John watches from his spot at the kitchen table as Sherlock reads. Or try to read anyway. He is squinting too much to actually be taking any of it in. Stubborn bastard. "You do realize that you can't fix your eye sight by will power alone," he comments.
"Humph," is his only reply.
"Come now, it's not that bad," he grins, "I think you look rather dashing in your reading glasses."
Years had passed since their first meeting at Bart's. Good years, filled with mad chases around London and more close death experiences than should be healthy. Of course, considering this is Sherlock, it is only to be expected.
Now though, time has started to take it's toll. Sherlock's hair is peppered with gray and he needs reading glasses. Neither one can move as fast as they use too.
Although John may have cheated just a bit. Nothing serious or obvious. But the thought of arthritis or the failing of any other senses held no appeal for either him or his partner. Not that he mentioned this to Sherlock. But he's kept the worse from them both. Some things don't bare thinking about and a restless detective who can't move easily without pain is one of them.
John shudders every time he thinks of it. And I thought the time he got the flu was bad. That would be a nightmare.
Sherlock grumbles under his breath, but accepts the glasses when John gets up and hands them to him. John presses a kiss into his hair before sitting down next to him. "Any thing interesting?" He looks at the book in question and finds the subject to be bees.
"Fascinating creatures," Sherlock begins with visible enthusiasm.
John watches with a smile. Not matter how many times he sees it, he still thinks there is nothing more gorgeous than Sherlock when he is excitedly explaining something. He always has a sparkle in his eyes and excitement in his voice. Amazing man. Best day of my life getting to meet him. He's may be an idiot sometimes, but he's my idiot.
"Well, what do you think?"
"Sorry. What?"
Sherlock sighs. "How can I expect to have a conversation with you when all you do is stare at me instead of listening?" He complains.
"Can you blame me? Look at whom I sitting next to."
"Really John."
"I'm serious!" He leans against Sherlock and puts his head on his shoulder. "I must be the luckiest angel in all of creation to have you as my ward."
Sherlock scoffs. "Don't be absurd." But he puts his arm around John and pulls him closer.
"I'm not. I've never said truer words. I am the luckiest bastard to be able to have you in my life." He smiles up at his ward.
"I see your romantic nature has yet to fade," he says, but he wouldn't return John's look and he can detach a hint of blush on Sherlock's cheeks.
"You love it and you know it. Who else would get you a bouquet of ears for Valentine's Day?"
"You are unique in that regard."
John giggles. "Molly's face when I asked for them."
"I am sure it was quite interesting."
"Oh it was even better than you can imagine."
Sherlock rest his head on top of John's as he laughs. "You should have taken a picture for posterity."
"I'll remember that for next time."
They are silent for a moment. "What do you think about bees?" Sherlock then asks.
John has a feeling this is what he missed before. "Well I'm told they are fascinating creatures. My partner is quite taken with them," he answers cheekily.
"Are you incapable of having a serious conversation today?"
"What? If you can't handle the sass, stay out of the kitchen."
Sherlock groans. "That is a terrible phrase and you should never use it again."
"Humph. I see how it is. You no longer appreciate my sense of humor," he says, grin growing.
"John." Sherlock mummers.
"Alright love. While I have no personal interest in them, I do love watching you talk about them. Is that what you wanted to know?"
"You have no objections with coming int contact with them?"
"Not if they don't sting me I don't."
He huffs. "Bees only sting when they are threatened. People seem to have this irrational thought that they do it for fun or something. Why else would they do it when they die after they sting? " His tone is indignant.
"In that case, I have no problems with them," John answers, holding back a laugh. Only my mad genius cares more about bees than he does about the rest of us. "Can I ask why I'm being asked or is it something terribly obvious?"
"Sussex," answers Sherlock, ever so helpfully.
"Sussex," John repeats. Yes, let's be as vague about it as possible and see how long it takes for me to either connect the dots or cave and ask what the hell he's talking about. After all, this is so much more entertaining then explaining himself. Infuriating git. The thought is way too fond. "Am I suppose to be able to figure this out or are you just too lazy to tell me right now?"
"Obvious."
John sighs "Why do I put up with you again?" He wonder idly.
