Begging his best friend farewell at the airport John had his troubles to keep up the soldier's face. He stared into the grey sky trying hardly not to show his emotions, his desperate and rebroken heart. He hated such situations. It was the third time in his life that he was forced to beg somebody goodbye he had not been prepared to loose. The first time, in Afghanistan, when half of his battalion had been killed or deadly injured and he had lost so many of his brothers. He was never going to forget Charlie's eyes when he looked up at John, who was kneeling beside him, trying desperately to stop the flood of blood, those grey, darkening eyes that begged for pardon, while taking one last breath before resting in the desert forever, six bullets stuck in his chest.
Charlie had been nineteen years old.
The second time had been two years ago when Sherlock had left him crying over his shattered, lifeless body in the neverending rain of London.
John took a deep breath and and put on his soldier mask. But no matter how hard he was trying, he was sure Sherlock would realize his shaking, cold hands. The blue eyes of the tall man infront of him met his grey ones, silently telling him how sorry he was. The breeze was playing with Sherlock's raven hair and John could smell the very own scent of the consulting detective, bitter, sweet and beloved. Sherlock must have had realized John would break if he opened his mouth, so he took a deep breath and spoke in his softest, deepest voice. "Since it's unlikely that we ever meet again-" His voice cracked for a moment but he continued after clearing his throat. "-I might aswell say it now John. I- I love you. I always have and I always will. You don't have to answer my dear friend. Farewell, and good luck with Mary."
John stared at Sherlock's hand that he held out, expecting a handshake. And suddenly it did not matter anymore that Mycroft was watching, that he had a wife, that he considered himself as straight. All that mattered was the pale, black haired man infront of him, the man that he loved and that loved him. "Oh Sherlock" he whispered in his breaking voice. "How could I let you go like this?"
Grabbing the taller man at the coat with one hand he pulled him down at the neck with the other, kissing him passionately while letting go the tears. He felt Sherlock pulling him close and stroking his hair, and he tasted the salty tears on their lips.
John puled back for a second to silently say:"I love you too, you fool of a detective." before kissing him again, forgetting everything else around them.