[Disclaimer: Unf. I wish. Yes, I wish I owned them. But sadly, I have deduced that I don't. I blame Anderson.]
x
"Обичам те" Sherlock says, the corner of his lip quirking as he sits down in the old armchair that really should have been fixed by now but still sinks and pokes his back where the support's faded and the springs are popping out.
"What?" John emerges from the kitchen, face pink from where he's been cooking something over the stove, from the look of the congealed mess on his plate, it didn't work out.
"I didn't say anything - and what is that? Did you try make custard again?" Sherlock nods to the matter John's holding, and the other man frowns, "I wouldn't have to if you'd bought some like I'd asked."
Sherlock nods, and goes back to watching 'Days of our Lives', mouth curling with distaste after every sentence that comes blaring from the small speakers.
John lets out a disgruntled sigh, and turns back to the kitchen.
x
They're in the middle of a subway filled with sigils which John's only just realising have absolutely everything to deal with the deaths that they're investigating, when Sherlock lets "Amo te," fall from his lips.
He continues tracing the marks on the wall, and only looks over at John, seemingly confused, when he hears a "Hm?"
"I thought you said something," John tilts his head.
"I think you should enquire about getting your hearing checked." Sherlock allows himself a small smile before he scrapes a small sample of paint off the wall, and turns away.
"Come on then," and John takes his outstretched hand.
x
"So obviously she's not the murderer," John looks at him like he's waiting for a confirmation, and when Sherlock answers with a curt nod, his eyes light up.
"Finally you're getting somewhere," He frowns, but he knows that his partner won't take it to heart. True to his assumption, John just laughs it off, shrugging.
Their fingers touch as they both reach for the door handle on the way out, and Sherlock tries to ignore the small heat that buzzes up through his veins, but he knows there's no point.
"Ma armastan sind," He chuckles as he swings the door open, waiting for Watson to step out.
"I have no idea what you've just said," John grins confusedly back as he steps outside.
"Nothing important," Sherlock follows.
x
They're interviewing Dr. James Phillip, and John's all focus, when Sherlock turns to him and says in all seriousness, "Seni seviyorum."
"Is that some sort of epiphany?" John responds, his eyes darting back to Dr. Phillip.
"Of sorts," Sherlock focuses on the paper in front of him.
x
On the street later that week they're trying to find the route that the victim could have taken when Sherlock grabs Johns hand and pulls him around the corner to the next street.
"You could have said, 'next left'," John mock stares at him, but doesn't let go.
"Is breá liom tú," Sherlock locks eyes with the ex-doctor, before dropping his hand, "I'll remember that."
"I sincerely hope you didn't just insult me," John winks.
"It's a possibility," Sherlock keeps his eyes on the road.
x
2 weeks later and Sherlock's gone though languages, at least fifty;
"Rakastan sinua," at the bus stop as they find their way home, "я тебя люблю," as John makes a snide comment about some TV show Sherlock's watching, "Le melon," as they're sitting side by side, reading, shoulders touching and John's neck flushed.
"What?" John looks over.
Sherlock points to a paragraph in his book, then turns the page quickly, but not before John notices that the book's in english, and that it's one he's read before.
The atmosphere between them is tense, it's been that way ever since John stopped courting Sarah, and it's a little weird to tell the truth, but John just accepts it, because that's Sherlock for you.
x
Their eyes lock, that afternoon as Sherlock's pushing open the door to the flat, keys jangling out of the lock as he shoves in, bags hanging from his arms.
"Hello," The world's only consulting detective smiles at him, really smiles, and that's got John backpedalling before the next word come out of Sherlock's mouth.
"Quérote," and really, really? Still with the words in different languages that make no sense?
John's just about had it.
"What are you saying?" The ex-army doctor leans on the wall, "I refuse to help until you tell me."
He watches while Sherlock struggles, before the taller man shoots him a look that he's sure Sherlock will utterly deny as pleading later, but it's there now.
"What if I told you I had milk?"
And that's it, John's got one arm under the 'high-functioning sociopath' and the other looped around him, fishing through his bags until he comes out with his fingers wrapped around a glistening white bottle.
"I love you!" He wraps the other arm around Sherlock and pulls him close, causing the other man to drop all his bags as he stares dumbfounded as John's hands pull him close. As John inhales Sherlock's clean scent, he notices how taught the usually calm man is, and has to wonder, has he ever been hugged before?
Then Sherlock leans down and touches his lips to John's head, and he's not sure what's happening, but he knows he's not going to end it any time soon.
"Ich liebe dich auch," He feels Sherlock say against his head, and those words he understands.
Suddenly, it all makes sense.
John's still, for a second, before he remembers the book, the three words, and the passage which he knew they weren't from, he remembers exactly what they are from.
"Le melon," He looks up, meeting stormy blue-grey eyes, "Elvish, really?"
Sherlock just smiles.