John Watson sighed as he pushed his key into the door of 221B Baker Street. He didn't know if he'd ever been so glad to be home as he was in this moment. Once inside the door he leaned against the wall and allowed himself to crumple a bit.
What had started out as a normal Tuesday had turned into one of the most horrific and gruesome days he'd seen since coming back to London. John had known that days like this were a possibility when he'd accepted Lestrade's offer to become a part time medical examiner, but it still hadn't prepared him for what he'd faced today. Nineteen people dead in a bus accident. Men, women, and kids all dead because of one stupid and avoidable mistake. There had been no hope of saving these people; he was just there to identify them so their loved ones could be notified. It was the part of the job that John hated the most. No murder to solve, no hope of saving someone else, or getting a dangerous criminal off the street, just death and grief.
With one last shaky breath, John pushed off the wall and trudged up the seventeen steps towards his and Sherlock's flat. He groaned remembering that Sherlock was in Cardiff today was not expected home until late if not tomorrow morning. He could have used the distraction of the detective to take his mind off his day, but would have to settle for a quiet night by himself. Maybe he would try to phone Sherlock later. Even now, after everything, he was still not big on chatting on his mobile, but would likely make an exception in John's case tonight.
John opened the door to their flat to find Sherlock standing there, waiting for him. He had a soft, understanding look on his face, the type only John ever saw, and was already in his pajamas. John paused in surprise and was about to ask him what he was doing home, but before he could Sherlock took one step towards him and wrapped his arms possessively around John.
Without a moment's hesitation, John hugged Sherlock to him and melted into his warmth. He buried his face in the other man's neck, forcing himself to take deep breaths, breathing in the familiar scent of Sherlock and willing himself not to cry. Sherlock held him not saying a word, taking deep breaths and running his hand through John's hair. John couldn't say how long they stood there holding one another, not saying a word, but it was a balm to his weary soul. Sherlock's strong embrace and undemanding silence made all the rawness and grief from the day start to melt away until his breath matched the slow, easy cadence of Sherlock's.
He gave Sherlock one final squeeze before pulling back and placed a soft kiss on the detective's lips. "I thought you were going to be gone all day with Molly for that autopsy at Whitchurch?"
Sherlock kept John in the circle of his arms. "We got back to London early and that's when I saw the news -"
John cut him off. "I don't want to talk about it, Sherlock."
Sherlock's brow furrowed. "Why on earth would I make you recount what was undoubtedly a terrible day for you, John? That would just be cruel. I saw the news report and I can deduce the rest. There is no need to tell me anything more unless you feel the need."
"Thank you, Sherlock," John said with a small smile. "For being some who claims to be a high functioning sociopath, you have quite a good handle on what I'm feeling."
He placed a gentle hand on John's cheek. "You are the exception, John. I have spent too much time cataloguing your every emotion not to know what you need at moments like this. I do not extend this kind of care to just anyone." With that, he leaned down and kissed John, pulling the army doctor against him once more.
Even after four months, John could not get used to kissing Sherlock. Every kiss was so different, but all uniquely them. This one was long and languid, tongues and lips sliding across one another. There was no hunger or demands, just tenderness and reassurance. Like the hug, it quieted John's heart and mind, making the horror from the day continue to fade.
Sherlock pulled away and rested his forehead against John's. "Now you've had a long day, so why don't you have a shower and I'll see to dinner and tea."
"That sounds lovely, Sherlock. Thank you." With a quick kiss John pulled away from Sherlock and retreated upstairs to the bedroom that he rarely slept in anymore. He grabbed a clean pair pajamas and into the bathroom for a hot shower.
Once under the water John smiled, grateful that Sherlock was home tonight. He knew people who interacted with the World's Only Consulting Detective outside of 221B would never believe who Sherlock could be behind closed doors, especially when it came to John. Even before their relationship had turned romantic, there had been strange considerations given to John that Sherlock had never given anyone before but, now after the Fall, after admitting their true feelings for one another, people would be damn near shocked at the care and concern the detective showed his army doctor. He could still be an annoying dick, particularly when on the case, but he always seemed to know when John needed something from him and exactly what he needed.
Shutting off the water, John dried off and pulled on his pajamas before heading back down to the sitting room. As he expected, there was a simple dinner of beans on toast and tea set up on the desk; Sherlock had even made a plate for himself. He didn't know why Sherlock defaulted to beans on toast when he did decide to make dinner, but it reminded John of happier times in his childhood. He hoped that it held similar memories for Sherlock and wasn't just the only thing he knew how to make.
