much more.”

John looked up into Sherlock's once-icy eyes, which now looked like melted crystal with the warmth they held for him. His lips tugged up into a smile. “No. I think we're pretty much even.” He leaned up once more to connect their lips. “I love you, Sherlock Holmes.”

“And I you,” Sherlock murmured, returning the kiss. “My dear John.”

In spite of agreeing to being square, both still felt like they owed the other their very soul. But they had a lifetime ahead to pay each other back in love.
I O U Much More (Post-Reich) Chapter 15
Well, my darlings, that's the end of another Johnlock story. I just want to say, thank you soooooooo much for sticking with me through this, and being patient, even when I didn't tell you what was going on. It was just a long semester, and it feels good to know that some people are still there to see this through to the end. I hope that you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed RPing it and fixing it up for posting. I still love this story with all my heart, and knowing that other people have read it and love it too makes me feel wonderful.

And if this winds up being my last Johnlock story...well, then it's been a wonderful ride. Altogether, I've posted five stories, and that's more than I've ever written for one fandom in all my life. Even though I didn't write any of these stories on my own, the editing process that I went through for all but KATP made them feel more like my own stories, and it was just as much work as if I'd written them myself from scratch. It makes me so happy and grateful that there are people who appreciate my work and followed me from one story to the next and are willing to read about two people falling in love over and over again. So thank you. Thank you very much and know that every fave, every comment, every pageview, means the world to me.

Since I posted these last two chapters at the same time, there's no shoutouts, so all that's left to say is goodbye. For now. Let's hope I get the writing muse back and that maybe I can bring something new to you soon. Thank you again and I love you all so much.

SailorXStar as Sherlock
Kakurenbo as John

Sherlock and related character names belong to the BBC, Moftiss, and Sir ACD
Story belongs to SXS and Kakurenbo

Chapter 14: link ~ Chapter 15: The end!
WARNING: This story will contain mature themes including male on male sex, violence, and swearing. If you don't like those things then this story is not for you.

Please read the AN at the bottom :D


Mycroft heard it over the speakers in the van before he saw it. He burst out and found himself face to face with a building alight with flame. And no sign of Sherlock, John, or Greg anywhere. He quickly pulled out his mobile and dialed for help, as he was certain that the men they'd come with were trapped inside as well and would be useless, then he ran towards the building without hesitation.

Covering his face and trying to breathe through the fabric of his sleeve, Mycroft made his way around fallen and falling and flaming crates trying to find his brother and the others. "Sherlock?" he called, coughing after as some smoke snuck into his lungs. There was no answer.

He tried calling out a few more times with no luck, but just as he was about to move to another area of the building, he noticed something under a bit of rubble. An arm. Swallowing thickly, he approached it, hoping to God that it was still attached to whoever it belonged to, and thankfully it was. Moving some of the larger chunks, he found Lestrade underneath. "Greg? Gregory?" Mycroft knelt next to him, checking to see if he was awake. Or more importantly breathing.

Lestrade gave a low groan, hacking violently as he fought his way back to consciousness. "M...Myc?"

Mycroft let out a breath of relief. He managed to move some more of the debris and gently pulled him out with hands under his arms. The smoke was starting to get to him more as he worked and he bent down lower. "Stay with me, Greg. Do you think you can crawl?"

Lestrade gave a weak nod, trying to force himself to open his eyes against the haze. He was fairly sure he could manage crawling. The task only seemed the slightest bit daunting. He rolled and braced himself on his hands and knees.

Mycroft nodded in reply. "Good. Follow me." He started to crawl, leading Greg back the way he had come in. Or at least trying to. Somewhere along the way he started to feel like they were going in circles what with all their dodging and swerving.

Greg was trailing behind, one of his arms throbbing painfully. Well, most of his body was in pain, but his arm was definitely damaged in some way. He couldn't dwell on it, though. Right now his main focus was keeping his eyes on Mycroft and getting out.

Finally Mycroft found a back door, and he spluttered as he hit fresh air again. He turned back to make sure Greg was still behind him and then motioned some of the medics over. Thankfully they had arrived quickly. They reached the pair just as Greg collapsed into the grass in a fit of coughing, and scooped him up to take him to the ambulance.

Mycroft followed behind, his concern split between watching Greg being fixed by the paramedics and looking back at the burning building. It was going to crumble at any moment, he was sure, and he still didn't seen Sherlock and John. But he was pulled into a separate ambulance and given an oxygen mask before being whisked away to the hospital. He could only hope that they made it out alright.


When John next opened his eyes, his ears were ringing, and he coughed roughly against the scent of gasoline and the thickness of smoke. It was hot. Very hot. Fiery hot. And he was on top of Sherlock. Greg and everyone else were nowhere in sight. "Sherlock?" he choked, then coughed again. "Sherlock, are you awake?" He shook the man's shoulder. The building groaned ominously.

Sherlock was half awake, aware of pain in his head similar to the one after the car accident, though not as intense. He must have been blown backwards and knocked his head on the ground. " 'M awake," he slurred, squeezing his eyes shut as they stung from the air around them. After coughing a bit he managed to wheeze out, "Just can't win." with a smirk.

"We have to get out of here, Sherlock," John said, no amusement in his tone. "The building's on fire. It's going to collapse." He sat up, but didn't stand. Crawling would be safer. "Can you move?" He cast his eyes about, trying to locate Lestrade through the rubble and the thickening smoke.

Sherlock experimentally wiggled his toes and bent his legs, then sat up. "Yes." He noticed John looking around and put a hand on his shoulder. "We have to go, John. He'll be alright."

John bit his lip in concern, but he knew Sherlock was right. He started to shuffle along, keeping as low to the floor as possible. The smoke still stung in his throat and filled his lungs, and he coughed roughly, eyes tearing from the burn. The exit seemed impossibly far away, and there was plenty of burning rubble to navigate through on the way there.

Sherlock followed, copying John in keeping low to the ground and blinking to clear his eyes so he could see him. He hoped that he was right and that Lestrade was okay. For John's sake if not for his own.

John yelped as a chunk of rubble from the ceiling crashed to earth just in front of them. The sound caused him to inhale a sudden mouthful of air, which had him coughing and retching moments later. The smoke and the lingering effects of the chloroform combined were not pleasant.

"Come on, John, we're almost there," Sherlock urged, rubbing his back a little. They couldn't stop, even for a moment. Taking the lead, he managed to find a hole in the wall where they could squeeze out.

John followed behind and just when it seemed like they would never find a way out, they were in the cool, fresh night, and he sucked in the first fresh air he encountered with a long wheeze. They crawled a few extra yards away from the building, for safety's sake, and then collapsed, both coughing hard to expel the smog from their lungs. Every spasm made them feel better and better. In another moment, nearby paramedics had rushed over and were examining them.

John, for once, allowed himself to be man-handled and manipulated by the paramedics without question. He and Sherlock were hauled to the back of one of the ambulances and given oxygen masks to help them breathe. Blankets were draped around their shoulders, and they were on their way to the hospital. John dropped sideways, leaning gratefully against his husband as a paramedic cut away the leg of his trousers to get at a minor burn.

Sherlock moved an arm out of his blanket and under John's to wrap an arm around his waist. The paramedics looked at his ear which he found funny being that that was the least of his problems, and they checked him for a concussion which he luckily managed to avoid this time.

