Sherlock was walking fast ahead and John kept reprimanding him, trying to keep up with his pace. He was angry and Sherlock let out a sigh, which did not go unnoticed by the doctor.
"Do you even care about what I am saying?" John almost yelled, taking a few more tentative steps in order to catch up with Sherlock. "You keep making reckless decisions, aren't you afraid of dying?"
Sherlock didn't slow down or look behind him, and with a last step John was finally able to approach him. He held the consulting detective's arm, to make him stop. "I am talking to you!"
Sherlock was more annoyed than anything and he acquiesced to John's attempt at holding him back.
"Why on earth did you take the bullet for me? It could have hit you!" John asked, still shouting.
The scene replayed in Sherlock's mind like a movie in slow motion. A dangerous criminal gang, John being targeted by the gun, his own body reacting instinctively to it all, jumping forward and getting John out of danger. The bullet grazing his arm. He faced John.
"I put you in this situation in the first place."
John scoffed, "Since when? I went after them!"
It was true. Sherlock had given John clear instructions on this case. John had then made his own decisions, putting himself in danger.
Sherlock shook his head, turned around again and started to walk away, but John was closer now and he reached out immediately, seizing hold of Sherlock's arm with his right hand, spinning him around. Before he could speak again, Sherlock shouted, irate, "It is my duty to protect you!" and he took a step in John's direction, shortening the distance between the two. He lifted a hand to John's face, his long fingers brushing John's hair, "Because there's no sense in any of this if I don't. Haven't I made it all clear already? Don't you know why yet?"
John was taken aback, surprised. His heart was thrumming inside his chest, a spark of hope being lightened by the way Sherlock was staring at him right now. He licked his lips, whispering, "No, I don't know it yet."
Sherlock stared him in the eye for a moment. Then, he knew what he had to do. John's lips parted even before Sherlock had reached his mouth, welcoming, the sort of welcome that comes with longing, with waiting, like finding a new place and discovering that this is finally home. Sherlock was a tender kisser, and his breath blended with John's, his tongue warm and wet, unhurriedly discovering and endeavouring.
They parted, breathing fast, John tentatively moving his head upwards, to meet Sherlock's lips once more. Sherlock sighed again, but this time it was quite different; there was no annoyance, just pure contentment. Then, he let go of John and he stepped back. Kissing John had been the easy part; explaining the feelings that came with it, voicing them, was where he was sure to falter. But John was the one who took a step forward this time, and he grabbed Sherlock's sleeve for an instant, right between his fingers.
"You now," John uttered quietly, and Sherlock was looking at his feet, so he couldn't see John's expression, but there was a glint in his eye, "I really hope you reconsider all that 'being married to your work' thing."
Sherlock looked back at him. Of all the things his mind came up with, in that split second as he anticipated John's reaction, none of them included this. Relief swarmed him as he realised John was not pulling him away, not denying anything this time.
"I have reconsidered it," his voice was hoarse and slightly altered.
He felt John's fingers leave the fabric of his coat to interlace with his. He held on tight, smiling a little. John was still gazing at him, "I did not know," he explained.
Sherlock nodded, "Now you do."
John smiled and tilted his head. Sherlock scoffed and pulled him close, kissing him with more passion, answering to John's irrevocable acceptance of what he had now offered. Then, they walked side by side, heading home, fingers still intertwined.
These days at 221 B there's still another room upstairs, if they'd be needing two. And Mrs. Hudson has married ones.