Reflexes, synapses snapping in lightning speed
"I," he says, and the rest is lost in the heartbeat
Gone the words, but the thought lingers, waiting
Hitting John's soul, mingling with the wine, softly
Today, it has been ten years since the bombs.
Whirling around the men, is music, something classical
How John doesn't recognize the piece, is easy to explain.
Everyone with their hearts in their sleeves knows the feeling,
Riveting, exhilarating, and it grows to a crescendo, grand finale,
Every time the dim light hits the ring on Sherlock's finger.
With glorious glee of those who love, John hauls Sherlock closer.
Every breath shared, as always, like the pulse on Sherlock's wrist
Bobbing alongside John's, beneath the pale skin, under curious fingers
Each blink annoying in obscuring the vision, when there's only holding on
Lasting, everlasting, together in always, like it has been.
On this night, there are no renewals of vows.
No. No reminiscing of times past, for they are moot,
Gone, swept from the luring path of times to come.