The detective rubbed his hand soothingly over John's waist, trying to distract him from the pain of the burn that was being prodded by the medics' fingers. When they reached the A&E, Mycroft was standing at the entrance. He actually looked relieved but it only lasted for a split second before he was back to a weaker version of his usual mask. "Greg is alright. His arm was broken in a few places and they're going to operate to set it back in place. But other than that and some bruises, he should be fine."

Sherlock's shoulders dropped a little and he felt John's do the same. He hadn't even realised how worried he'd actually been for Lestrade. But he supposed that he couldn't deny the fact that he actually liked him. Not that he had to say it out loud.

"That's it, then," John croaked, voice rough from the smoke. "It's over. It's...over." He could hardly believe it. His head spun, and if not for the support of Sherlock's body, he might have swooned.

"Yes. It's over," Sherlock repeated. Saying it didn't solidify it like he thought it would. It was more like a dream than anything, as if any second he would wake up and realise it was morning and that they had to do it again for real this time. But they had done it. There had been a few bumps but overall they were successful.

John turned into Sherlock's body, wrapping his arms around the other man tightly. Even as the paramedics tried to coax him out of the ambulance to bring him inside, he held on. Mycroft must have 'encouraged' them to leave because soon there was just silence and the two of them. He cried. But these, for once, weren't tears of distress. It was over. It was finally over, and he was just so relieved.

Sherlock rubbed John's back and rocked him gently as he felt his own tears starting to fall. He'd done so much more crying since he came back, but even he couldn't suppress the emotions welling inside him from knowing that he and John were free at last. After a moment, he reached around for John's left hand and slipped his wedding ring back on, kissing it before hugging John again.

That only started John's tears anew. He gripped Sherlock's hand, entwining their fingers so their rings clashed. "I'll never take it off again," he swore. "Never."

Sherlock nodded, John's fresh sobs increasing his own. "I know." He squeezed John's hand tightly. "I love you."

"I love you, too," John replied. "I love you, too. So much."

Eventually, when they both felt they had gotten everything out of their system, the two settled down and were reduced to soft sniffles. John was the first to pull back from their embrace, and looked up at his husband. "We should...check on Greg," he suggested, clearing his throat.

Sherlock nodded, wiping away a few stray tears from John's cheeks. "Yes, let's go." He held onto his husband's hand as they climbed out of the ambulance and walked into the hospital.

They walked in silence for a few moments, John leaning into Sherlock in the absence of his cane. "Mycroft seemed pretty worried about Lestrade," he said, looking just a touch amused. It seemed like an odd thing to say in light of the situation they'd just been through, but he thought it might lighten their mood.

"You think so?" Sherlock asked, turning to look at him. He could see the little bit of laughter in John's eyes and it made him smile. "What are you implying, John?"

"Oh, nothing," John said. "Just that Greg's been a little lonely since he finally split up with his wife."

"You think Mycroft...and Lestrade?" Sherlock had to let out a laugh at the idea. "Well, I would say that it's not possible because Lestrade is straight and my brother doesn't do sentiment but then there's us. I suppose anything is possible." He had noticed that the two of them talked a lot more than they used to, but he thought that was just a result of recent events.

"I think it's possible," John said. "You're right. Greg and Mycroft do sort of mirror us in a way, so why not? Anything is possible among the friends we keep."

"Yes. Absolutely." Sherlock leaned in closer to whisper to him as they approached Greg's room. "You do realise that now I will have to tease Mycroft about his little crush on the D.I."

"Don't be too hard on him," John scolded. "You're more alike than you think, meaning he's potentially completely oblivious to it."

Sherlock grumbled a little. "We're not that much alike," he muttered. But he could see John was serious. "Alright, I won't lay it on too thick. Just a little ribbing."

"Good," John said. "And wait a bit, yes? We've all had a bit of a stressful day."

Much as he wanted to poke fun at his brother, Sherlock would hold back. John was right; now was not the time. "Whatever you say, love." He pressed a quick kiss into his hair as they rounded a corner and went into Lestrade's room. Mycroft was inside already, leaning against a wall and looking almost too nonchalant. He gave them a small nod. Sherlock couldn't help a faint grin as he led John to one of the chairs so he could sit. How could he not have noticed the way Mycroft was acting sooner?

Greg was just coming to, his eyelids fluttering open and his lips parting in a groan that fogged the oxygen mask still strapped over his nose and mouth.

Mycroft immediately looked up and leaned forward, but then just as quickly regained composure and cleared his throat. He stepped over slowly to Greg's bedside. Sherlock moved John's chair, careful to make sure that it didn't screech against the floor, and brought the both of them closer to Greg as well.

Greg let his tired eyes sweep over them. "Two Holmeses...three, one room. God help me." His voice was rough and weak, but he was smiling. Mycroft's lips twitched up just a bit. If Greg could joke right out of anesthetic then he would be just fine.

"We can always leave if you like," Sherlock said with a little smirk.

Lestrade shook his head, not realising that Sherlock was trying to mess with him. "You're all okay?" he murmured, eyes lingering on Mycroft a bit longer than the others.

"We're all fine," Sherlock said.

"We're all incredibly lucky," Mycroft added. He met Greg's eyes for a moment before looking down at his arm, now encased in a cast. "How do you feel?"

"Fine," Greg murmured. "I'm fine. It's just a broken bone. I've had much worse, believe me." He sighed. "It's over, then. We're done with Moriarty."

"He was extricated and taken away before the explosion," Mycroft said. "I made sure he was put directly into maximum security solitary confinement. The rest will be dealt with later."

"He's being executed," John said firmly, though he still looked like he needed confirmation of this. "He has to be. He's too dangerous. Normally, I wouldn't want to see any man killed, but...Jim Moriarty deserves it."

"Yes. He most certainly does," Sherlock said, the hatred clear in his voice. He squeezed John's shoulders where his hands were resting.

Mycroft nodded. "The cell is merely temporary until arrangements are made. But it won't be long before Moriarty is once and for all dead."

John closed his eyes. So many years and so much pain, and this was it. This was the end. And they were all alive and, for the most part, well. John would always limp, and Lestrade's arm would probably ache when it got cold, but those scars were nothing compared to what they might have been had Moriarty been allowed to continue.

"I should tell you, then, Sherlock," John said, turning and looking up at the man behind him. "Our adoption papers went through."

Sherlock's eyes widened, the anger in his face draining and a smile spreading over his features. He stepped around to squat in front of John, hands on his knees. "We're going to be parents," he said quietly, the grin refusing to disappear.

John matched the expression brilliantly, beaming at his husband. "We are," he said. "We really are."

Sherlock leaned up and took John's face in his hands, capturing his lips. Mycroft muttered something about sentiment and rolled his eyes, though his eyes were not as cold as usual. Lestrade cringed. "So...I'll be dealing with four Holmeses, then?" he teased, light-heartedly. "I think that's four too many..."

"Yes, well," Mycroft started. "At least you're not going to be the uncle who will most likely end up babysitting when the two of them run off on their adventures. Or whatever else they might be doing."

"I didn't need that thought," Greg replied instantly. "And honestly, if the kid is going to be raised a Holmes, I'm sure he's going to be brought along on some of those adventures. You two did want a boy, right?"

