A/N:Guys, I am so sorry I haven't been updating Highly Illegal Activities. =.= Haven't had inspiration! But I promise I'll be working on a new chapter this weekend, to be up by the end of February or you can find me and lynch me! That being said, here's a new, fluffy, cute little BBC Johnlock. Hope you enjoy, hope it makes up for my lack of...Highly Illegal Activities! XD Punny.

Sorry.

You left me waiting again. It's becoming less of a surprise every time. -JW

Excuse me? -SH

It's our anniversary. Not like it matters. -JW

Perhaps there's a reason for my lateness? -SH

And I wonder why you didn't call and left me waiting for three hours like an idiot. -JW

The restaurant closed and your flowers wilted. -JW

My sincerest apologies, John. I've lost track of time. I assure you I can make it up to you, if you'll permit me. -SH

Just forget it. -JW

John, please. -SH

Just stop. -JW

The reason for my absence will be clear if you'll allow me to show you. Please. -SH

I don't care. It doesn't matter. -JW

Then I'll have done all of this for nothing. -SH

Maybe. -JW

This has taken me all day, and apparently nearly all night. -SH

All for you. -SH

You didn't even call me. You just left me alone. I thought you stood me up like you do for more than half of our dates. -JW

John, I am sorry, truly. But this time...tonight...I just need you to come with me. Please. -SH

I don't know. -JW

I just don't. -JW

John, please, I beg of you. -SH

You have to come with me. -SH

This is important. -SH

Why? -JW

It just is. You'll see. -SH

Please, you have to trust me. -SH

Fine, Sherlock. -JW

Thank you! You won't regret it, I promise. I'll be at the flat in two minutes. -SH

With that, Sherlock raced the two blocks back to the flat. He was on his way back anyway, and he now had an impeding sense of urgency to return home, return to John and make things right. He sprinted around the corner and in through the door, not slowing down. "John!" he called as he entered, taking the steps two at a time and nearly tripping as he burst into the living room, finding a very exasperated John sitting in his chair. His face was red, clearly from having rubbed it in a frustrated manner. On the kitchen table sat a bouquet of dead flowers. Upon seeing them, a pang of guilt shot through Sherlock. "John..." he said softly. He turned his head down in response, not looking at Sherlock. Sherlock sighed. He walked over to the chair, kneeling beside John. He placed his hand atop John's, who pulled away in response, still not looking at Sherlock.

"John, I can't apologize enough..." he said, quietly.

"Damn right you can't!" John spat, looking at Sherlock with angry, hurt eyes. "Today was important, Sherlock, and you don't even sodding show up! I can't believe you!" He shook his head and looked away, his eyes red and tears threatening to fall. "I sometimes wonder why I'm even with you..." he added, nearly inaudibly.

Nearly.

Sherlock heard him, and it felt as though someone had just speared him through the chest.
"John, please, PLEASE come with me. I need you to. It's important, please." His words were hurried and desperate. "I can't, I just...I need you to come. Please," he begged.

John would have refused had he not looked over at Sherlock in that moment, but he did. He saw the distress in his face, and he hesitantly stood. He grimaced at Sherlock. "Fine. Let's get on with it, then," he sighed.

Sherlock breathed a slight sigh of relief. He brought John his jacket and helped him put it on. He took John's hand, but John pulled it away, shoving both hands into his pockets. Sherlock frowned. "Come on, then," he said softly, leading them out the door.

He ran ahead to the street, hailing a cab. He opened the door for John, who went around and used the other door. Sherlock sincerely hoped he hadn't gone too far this time, that he hadn't lost John. His shenanigans, missing their dates and forgetting about meetings, it had always managed to upset John, but it had never been to this extent. He had always been forgiven right away, it wasn't ever too big a deal. He would explain what he had been doing to make him forget, and John would be understanding. He'd be annoyed, but understanding. Not this time, though. This time John was clearly angry and quite upset. Sherlock was overcome with worry.

He slid into the cab beside John and told the cabby his intended destination. He periodically looked over at John, who was staring intently out the window. He looked tired. Exhausted, actually, his soft features drooped in despair. Sherlock looked out his own window, watching the lights rush by and trying to calm his racing thoughts, the doubts that spiraled through his mind. He tapped his fingers nervously on his knee, wondering if John would even be the slightest bit impressed, wondering what his answer would be. He wondered whether John would break up with him this very night. It was certainly a high probability that he would.

"Happy anniversary, John," he tried, only to be met with hateful silence. He truly hadn't forgotten this time, and he didn't intend on being late. He was so busy trying to make everything perfect for John that he truly did loose track of time as he had stated. He just wanted everything to be good enough for his love. He wasn't satisfied if even a single tiny detail was out of place. That wasn't good enough. Everything had to line up, nothing wrong at all. Perfect. And he'd made it so, he just didn't appoint enough time to do so and meet John at the restaurant in the same night.