"I'd imagine it has something to do with you being my guarding angel."
He laughs. "Twat." He pauses, taking a moment to think about Sussex and why it is important."Oh! Didn't your Grandfather leave you a cottage in Sussex?"
"He did."
"And... are there bees there?"
"Not yet."
"But there will be?"
"If we retire there."
"Ah! Finally we come to the point of all of this. Wouldn't it have been easier to just have started with this first?"
"Don't be ridiculous John," Sherlock rolls his eyes.
"No, Heaven forbid I be that!" John responds dramatically.
"Obviously they did a poor job when they told you."
"Nah, I just don't listen very well."
"And people think you are the normal one in the relationship."
"Of course. They're all idiots aren't they?"
"Indeed."
An explosion comes from the next room over and John sighs. Some people have a house warming party to celebrate a new home. They have explosions. Of course it's been a whole week since they officially moved in. John's surprised it's taken this long. Sherlock must really be trying.
At least there is enough room in the cottage for a separate lab. John can now open the refrigerator without fear of what he will find. Not that Sherlock uses as many body parts in his experiments now that he doesn't have as easy access to them as he use to. Or human ones anyway. He's fairly sure he saw a rabbit in there the other day. He didn't ask for confirmation.
John eyes the smoke drifting from the room warily, debating if he actually wants to get up, considering he knows Sherlock is alive and not majorly injured. Might be safer not to. "Still breathing?" he calls instead.
"Obviously," is the annoyed response and John knows Sherlock is fine.
"Try not to wreck the cottage too much. We did just move in."
"Dull."
John laughs. Twit.
He is sitting at the kitchen table when a jar is thrust mere inches from his face. John goes slightly cross eye looking at it.
"John!" Sherlock says excitedly.
"Yes?" he asks mildly.
The jar comes even closer to his face.
"John!"
John takes it so it doesn't hit him in the nose and examines it. When he realizes what it is, he grins. "First jar of the season." He takes off the lid, dips his finger in and licks it off. "Perfect," he announces.
Sherlock beams.
This had become something of a tradition between the two of them after Sherlock had presented John the very first jar he ever collected as proud as a five year old giving you his picture he made just for you. It was positively adorable. After that John always tasted the first jar of the season.
Sherlock tastes some himself. "They liked the foxglove," he comments.
John nods. "Yes. I think this is the best year yet. I can't wait till the raspberries are ripe."
"Hmmm." Sherlock goes and gets his notebook from the other room and flips through it. He pauses to read something, then begins to making addition notes.
Sherlock started the notebook their first year here, keeping track of results, ideas, future plans. Recently he has been experimenting with different plants and how they effect the taste of the honey. Last year he found that raspberries were the best addition to their garden. This year it different flowers.
Now that Sherlock has started, it will be a couple of hours until he surfaces to the real world again. John watches him scribble away with fondness, smiling to himself. He had been worried the he would get restless, even with the occasional experiment, but no. Sherlock was content to raise bees and cause only irregular explosions. Probably just to exasperate me too, the daft git.
Suddenly Sherlock looks up, wearing the expression that usually means the light bulb just came on . "Geraniums!" He shouts as runs outside.
John chuckles. The more things change, the more things stay the same.
They're sitting in front of the fire, blanket covering their legs. John is running a hand through Sherlock's curls as he watch the flames dance. Sherlock has his eyes closed in contentment. Some part of him wishes they could stay like this forever.
Obviously they can't. All things must come to an end.
Besides, peace for all eternity? Sherlock would go mad. He would go mad. After a life time of living together, more of Sherlock has rubbed off on John then he cares to admit. And that includes the general restlessness.
But it wouldn't be long now- less than a year. Surprisingly Sherlock hasn't pestered John with questions of after. Whether he wants his hypotheses confirmed himself or he doesn't care beyond the fact that John will be there is any ones guess. He certainly isn't asking.
John grins. Oh hell. Sherlock running around Heaven. That is a terrifying thought. Well at least there won't be people shooting at him. Or me. Unless Sherlock pisses them off enough... then we might have a problem. Oh well, at least it wouldn't be boring. We're going to be the talk of Heaven...
The angel and his idiot.