Sherlock didn't bother pulling away from John, instead making some humming sounds and waving a hand at Greg.

"I believe that was a yes," Mycroft supplied.

"Going to name him Hamish?" Greg said dryly, and at that, John broke away from Sherlock and laughed loudly.

Sherlock pouted a little at the loss of the kiss, but then looked thoughtful for a moment. "Actually, it does have a ring to it. Hamish Watson-Holmes."

John gave a fond smile. "Yes," he agreed. "It does. I wouldn't mind, if you wouldn't."

Lestrade groaned, rolling his eyes, but smiling.

Sherlock turned around and made a face at the Detective Inspector, before turning back to John. "I wouldn't mind at all."

"Then Hamish Watson-Holmes it is," John said happily. "He's going to be brilliant, just like you."

"And he'll have a big heart like you." Sherlock was practically glowing just thinking about it. The timing was just perfect, and they could actually bask in their shared happiness.

"So he'll viciously interrogate a witness and then apologise for it," Lestrade said flatly. John found himself laughing again and Sherlock couldn't help a little chuckle himself. It did sound like an accurate combination.

"I'm just dying to meet him," Mycroft deadpanned.

"We get to bring him tomorrow," John informed them. "According to the letter, he was born two months ago. We'll be a bit banged up for it, but that's okay. Maybe he'll grow up to think we're superheroes."

Sherlock's smile widened, if that was even possible. "He'd be right. You're definitely my hero."

John flushed. "Very sentimental of you, Sherlock," he teased. "I think I've been a bit of an influence on you. Good or bad, I wonder?"

"Good I think. Though others would tend to disagree." At that Sherlock shot a look at Mycroft who just rolled his eyes again.

John laughed. "Come on, Sherlock, give him a break. He may be annoying-" at this Mycroft interjected with 'I'm standing right here.' "-but he's still your brother. And Hamish's uncle. And I want...I want Hamish to have as many people to love him as possible."

Sherlock's eyes warmed. "I know, love. I was just teasing." He pecked John on the lips. "He will be well loved, I'm sure. Everyone who meets him will love him."

"Good," John murmured. "Good. That's all I could ask for, that he be loved." That, and that his son could be raised in a world without fear- at least without the kind of fear he and Sherlock were used to being faced with. Fear of missing his favourite programme on the telly, maybe. Not fear of death, of being followed and watched and being the unwilling participant in a horrid game.

Sherlock gave him a smile. He wanted the same thing of course. He wanted Hamish to experience the kind of caring and love that he never got when he was a child, not since his mother was alive. Especially from himself and John, if not Mycroft, Greg, and the rest of their pseudo-family. It was like they had both agreed that first night when they had decided to start a family; they were going to be better fathers than the ones they had.

John leaned forward and kissed his cheek. "We should get some rest," he said. "And then we'll be taking Hamish home before we know it."

"Yes. Let's go home." Sherlock stood up and offered his hand to John.

John smiled, slipping his hand easily into Sherlock's. It always felt right, like their hands were made to be put together. "Feel better, Greg," he said, glancing over to the bed. Lestrade gave a sleepy grunt in response, already dozing.

Sherlock gave his hand a squeeze and they started off, the detective once again acting as John's crutch. "Good night, Mycroft," he said, just a note of teasing in his voice. He had a feeling that his brother would probably be staying in or around the hospital tonight. Mycroft just gave a little hmph, taking the chair John had been sitting in.

John chuckled as they left, heading to a lift. "How would you feel about it, then?" he asked, bringing back the topic they'd been discussing before going into the room. "Your somewhat-boss, dating your older brother?"

Sherlock shrugged. "What does it matter to me? Mycroft can do whatever he wants, or rather whomever. Just as long as they don't start describing their sexual endeavours to us." He grimaced at the thought.

John laughed again, brightly, the weight of Moriarty gone from all of his expressions. "I doubt they would do that, Sherlock," he said. "Most people keep those sorts of things quiet."

"You're probably right," Sherlock said with a nod. "At least, I hope you are." He smiled at the sound of John's laughter. Sherlock just loved it when he laughed. Hopefully it would be a sound that he would hear much more often now.

"I'm right more often than you care to admit," John teased. He gave in to his weariness and let himself lean a bit more heavily against his husband as the lift went down. "I can't wait to get home and sleep. Preferably for a very long time."

"Agreed." For the first time in a long time, Sherlock actually felt lethargic. He hadn't been sleeping in the days leading up to today and was also physically and emotionally exhausted from the events. "We can have a lie in before we meet Hamish. Maybe I'll even bring you breakfast in bed." When the lift reached the ground floor, they exited and stepped out of the hospital onto the pavement. Sherlock lifted his arm to hail a cab.

"I think you should have a few supervised lessons with me before you start cooking on your own," John said as they got into the cab, more serious than joking.

Sherlock pretended to look insulted. "I'm not that incompetent in the kitchen." Though he didn't press that issue too much. Handling dangerous chemicals he could do, but a frying pan and an egg, that was a different story. Perhaps breakfast in bed was best saved for their first anniversary.

John just smirked and settled into Sherlock's side for the ride home. He had nearly fallen asleep by the time they were back in front of their wonderful flat at Baker Street. But he forced himself to stay awake long enough to get inside and to bed.

Sherlock could see that John was was struggling with his leg and staying awake, so halfway up the stairs he scooped the other man into his arms to carry him. John yelped, his arms shooting around Sherlock's neck, holding on tightly. "It's still a bit of a shock when you do that," he said.

Sherlock grinned at him. "Sorry, love." He gave him a chaste kiss, carrying him into the flat and bringing him to their room. He laid John down on the bed before starting to strip out of his burnt smelling clothing.

John watched carefully. Sherlock hadn't acted like he'd been in any sort of pain throughout this whole thing, but he knew that he might be hiding some injury in favour of making the medics focus on John instead. "Are you okay?" he asked, scanning for any hint of burns or bruises that had been concealed by his clothes.

Sherlock looked down at himself. He ached a little, like there would be big bruises on his back tomorrow, and his head was still throbbing a bit, but it was nothing major. He kicked off his trousers and climbed into the bed. "I'm perfect." Because in the end, what were a few injuries when they were finally safe from Moriarty? "What about you? How's that burn?"

John looked down at his freshly bandaged leg. Sherlock looked alright for now, but he'd be keeping an eye on him. "Fine," he decided. "Not horrible and thankfully not permanent."

Sherlock frowned at that. He still felt like John's limp returning was his fault, and he would have only felt worse if anything else was added on top of that. He pulled his husband towards him and pressed a kiss into his hair before starting to help him undress as well. "Hopefully we'll only get better from here."

"We will," John assured him, moving when he needed to until he was down to his pants. "I know we will. The only thing that's going to get worse is our sleeping habits, but babies have a tendency to cause that."

"Well, perhaps your sleeping habits. I'm already awake most of the time." Sherlock smiled at him, snuggling against him now that they were both ready for bed at last. "Perhaps I can take the night shift, per say."

"We should split it, Sherlock," John argued lightly, nestling his head in the crook of his husband's shoulder. "It's only fair. And you should really try to start sleeping more. If Hamish sees that you never sleep, he'll grow up thinking that's normal."