They'd arrived at the location in a fairly short amount of time. John exited the cab as Sherlock paid the cabby.

"What the hell is this?" he asked, looking up at the large warehouse before him.

"Just come inside," Sherlock said, walking passed John to unlock the door.

They walked inside to find a rather strange set up. Only one of the ceiling lights lit, the warehouse nearly in total blackness. What could be seen was a taped off area, with a body lying in the center.

"Oh, my God, Sherlock, please tell me that is not a real body..." John said, rubbing his temples.

"No, no, it's not real," he assured him, walking towards his fake crime scene and gesturing for John to follow him. "But you should recognize it."

And, as he got closer, he did recognize it. The body was of a woman, dressed entirely in a gaudy shade of pink, the word Rache written in scratchy brown ink in front of her.

"A Study in Pink?" he asked.

"Of course. Our first case together," Sherlock stated. "But something's different. So, investigate." He gestured to the crime scene. "Go on."

John looked over at Sherlock, a look mixed of exasperation, frustration, and annoyance painted across his face. "Sherlock..."

"Please, John," Sherlock said.

John sighed. The faster he complied, the faster he could get back to the flat. "Fine. Fine." He walked up to the body, taking a closer look. Around the chest was a small pool of blood. He turned the body over with his foot, noticing her chest had been cut open and her heart exposed. Upon it was a tag that read "It may not be mine, but it's a heart nonetheless, for you." John just shook his head. "Alright. Cute. That it?"

"Nope," Sherlock said, handing John a small black light. "You might need this to discover the rest."

John rolled his eyes and took the black light. He shone it over the floor to see an arrow leading to the darkness. He followed it. Sherlock was careful to stay behind John, out of his sight. He had his hand in his pocket, fingering nervously at the small item it contained.

John followed the arrow to the first message scrawled across the floor. "Our first meeting: Barts. Introduced, instant flatmates. You didn't seem like much to me, I admit, but you were different." Sherlock attempted to gauge John's reaction from behind, but he was too nervous to think properly and settled for just following and trusting in his work.

John, now slightly curious but still angry for the most part, continued on to see the second message. "Our first case: 'A Study in Pink', you dubbed it. My first indication of your potential, of all you were and all you could be. You'd definitely piqued my curiosity at that point."

John cocked his head, wondering how many messages there would be. He continued on to find the third. "My first interest in you: you shot someone for me. For me, who you'd just met. You killed him because you thought I was in danger. I was in disbelief. And I was interested..."

John felt his anger slowly begin to melt away as he read the fourth message. "Our first kiss: A year after we met. I could no longer help myself. I took a risk and, much to my surprise, it paid off. I'd gotten my first relationship."

John remembered. He'd been taken aback by Sherlock's sudden action, but it was very welcome. He came across the fifth message. "Our first night together: I was nervous, but you took the lead. You showed me it was okay not just to be physical, but to love. You showed me that love is not a chemical defect. Sentiment is not a weakness."

John smiled slightly at the memory that brought up. Sherlock had been so shy and jittery that night, but John coaxed him out of it. He shivered at the thought of Sherlock's touch, recalling his own first: the first time Sherlock took the lead.

He had followed the messages now into a very dark part of the warehouse, still progressing forward. He was anxious to find the sixth message, which he did shortly. "Continuing on this pattern of firsts, I have another to add to the list." He quirked a brow in curiosity.

The seventh message read: "Tonight is a rather big first."

His pace quickened as he searched for the eight message. "Tonight, on our /second/ anniversary..."

His heart began to race, searching for the ninth. "Tonight, I have a question."

He became slightly frantic, looking for the tenth. "It's the first step in a big thing, in a new life for both of us."

He began to feel tears form as he read the eleventh message. "John Hamish Watson, my heart, my love, my companion, my everything..."

He exhaled and covered his mouth with his hand, hearing Sherlock's voice behind him as he read the twelfth and final message "will you marry me?"

John turned around to see Sherlock on one knee before him, a red velvet box in his hand that contained a grey metal ring. John couldn't hold in his tears. He laughed as they fell down his face, which was quickly turning bright red. "Sherlock, you sodding git!" he said, smiling and walking over to Sherlock, kneeling down to meet his level. "Of course I will!"

With a shaky hand, Sherlock slid the ring onto John's finger and John pulled him in to a soft, sweet kiss.

"I really am sorry I missed our date," Sherlock said as the kiss broke.

"Oh, shut up!" John said, pulling him in once more.