Note: I don't own any of the characters from the Sherlock BBC television series, nor any of the characters created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
crunch
Well, Sherlock thought, he'd never have guessed there would come a day in his life when he was grateful to be alive, and looking forward to spending a quiet evening in with his life partner, Dr. John Watson. Yet here he was on his way home to Baker Street after a walk by himself in Regent's Park.
ooo
John had left before noon for a shift at the clinic where he'd worked for the past several years. Sherlock had stayed home, but soon suffered from in-between-cases-boredom. To occupy himself he'd played some violin, gone through his non-food-items in the fridge, tossing what was not needed anymore or had gone bad, done a few experiments, bugged Lestrade for a case, visited Molly at Barts, handed her a list for certain "supplies" for specific future experiments he had in mind, which she'd tucked in her lab coat pocket, she said she'd keep it in mind.
Having not much more to do he felt an unnamed restlessness. Why did the time between cases quite often have to be difficult for him?! He should not have to suffer this, once again! He shouldn't have to resort to watching bees in the flower gardens at Regent's Park to calm himself. Sometimes he just felt wretched.
He sought out a more secluded spot in one of the gardens, sat down on a bench, surrounded by various bushes and flowers of various heights. And there were the bees... Sherlock watched, closed his eyes, and listened ... and observed, closed his eyes, and listened some more ... and gazed, closed his eyes, and listened again. Hmm, the restlessness he'd felt had gradually drained away, leaving his body relaxed and his mind quieted.
In the here and now he began reflecting on his life, his childhood, difficulties growing up, difficulties with himself, with other people, with life. That he had survived to meet John was... fortunate? Sherlock wondered, not for the first time, whether this God he'd heard about from a few of his friends over the years really existed. The one they said that one could have a relationship with. The one they said that loved humans. Humans like him, that felt so wretched at times...
It had been a process, living with John, sharing life, which had led to sharing their lives, letting himself trust and love, and be trusted and loved in return, which had led to Sherlock realize and accept that he was indeed human. Just as human as John. His superior mind would not be able to prevent their bodies from dying one hopefully farfaraway day. And then what?
He'd have to think about these questions again some other time, as the alarm he'd set on his watch reminded him John's shift was ending, he'd be home soon. Home... Time to get up, get going. Sherlock took one more look at the bench, the flowers, the bees, then began walking determinedly. The sun would be setting in a while. He heard the crunch, crunch, crunch of the pebbles on the path he was walking on as he stepped on them. His heart looked forward to seeing and being with John!
ooo
He had already walked a short distance past a flower stand when he stopped and turned around. He knew that flowers could be given as expression of sentiment, to show someone that you thought of them, cared for them, loved them. He asked and paid for a dozen red roses, which were nicely wrapped up for him. He dug a pen out of his coat pocket, wrote
John, I love you!
Yours forever, Sherlock
on the little card he'd asked for and tucked it in with the flowers.
Not far to go now... a few more steps... open the door to their apartment...
John was home already. "Hi, dear!" he called from the kitchen where he had started preparations to cook supper.
"Hey, be right there," Sherlock said as he hung up his coat beside John's. He took the flowers with him to the bathroom where he unwrapped them, washed his hands, then proceeded to the kitchen, holding the flowers behind his back.
"How was your day?" John asked, not turning around, he was in the process of cutting tomatoes for spaghetti sauce.
Sherlock stood behind John, brought one arm around his midsection. "I missed you," he said kissing John's neck and bringing his other hand with the flowers around to show John. He felt John startle against him.
"Let me put the knife down." John laid the knife down, rinsed his hands quickly, for which Sherlock had given him room.
John looked appreciatively at the flowers and smelled them, then smiled brightly at Sherlock, searching his face, giving him a quick kiss on the lips.
"So, flowers."
"Hmm."
"Let me get a vase and water for them."
"Hmm."
"Hmm." John retrieved a vase from a cupboard, filled it with water, then put the roses in it.
Sherlock was pleased, they looked splendid. So did John, he looked happy and content. Supper preparations weren't at a stage yet that could not be continued later, so...
"I really missed you, John," Sherlock said embracing John, holding him tight. John reciprocated, holding him tight as well. They stood like this quietly holding each other.
Words had left Sherlock. He'd written them on the card. John knew anyway, would read them in time.
"I love you, Sherlock," John said quietly in his most reassuring voice.
Sherlock knew it was true. He swallowed, held John tighter.
"Hey, want to go lie down for a bit? We can continue with supper later," John suggested sensing that Sherlock giving him flowers and hanging on so tight were signs of deep emotion.
Sherlock just nodded against his head. John could feel him swallow and shudder against him.
"Come on, then, love. It's alright. Come." John stroked Sherlock's cheek. It took a little effort to get Sherlock to start moving. John took his hand and led their way to Sherlock's bedroom. Once there he got Sherlock to lie down on top of the duvet, then lay down beside him.
Sherlock kept looking at John intently, words had still left him. Holding John was the only communication he was capable of right now. John understood and simply was with him, here at this time, stroking his head and back.
"Must have been quite a day," John said eventually.
"Hmm. I watched some bees." Sherlock sighed.
John couldn't help himself but smiled at yet another 'hmm'.
"I was thinking about life, my life, our life... I'm glad you're sharing my life!" He pressed a kiss on top of John's head. "Can I hold you a little longer?"
"Of course, love," John said without hesitation. They'd get to eat supper eventually, or breakfast...
"But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us." (2 Corinthians 4:7)
"So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." (2 Corinthians 4:18)