"My body is conditioned not to need as much sleep anymore," Sherlock said. "Even if I wanted to, I'm not sure I could."

"You can recondition it," John said, giving him a sly look. "I'll just have to start tiring you out."

"Oh?" Sherlock smirked. "And how do you propose to do that?"

John chuckled. "I'm sure I'll think of something," he assured him. "But right now, I'm already tired out, and I just want to sleep."

"I agree wholeheartedly. But I will look forward to it in the future." Sherlock leaned down and kissed him, lips lingering there for a long moment. "I love you," he murmured, and behind those words were all the elation he was feeling because he and John were safe, home, and about to add another member to their family.

"I love you, too, Sherlock Holmes," John said softly, returning his kiss. He settled comfortably against his human pillow, carefully maneuvered his leg into a comfortable position, and closed his eyes, rejoicing in the fact that he no longer needed to worry about letting his guard down to get much needed rest.
I O U Much More (Post-Reich) Chapter 14
FINALLY!!!!!!! I'm still so very sorry for leaving this story hanging for so long, but at last it's going to be all wrapped up. If you want to see the full explanation of why it took me so long I made a journal about it here.

Anyway, I hope that this chapter and the next are worth the wait. It's been so long since I've done any writing, I don't know if I'm on my A-game at the moment. But hopefully you guys still like these chapters, and the end of this story.

Well, there's not much else that I can say, except to finally get those shout outs that are long overdue:
:iconkittysdaone: :iconcaptainsparkleships: :iconcrackersthegiraffe: :iconsarahmaevebean:

Thank you my darlings for being so patient with me and loving this story. I hope that if I do ever get another story out there that you'll still be here to read it. :heart:

SailorXStar as Sherlock
Kakurenbo as John

Sherlock and related character names belong to the BBC, Moftiss, and Sir ACD
Story belongs to SXS and Kakurenbo

Chapter 13: link ~ Chapter 14: You're here! ~ Chapter 15: link
I think I owe you guys my soul at this point. Not only did I stop updating my fic but I gave no information about what happened for months. And I'm so sincerely sorry. Things just got out of hand.

What happened was this: The week I was supposed to post Chapter 14 of IOU was the first weekend I was going home. I had planned to edit and post the chapter when I got home, but I hadn't been feeling well all week so instead I wound up at the doctor and found out that I had shingles (no lie, I felt like such an old lady T_T). It wouldn't have been so bad because I got medicine, except the rest of that weekend I felt like crap, and the medicine made me really tired and dizzy for the entire week after, so I was doing a lot more sleeping than anything else. What little time I could get my head on straight I devoted to homework.

Ordinarily, I would have just posted both chapters when I got better the next week. But the problem was, my mom and I signed up to do a craft fair, and I needed to make basically a whole inventory of stuff. So for the next three or four weeks, any free time that I had was devoted to handsewing various felt items. I'm dead serious, if I wasn't doing homework I was sewing, sleeping, eating, or in class. It was insane.

Then, of course, even though the craft fair had ended, school was in full swing. I just didn't have time to devote to editing, even though it was only two chapters. You know how things snowball once they're a little out of hand. Well...that's what happened to me.

So...suffice it to say, that I have not yet edited those two chapters. I only just finished my last final and moved out yesterday. But tonight I'm going to start, if not finish, editing and posting them both. I'm finally free of all responsibilities. I will not leave this story hanging.

As for future stories...Well, I just don't really have any inspiration at the moment. I don't know if it's because I'm in 'school mode' so I'm not really thinking like an author, or I don't have the muse anymore since it's been almost a year since S3 came out. But IOU might wind up being my swan song. It sucks because I really wanted to write that ghostlock teenlock, and do some other requested fics, but I just don't think I have it in me. I'm really, really sorry everyone. Maybe with a bit of time away from school and Christmas and everything I can try to get back into it, but we'll have to see. As of right now, the important thing is getting out the last two chapters of IOU.

Sorry also for such a long post. If you read this all, then you deserve a cookie.
  • Mood: Guilty
WARNING: This story will contain mature themes including male on male sex, violence, and swearing. If you don't like those things then this story is not for you.

Please read the AN at the bottom :D


The next few days were spent in a combination of planning, preparing, and worrying for Sherlock. They had everything just about set for their trap from exactly what John would wear to hide the wire and bulletproof vest, to the basics of what he would say during their 'fight'. Sherlock was getting very anxious, however, the day before they were to execute their place. He paced the flat, played loud, cat-screech-sounding notes on his violin, and started experiments that never got finished, leaving the chemicals wherever. And he was clingy. Very clingy. He rarely let John stray even one room away from him, as if he would suddenly drop dead if Sherlock couldn't see him anymore.

This, of course, started to get to John after the first hour. "Sherlock!" he huffed in irritation the third time that the man followed him into the kitchen when he went to refresh his cup of coffee. "Please, go back to the sitting room and just...sit. You're driving me up the wall." While he understood very well why Sherlock was acting this way it didn't make it any less bothersome.

Sherlock pursed his lips, wanting to protest, but if John was already getting testy then that was only likely to lead to an argument. Besides, John was right, he was being ridiculous. He wasn't going to just disappear if there was a wall between them. Hopefully. He moved back into the living room, though he had too much energy to sit, and picked up his violin instead. Everything came out sounding like screams of bloody murder.

John groaned, setting the coffee pot down. "Sherlock," he sighed, marching back into the room and standing in front of the other man. "Put the violin down. Stop thinking. Sit. Or at this rate, we're definitely not going to have to fake the fight."

Sherlock stopped playing but didn't put the violin down, fingers clenching and unclenching around the neck and bow. "I can't sit. I can't just stop thinking, you know that." He dropped the instrument unceremoniously into a chair and started to pace. "Where are my cigarettes?"

"You are absolutely not allowed to smoke," John said, moving to sit down in his chair, as any other spot in the living room would be in Sherlock's path. "There's a fresh box of patches in the medicine cabinet."

"Patches don't do anything anymore," Sherlock retorted, stopping and pulling up his sleeve to show he was already wearing four.

John's lips pulled down into a frown. "First of all, that's probably why you're so worked up, that's way too much nicotine. Secondly, I keep telling you it's going to be fine. You know that. We've planned it all out so there's no way I'm can get hurt. I promise, I'll be fine. Lestrade's made sure of it."

This didn't seem to reassure the taller at all. "Nothing is guaranteed and I don't need to remind you why I'm acting this way." He then spun on his heel and continued his pacing, mind whirling with scenario upon scenario of how things could go wrong. This was a horrible idea, why had he ever agreed to it?

"Sherlock." John made a frustrated sound and pushed himself up again. "Sherlock!" He grabbed the man's arm and spun him around so they were face-to-face, his eyes firm as they held the detective's gaze. "Listen to me, Sherlock Holmes. I am going to be fine."

Sherlock looked down at John, into the dark, calming blue, and while he was still feeling like ripping his hair out, he relaxed slightly. His leaned down a little, forehead touching John's. "I'm sorry. know..." He wound his arms around his husband's waist.

"I know," John assured him, automatically returning the embrace and pressing close. "I know. But I'm going to be okay. I won't let him hurt me again, and neither will you, or Lestrade, or Mycroft. Everything's going to be fine, and then we'll be done with Moriarty forever."