Sherlock looked up when he heard John's bare feet on the stairs and grinned. "You take approximately the same length of shower every time, so I was able to time dinner perfectly." He took his seat and began to pour the tea.
"It looks great. I can't imagine anything better right now." John leaned down and kissed Sherlock before sitting down next to him. He thought for a moment about telling Sherlock about his memories of beans on toast, but decided against it. "So, how was the autopsy at Whitchurch?", he asked taking his first bite.
"Actually, I ended up getting to watch two full autopsies, one..." Sherlock went on to described both autopsies in detail, his face animated, gesturing excitedly with his pale hands and his fork. John noted important details, although since he'd done his own fair share of autopsies there wasn't much new information for him. Mainly he just allowed Sherlock's voice wash over him, taking in all the expressiveness of his tone and features. The freedom to stare at the detective unabashedly was one of the benefits of their new relationship that John took full advantage of when the two of them were alone. The man had a wild grace and beauty all his own that fascinated him and he had always enjoyed watching Sherlock explain the inner workings of his mind. Before, John had fought the urge to openly observe Sherlock, sensing deep down that it went far beyond intrigue and admiration; now that their mutual attraction had been well established John reveled in the opportunity to watch him.
Dinner went on this way, Sherlock alleviating the need for John to say anything about his day, until plates and cups had been cleaned and cleared away.
"Thanks again, Sherlock. That was great." John smiled up at him as he came back into the sitting room.
Sherlock gave him a half smile. "You're most welcome, John. Lord knows you feed me often enough that once in awhile I can put a simple meal together." Then without any explanation, he turned on the television, pulled out one of the few videos in 221B, and popped it into the player. He laid out on the sofa and looked at John expectantly, while he fussed with the remote.
John chuckled. "I guess you're in the mood for some telly tonight?"
Sherlock sighed. "Obviously. We're both tired and could use the distraction, plus we both find physical contact relaxing."
"Telly and snuggle? I could go for that." Sherlock rolled his eyes at 'snuggle', but patted the cushion indicating that he was tired of waiting for John to comply.
John smiled before joining Sherlock on the sofa. There was a bit of a shuffle so the taller detective could spoon around the shorter army doctor. Once both were comfortable and could see the television, both men relaxed as the video started and frozen lands flashed across the screen.
John was unsurprised at Sherlock's choice. Other than the occasional detective drama or bit of crap telly, both of which Sherlock would comment on endlessly, John had discovered that a good science, nature, or history documentary was something could mostly hold Sherlock's attention and tongue. Thus, many a quiet night in between cases had been filled with Attenborough and random facts on every subject imaginable as the two men stretched out on the sofa. John didn't know how much of it Sherlock committed to his mind palace, but he seemed to enjoy it. Plus, it gave poor Mrs. Hudson a rest from his more destructive 'bored' activities.
With the warm, solid presence of Sherlock pressed against his back and long limbs wrapped around him, John felt the last bits of pain and tension from the day melt away. He burrowed a little further into the detective and stroked the knuckles on the hand he could reach, again overwhelmed by the sentiment behind everything Sherlock had done for him tonight. Other than the initial admissions of their feelings for one another as 'being more than flatmates or friends', they never talked much about their affections. John had never been very vocal in relationships and he imagined Sherlock still saw a lot of it as pure, unneeded sentiment, so they just didn't talk about it. Yet in moments like this one John couldn't help but be overwhelmed by Sherlock's concern and care, his love.
Love. There was no question about it; they loved each other. Neither had said it, but John knew it was true; had probably been true for longer than either of them realized. All at once, the need to say it those unspoken words weighed heavy on John. He'd lost Sherlock before and they could lose each other again. It needed to be said; Sherlock needed to know.
John closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I love you, Sherlock. You don't need to fret about saying anything in return; I just needed you to know that," he said in a rushed whisper before opening his eyes.
To his surprise, Sherlocked laughed deep in his chest. "Why would I fret about vocalizing a sentiment that I have been actively displaying throughout the evening? It's illogical." He placed a gentle kiss in John's hair and then brushed his lips against the army doctor's ear. "I love you too, John. It's a bit obvious really."
John couldn't help but laugh and a beat later Sherlock joined in. They laughed together, at what John couldn't say for sure, before they fell silent and turned their attention back to the video.
John Watson sighed, feeling his eyes droop ever so slightly in the warmth and the quiet of 221B. He loved and was loved by Sherlock Holmes. He smiled. It was a bit obvious really.