Sherlock nodded. He wasn't at all convinced, because there were just too many possibilities for things to go wrong, but for now it would have to be enough to put him at ease. His hold on John tightened. "Yes. The world will finally be rid of that odious man, and we'll be free."

John smiled and gave him a soft kiss on the lips. "Yes. Free to have our happy ending," he said.

For a moment, they were silent, just holding each other, as if this might be their last chance to do so. Then Sherlock spoke, pulling back enough to look down into John's face again. "I think it's obvious that I'm nowhere near ready for this...But are you?"

John took a deep, steadying breath. "Yes," he said firmly, decisively. "Yes, I am absolutely ready."

"I suppose that's a good thing. One of us needs to be," Sherlock said, examining John's face. Such bravery, such determination. He always admired that; the world was just another battlefield and John was always ready for the next challenge.

"You'll be okay, too," John said, smiling a little, and reaching up to brush back a few curls from Sherlock's face. "And remember, we don't take offence to anything the other says while we're arguing."

"Right." Sherlock nodded once. "Because it's just for show and we're supposed to be vicious."

"Exactly," John chuckled. "And I swear, I don't mean a word of it." He gave him another peck on the cheek, gentle and loving.

Sherlock grinned a little. He still got a warm prickle on his skin wherever John kissed him. "I know," he said. "Don't worry, I'm quite used to verbal assaults. I've learned to not let it get to me."

"Good." John hugged Sherlock tightly, reluctant to let him go, when he knew what would soon transpire. John was putting himself in the thick of things. But he was willing to risk it all if it meant getting rid of Moriarty, putting Sherlock's mind at ease, and giving them hope for a peaceful future.


The next day they acted as normally as possible. Perhaps even a bit too normal. The only thing out of line of their normal routine was John's putting on some additional garments and wiring under his normal clothes (this he did in the bathroom, where there were no windows to be seen from). Otherwise, there was nothing suspicious about their activity. They went out to dinner, Sherlock trying to ignore the fact that they would soon be screaming at each other (doing it in public was the best place to be sure that Moriarty would see). It was somewhat surreal, and Sherlock was barely holding his composure for all his nerves.

John kept a firm grip on Sherlock's hand throughout dinner, reaching across the table, twisting their fingers together. He desperately hoped things would turn out the way they were supposed to, that everything would go according to plan, but he had to face the reality that this was, possibly, the last moment they would ever be spending together. There was a chance John wouldn't make it through this, or even a chance that Sherlock might die. They were making a leap of faith. For all the reassurance he had given Sherlock, it was hard to believe those words himself.

After a reasonable amount of time, he gave Sherlock's hand one last squeeze, then released. The silent profession of love and the attempt of reassurance in that squeeze was not lost on Sherlock. But it didn't really help when he was impossibly worried still and scared. They had reached the cue in their conversation to begin the argument, and that meant now there was no going back. It was kill Moriarty or die trying.

"I can't believe you're taking another case," John began. "You know, when I agreed to marry you, I thought, stupidly I guess, that we might actually be spending some time together."

Sherlock kept his face impassive, hiding the torrent of emotions inside. "We never agreed that I would stop taking cases. That has always been a part of me and I was under the impression that you understood that."

"I do understand that," John huffed, playing off his frustration well, because deep down, it had some base in reality. "But you go running off at all hours of the night, and you don't sleep or eat or talk for days at a time, and you leave me to trail behind you like some helpless puppy, and it's irritating."

Sherlock kept his demeanor cold, like he used to. It was actually quite easy to slip back into. His defence mode naturally kicked in like it always had when someone started yelling at him. "Isn't that how it's always been? It's only bothering you now because you let your sentiment get in the way."

"Well, excuse me for feeling sentiment toward my husband!" John said, raising his voice now. "I just want to spend a bit more time with you. You, and not the dead bodies you're examining. You're married to me now, not your work!"

"You knew what you were getting into so you can't blame me for going on as usual." Sherlock shrugged, keeping calm in spite of John's 'rising anger'.

"Yes, I can," John barked. "I can blame you for it. I can blame you for all of it. I can blame you for every bad thing that's ever happened to me because of your stupid obsession with these cases, with being right all the time and showing off and proving to everyone just how damn clever you are!" He stood. Saying these words made him feel sick to his stomach. Sherlock already blamed himself enough, John knew, and he didn't want to be saying these things, because they weren't true. None of it was Sherlock's fault. But it had to be believable...

For just a split second, just because it was John's voice saying those things and because he could see John saying them and he looked so convincing, Sherlock felt it. A sting in his heart, even though he knew these words were planned and that John didn't mean them. Anyone else saying such things to him would have had no effect, but hurt. But as quickly as he felt it, he could also feel his walls building, the defence that was programmed into his brain kicking in automatically to protect him. He lifted his chin in defiance and his next words came too easily. "Again, you knew how I was, how I am, and you still agreed to marry me. I can't help that you're an idiot for letting yourself get involved with me."

"And there you go, calling me an idiot again!" John cried. "Honestly, Sherlock, if I'm such an idiot, why the bloody hell did you agree to marry me? It's clear you don't think very highly of me, or consider me a priority! Why did you ever think this might work out between us?"

Sherlock hated this, every second of it. He wanted to call the whole thing off and hug John and take it all back. But he didn't have a choice. It was time for the clincher. "If you're so unhappy then go. I'm not going to stop you."

John clenched his fingers into trembling fists. It's not real, he had to remind himself. They were acting. Both of them. They were bringing John's worst fears to life, but it was all an act. "As if I would want you to stop me!" he snapped. Violently, he pulled his wedding ring off of his finger and hurled it at Sherlock. Then he grabbed his cane, turned on his heel, and limped out of the restaurant as quickly as he could. That was it. They'd made a scene. They'd split up. And now John was out in the open, without Sherlock, and completely vulnerable. Just what Moriarty would want.

Sherlock easily caught the ring and watched John leave, face still just as stoic, just barely hiding the pain inside. Phase one complete. He closed his fingers tightly around the little gold band and stood up, walking out of the restaurant and ignoring the stares they had garnered with their performance. Yes, it was just a performance. So why did it feel like John had just ripped his heart out and crushed it underfoot? He barely made it to the cab that Mycroft arranged to conveniently have in the area before tears started to fall.


In the opposite direction, a black car with tinted windows rolled up next to John. The back window opened just a slit, enough for a voice to slip out saying, "Helloooo, Johnny~.”

John froze where he stood. Even though he'd been expecting it, that voice still chilled him to the bone. And at the same time, it made him feel nothing but rage. Moriarty was the bane of his existence, the thorn in his side, the only thing that posed a threat to his and Sherlock's happiness, and if they didn't have a plan to stick too...After a moment of hesitation, John kept walking, saying nothing. Best not to jump into it and risk making him suspicious.

The car easily kept to John's speed. "Oh, is that any way to greet an old friend? How rude!"

"I'm definitely not in the mood," John said, scowling. His heart pounded. This moment could make or break their plan. Any moment could. Any move by John, or any word he said, ran the possibility that Jim would realise this was a set-up.

"Yes, I couldn't help but overhear your little spat. Dreadful business. I guess Sherly hasn't changed after all." Jim tutted a little. "Too bad. You do make a lovely couple!" The car stopped and the window rolled down further to reveal his face. "Feel like a little revenge?" he asked with a grin.

"Leave me alone," John said firmly. "Just because I'm pissed at Sherlock doesn't mean I'm going to team up with you for some sort of sick revenge. So go away. I'm not interested in your games."

"Oh...Still such a good boy even after all this time. How dull." Jim shrugged. "I didn't want to have to do this but if you're not going to cooperate..." He snapped his fingers and someone from an alley nearby dashed out and put a rag with chloroform over John's face.

John dropped his cane, and it clattered to the ground with finality. He struggled as best he could, but he was no match for his assailant's strength, and the chloroform overwhelmed him. His body slowly sagged as he lost consciousness. The man threw John into the back of the car, leaving his cane behind, and it took off.


John regained consciousness and immediately doubled over and retched, vomiting on the floor of the warehouse. How many times now had he had chloroform used on him to aid in his kidnapping? Certainly more than the average army doctor, and he wasn't even serving anymore.

Moriarty was sitting on a crate nearby, legs crossed and phone in hand. He looked over when he heard the sound of John getting sick and made a face. "Nuh uh, that will never do." He clapped once and a few men moved John over and cleaned up. "Don't want my suit to pick up the smell. It's brand new, Armani." He smoothed his lapels.

"Armani?" John managed to slur. He felt light-headed and his ears were ringing, but he had to fight the side effects of the chemical. He needed to be focused. "Thought you were a Westwood bloke? Either way, it doesn't suit you. You look hideous."

Jim frowned thoughtfully at that. "I like all designers! But Seb picked this out for me. Before your precious detective offed him." He sighed. "He never did have a good fashion sense."

"You don't seem very upset that he's gone," John said. He tried to move, only to find his wrists tied. He tugged unhappily at the bonds, for show, but he could tell that it was possible for him to untie himself. He'd have to work at it a little, but he had time anyway. He was supposed to stall to allow Sherlock and the others to catch up.

"I'm not foolish enough to have a heart. The people that work for me are disposable." Though something in Moriarty's face showed that he wasn't being completely honest. He giggled at John's struggling. "You should know better than that."

"You should know that you're wasting your time. Sherlock's not going to come and get me," John said. "Not after that fight. He doesn't care."

Jim tutted. "That's not what this text says." He waved the phone teasingly in front of himself, and then pocketed it.

John made a frustrated sound. Texting Moriarty hadn't been part of the plan, but he was sure Jim was well prepared anyway for Sherlock to come, with or without a heads up. "You're wearing this game out, you know" he said, trying to keep him busy. "The same thing, over and over. All you do is capture me and tie me up, or try to hurt me from a distance. Too much of a coward to do it up close and personal, aren't you?"

All the joking died from Jim's features and he took a few long strides till he was right in John's face. "You don't want me to be up close and personal," he said, dangerously low. "You wouldn't like it."

"What, as if I like it now?" John snarled, not fazed. "Because believe me, I don't."

Jim's demeanor easily returned to giddy. "I'm sorry, I thought we were having fun! I'm a terrible host. Bad Jim!" He giggled and went back to the crate and sat delicately. Checking his watch, shook his head. "Sherly's taking his time. Maybe he doesn't care after all. Wouldn't that be a sad end to the story."

"There is no story, Moriarty," John said. "Just you and your twisted mind. You don't even have a guarantee that Sherlock is coming. That text could have been a trick, making you think he's on his way when really, he has no interest in saving me. I'm not of any use to you as bait anymore, so why don't you let me go."

Jim shook his head. "A nice attempt at logic, Johnny, but no can do. You really don't know your own husband, do you? No wonder your relationship is failing~," he sang. "If there's one thing I know about Sherlock, it's that when it comes to his favourite toy, he's predictable. He'll be here. And I've arranged a little welcoming party outside so we'll know when he's coming."

"Welcoming party?" John echoed. "What do you mean?"

Jim grinned like the madman he was. "You'll like this one. If he can get past the security outside, I've got a few surprise guests inside who have been told to capture him if they see him, bring him in here, and then force him to watch me kill you." He pulled out a gun that had been in his pocket and aimed it at John's head. "And you said I never do anything myself."

"As if I've never had a gun to my head before," John muttered. At least Lestrade and the others had an idea of what awaited them when they got there, thanks to his wire. "So, what if Sherlock really doesn't come? Kill me anyway?"

"Hmm...Yes, I think so. If he doesn't come, which I'm sure he will, and then he finds out that I broke his toy, I think he'll feel bad enough to come to me on his own." Jim smiled brightly. "But for now, all we can do is wait. Though this is getting a little tedious. Maybe I'll just do it now and get it over with." He clicked off the safety.

John tensed in his seat. This was bad. Very bad. Typically, he would egg Moriarty on, encourage him, just to piss him off, but in this case, Moriarty actually seemed to be reaching the end of his game. If he pushed it too far he would be dead before Sherlock would get there, and it would ruin everything. But his silence would seem suspicious. His thoughts came to a grinding halt. What was he supposed to do...?

"What's wrong, Mr. Chatterbox? Nothing more to say? Well, that's boring." Jim twirled the gun around his finger. "Alright, how about this. I'll give Sherly ten minutes. If he doesn't show up...Well, you know the rest."

John held his breath. Ten minutes. Certainly Lestrade had heard. They knew the deadline. Hopefully, Moriarty wasn't feeling changeable.


The cab took Sherlock to where Mycroft, Lestrade, and a few other Yarders were in a surveillance van. The detective wiped at his eyes and stepped out of the cab, trying to get a hold of himself before having to face them. His brother glanced at him as he climbed into the van, and offered him a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Naturally, he didn't hesitate to begin chaining them.

After hearing the sound of a scuffle through John's wire, and seeing his phone's GPS signal start to move on the map, they knew that Moriarty had taken the bait. They waited a few minutes to give a head start, and then made their way towards the location, not wanting to be spotted following them. The van stopped outside of a different abandoned warehouse, the kind of place it seemed Moriarty enjoyed doing his business these days.

Sherlock wanted to charge in as soon as they arrived, but Lestrade held up a hand to stop him. Instead, he signaled to his men to go out first, so that they could take out any security that Moriarty had planted around the outside of the building. The detective could only wait anxiously, sucking in more tar than he must have ever done in one day before.

Another few minutes, and his phone buzzed with a message.

'Tsk tsk, Sherlock. You shouldn't leave your things lying around. xJM'

Sherlock's reply was rash and immediate.

'I swear on my life, if you touch one hair on his head I will destroy you.'

Then it was a game of waiting. There was silence on John's mic, save for the occasional command from their favourite consulting criminal, which meant that for the time being, John was likely unconscious. By the time they heard the sound of him vomiting, Sherlock was nearly done with his pack of cigarettes.

"John won't be happy when he smells the smoke on you," Lestrade pointed out, only earning a glare in response. Sherlock purposely took a long drag before letting it out, relishing in the familiar feeling that he had been craving for days now.

"When can we go in?" he asked impatiently.

"We have to wait for signal that it's all clear. Then we can get inside and find the sniper or whoever and disarm him." Lestrade turned up the volume of the speaker where John's feed was coming through. Just as Moriarty began to explain about his 'welcoming party'.

Sherlock and Mycroft both turned and listened as well, the horror clearly written on the former's face. "Dammit!" Lestrade cursed, grabbing his radio from his belt to tell his team to keep looking inside for more targets. As for Moriarty being the one who would pull the trigger...They hadn't been counting on him planning to get his hands dirty. A hidden sniper was one thing, but sneaking up on Moriarty himself would be much more challenging. How could they disarm him?

It was the last straw for Sherlock. He had to get in there and do this himself. No one else would be a match for Jim. "Let me know when they clear out the extras. I'm going."

"Sherlock," Greg said in a warning tone. "One wrong move..."

Sherlock took a deep breath and bowed his head. He'd already decided what he was going to do if they failed. "One wrong move, and I'll be firing two bullets."

Greg's eyes widened and he shared a look with Mycroft. "We wouldn't let you," he said sharply. "Don't even say that. John wouldn't want that, and you know it." But just then he heard Moriarty give the ten minute countdown. "I don't want to hear any more about this," he said, before rushing off to set a timer and inform the others.

Mycroft, however, stayed where he was and fixed Sherlock with stern gaze, his normally indifferent exterior breaking. "You're being irrational."

"Oh, and I'm sure you're so very happy that you've been proven right once again. But have no idea what it's like!" Sherlock snapped at him. "You don't know what it's like to care about someone so much that you can't imagine life without them, so don't try to tell me that I'm being irrational!"

Mycroft held his gaze, silently, calmly, trying to show him through his eyes how wrong he was. Sherlock's eyes opened just a fraction, reading the truth in his expression, and then suddenly it dawned on him. He swallowed thickly, and averted his eyes.

"Sherlock, we're clear," Lestrade said, grabbing his belt and putting his gun in its holster. He glanced at the timer. Six minutes. It would take three to get in there, and a few more to assess the situation. "Let's go."

Sherlock didn't look up as he moved to follow Lestrade out of the van.


Moriarty glanced at his watch again, checking to see how much time he had left before he could be naughty. "Almost halfway done. How are you holding up, Johnny boy?"

"Fine, Jim," John drawled back. In reality, his heart was pounding against his ribcage. Would Sherlock make it in time? Would the police be able to handle Moriarty's henchmen? Would Lestrade be able to disarm his potential murderer before he could shoot? He had to get that stupid rope undone just in case. He'd been working at it the whole time, and he felt pretty close.

"Oh good~!" Jim clapped. "We don't have much time left now. Just want to make sure you're comfortable."

"Oh, yes," John said. "So comfortable. I could take a nap." He glared at the man.

"You wouldn't want to fall asleep now! There's only two minutes left til the show!" Jim stepped closer and gave his cheek a little pinch.

John pulled back sharply, though he couldn't go anywhere near far enough. "Don't touch me!" he snapped.

"Oooh feisty!" Jim shook his head looking a little sad. "It's quite a shame that you played for the other team. I think we could have been great friends." Looking at his watch again he grinned. "Too bad for you. I guess Sherlock doesn't love you after all..."


Greg took the lead as they crept inside, Sherlock right behind, followed by a few of his men. While the inside was mostly one big room, there were plenty of old scraps of wood, boxes, crates, and other various piles of trash that gave them cover. The DI signaled for them all to group behind a stack of pallets, and he and Sherlock peered around the corner.

The situation was obvious and dire. Moriarty was a few metres away, his gun in hand, the safety off. He could shoot point-blank in a split second. Sherlock's heart dropped into the stomach. They didn't have any time to spare. "Why don't you just shoot him in head?" he hissed into Lestrade's ear.

"I'm a good marksman, Sherlock," Greg whispered back. "But there's no guarantee I'll make the shot." John would make it, he thought. John would never miss. He'd never said anything, but he knew he was the one who shot that cabbie. But of course, John wasn't available at the moment. "If I don't make the shot, that's it. John's dead."

Sherlock winced at the 'd' word. "Well, someone has to do something or he's going to be...that anyway." He looked around them, trying to come up with a plan. "I can distract him if I climb on those crates over there. Then you can get closer and make the shot."

Greg scanned the room, then gave a quick nod. Right now it was their best plan. "Alright," he said softly. "Go." He readied his gun.

Sherlock crawled over to a pile of crates that was to Jim's side and climbed to the top. With him turned that way, Lestrade could sneak around the other way and get him from behind. By the time he was at the top, their ten minutes had nearly run out, and he heard Moriarty's twisted voice telling that lie. He couldn't stop himself from being dramatic. "What would you know about love anyway, Jim?" he called from his perch at the peak of the pile.

Jim whipped around just as he had hoped. "Why if it isn't the great Sherlock Holmes! A bit late, don't you think?" John looked up as well, and relief flooded him. He worked double time at getting the knots undone, Moriarty now unable to see his hands moving.

"As long as John's alive, I'm not late."

Jim giggled. "Well, no. But you might find that someone else is quite soon..." He moved his arm to point the gun at John again, and the doctor froze. Sherlock's expression broke for a moment into panic, though he didn't dare to look at Lestrade and see where he was, for fear of giving away his position. Instead, he quickly locked eyes with John, begging him silently to stall.

His husband got the message. "That's a horrible pun," John blurted. "Sherlock may be a complete dick all the time, but at least he can come up with better ways of insulting people. He's more clever than you."

"That really hurts, John. Just when I thought we were getting closer." Jim put a hand over his chest, feigning insult. "Better watch what you say, or I might just have to take out my pain on you."

"Are you getting bored already?" Sherlock cut in, hoping he didn't sound too desperate to keep him talking. "I just got here. I thought we'd play a while longer."

"Well, I did have to wait for you for a while," the criminal said with a little pout. "I don't know if I feel like playing anymore."

"I think you're just afraid you'll lose," John suggested darkly, his glare fierce and hateful.

Just as the man opened his mouth to reply, there was a thud, and all of them turned to see Greg on the ground, gun out of his reach, and a man above him. He hoisted him up by the arms and dragged the stumbling and dizzy policeman out into the open.

"What's this? The good old Detective Inspector. Ah, Sherlock, I underestimated you!" Moriarty wagged a finger at the detective. "But now I see what's been going on. You almost had me fooled! I guess John was right; you are more clever." Jim turned back around, face stoic, and pointed the gun at Sherlock. "I'm sorry. I just can't have that."

Sherlock suddenly felt as a heavy weight had been placed on his shoulders. Lestrade's shot was their absolute last hope, and now even that was gone. There was only one way they could end this. If he died, if Moriarty made sure he won this time, John would be safe. Along with Lestrade and everyone else that he would only grudgingly admit to caring about. He bowed his head and took a deep breath. His only hope was that John would be alright without him again.

But John was not about to let Sherlock take the fall, not again. He'd finally, finally, managed to get those ropes undone and with a great leap he was out of the chair and tackling Moriarty to the ground. The surprise attack caused the Jim to pull the trigger, the bullet whizzing through the hair and grazing Sherlock's ear. This in turn brought the rest of Lestrade's team out from their hiding places, and the man himself elbowed his captor in the ribs and grabbed his radio to call in backup.

It was all a flurry of movement and sound, but once the Yarders had their guns aimed at the criminals, Moriarty let out a laugh. "Well, this is a surprise!" He grinned up at John. "Excellent work, Johnny boy!" John just glared, and so he turned his head to look at Sherlock. "I'm gonna miss our little game, Sherly. It was fun while it lasted." The remainder of Lestrade's team burst in then and handcuffed Jim and the other man at gunpoint, pulling them away.

Sherlock had been still through most of this, blood pouring from the hole in his ear, but he hardly felt the pain. John had done it! His wonderful, perfect John had managed to somehow defy everything and save the day, the most spectacular bit of serendipity he'd ever been fortunate enough to have. He jumped down the crates and ran to him once Moriarty had been taken away, throwing his arms around his darling husband. "You're amazing! Fantastic! I love you so much! I'm sorry about everything I said, you know I didn't mean it. I love you." He punctuated each sentence with a kiss.

"Mmmf, Sherlock!" John managed between kisses. He pushed the man back, his hand going quickly to his ear. "Damn it, Sherlock!" His eyes shone with worry, and lingering fear, and also complete and utter relief.

Sherlock was almost crying at this point, the tears pooling in his lower lids. But he had a huge smile on his face. "Who cares about that? It's easily fixable." He grabbed him by the shoulders. "We're finally safe!"

"We will be," John said, trying very hard not to smile. "Just as soon as you're not bleeding." He took Sherlock by the arm, shaky as the adrenaline already was starting to wear off. "Come on. Let's get you outside so I can patch you up, yeah? You great idiot." They stood and moved to start to find their way out of the building, both of them for the first time in a long time letting their guard down.

And that's when the explosives went off.
I O U Much More (Post-Reich) Chapter 13
You guys, I've spent at least three hours working on this chapter. You better like it >:[ (jk, I'm not forcing you to like anything :XD: )

No, but seriously, I don't know if it's just that this chapter is so damn long or I just am not on my A-game because I'm feeling crappy, but this took me so much longer than it should have :XD: But I'm hoping you guys don't mind and that it was worth the effort in the end, because we've finally reached the climax! Just in case you were wondering, I did Jim for this chapter back when we were RPing. I don't know if I mentioned this previously, but me and my buddy had been switching off with him (she played him for the scene before the explosion at the club, I did this chapter). I hope I did a good enough job with his zany character ^^

Anyway, about the Ghostlock story, well...It's coming slowly :/ I think I need a small break, maybe just for a few weeks to catch up with things, get into a rhythm at school, and then I'll try to start posting again. I really want to get back to writing, because I also have an idea for a Cabinlock (don't know if any of you are into Cabin Pressure, but maybe some other people would be interested). But I have to first work on the Ghostlock because I promised that first! So yeah, possible small hiatus, I still have to think about it.

Other than that, I think I'm done for now! Please don't forget to follow sxs-fanfics on tumblr for updates, and I'll see you guys next week!! SHOUT OUT TIME:

TvT It's okay. You'll always stick with me right?

SailorXStar as Sherlock
Kakurenbo as John

Sherlock and related character names belong to the BBC, Moftiss, and Sir ACD
Story belongs to SXS and Kakurenbo

Chapter 12:… ~ Chapter 13: You're here! ~ Chapter 14: link
I think I owe you guys my soul at this point. Not only did I stop updating my fic but I gave no information about what happened for months. And I'm so sincerely sorry. Things just got out of hand.

What happened was this: The week I was supposed to post Chapter 14 of IOU was the first weekend I was going home. I had planned to edit and post the chapter when I got home, but I hadn't been feeling well all week so instead I wound up at the doctor and found out that I had shingles (no lie, I felt like such an old lady T_T). It wouldn't have been so bad because I got medicine, except the rest of that weekend I felt like crap, and the medicine made me really tired and dizzy for the entire week after, so I was doing a lot more sleeping than anything else. What little time I could get my head on straight I devoted to homework.

Ordinarily, I would have just posted both chapters when I got better the next week. But the problem was, my mom and I signed up to do a craft fair, and I needed to make basically a whole inventory of stuff. So for the next three or four weeks, any free time that I had was devoted to handsewing various felt items. I'm dead serious, if I wasn't doing homework I was sewing, sleeping, eating, or in class. It was insane.

Then, of course, even though the craft fair had ended, school was in full swing. I just didn't have time to devote to editing, even though it was only two chapters. You know how things snowball once they're a little out of hand. Well...that's what happened to me.

So...suffice it to say, that I have not yet edited those two chapters. I only just finished my last final and moved out yesterday. But tonight I'm going to start, if not finish, editing and posting them both. I'm finally free of all responsibilities. I will not leave this story hanging.

As for future stories...Well, I just don't really have any inspiration at the moment. I don't know if it's because I'm in 'school mode' so I'm not really thinking like an author, or I don't have the muse anymore since it's been almost a year since S3 came out. But IOU might wind up being my swan song. It sucks because I really wanted to write that ghostlock teenlock, and do some other requested fics, but I just don't think I have it in me. I'm really, really sorry everyone. Maybe with a bit of time away from school and Christmas and everything I can try to get back into it, but we'll have to see. As of right now, the important thing is getting out the last two chapters of IOU.

Sorry also for such a long post. If you read this all, then you deserve a cookie.
  • Mood: Guilty


K-chow Palalumpski
United States
Konnichiwa minna-san!! Watashi wa SailorXStar to iimasu. Hajimemashite!! I'm an aspiring artist whose real talent lies in performing arts. I guess on the internet I'm most well-known as SuperSailorX on YouTube where I'm a fandubber and also as SailorXStar on FanFiction. Please look me up at these locations if you're interested :D I hope you like what I have to offer here and please critique me because I always love the advice. Thank you! :D

Current Residence: New York
Favourite genre of music: Jazz, 70's, 80's, and randoms
Operating System: I'm bi-systemal
MP3 player of choice: iPod Nano Chromatic (purple)
Favourite cartoon character: Most 90's characters plus Scooby Doo ppl and the Looney Tunes
Personal Quote: You only regret what you don't do

AdCast - Ads from the Community



Add a Comment:
Atsyrc Featured By Owner May 8, 2015  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
ty for the watch! ^^
SailorXStar Featured By Owner May 8, 2015
You're very welcome. Your CAM story is amazing!
Atsyrc Featured By Owner May 10, 2015  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
I'm glad you like it ^^
deanieweanieluvspeen Featured By Owner Jul 16, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
What does a
eatfor breakfast??



(I'm sorry but I'm crying)
SailorXStar Featured By Owner Jul 17, 2014
:XD: Lolololol
XXXRuby-ChanXXX Featured By Owner Jul 9, 2014  Hobbyist Digital Artist
i have an idea for a story
SailorXStar Featured By Owner Jul 9, 2014
Ooo do tell. I would love to do a collab if you want ^^
XXXRuby-ChanXXX Featured By Owner Jul 9, 2014  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Sherlock turns into a girl... (we can note about it)
SailorXStar Featured By Owner Jul 10, 2014
Oh gosh :XD:
(1 Reply)
JeanneRiddle Featured By Owner Mar 19, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Your hiatus makes me sad. When are you posting the next beautiful fan fic?FOREVER WAITING 
Add a Comment: