John and Sherlock lay on the sofa of 221B. Sherlock was wide awake as per usual listening to John's slow, rhythmic breathing and watching Merlin. His hand ran bantam circles on the small of John's back while he slept contentedly. John's sandy blonde hair was right below Sherlock's chin. It tickled him in a good way. Sherlock felt completely at peace with himself and the world.
The two men had come home three hours prior after solving a particularly difficult case and were simply too exhausted to do anything devious and lecherous that night. /So they settled for cuddling on the small but accommodating sofa in the living room, both of the men collapsing onto it almost immediately. Soft, lazy kisses had been exchanged and eventually John's breathing rate had slowed, his movements had ceased almost completely, and his head tilted exactly at a 37 degree angle, how he usually rested it, leaving the detective to deduce that his partner, and boyfriend, had slipped into an amicable slumber. Sherlock didn't even need to look down to know.
But he looked down anyway, because the sight of John sleeping was just so….so… beautiful. He knew the sentimentality of all he was feeling was all but unnecessary and did not expressly need to be there. Lord knows what the old Sherlock would be thinking if he saw this…display. But that was the point: this was the new Sherlock. Old Sherlock was gone the second he laid eyes on the ex-soldier and asked, "Afghanistan or Iraq?' To be honest, he never really stood a chance. Neither of them did. And for some reason, he didn't care. He just deleted all those unnecessary things in his mind palace and made room for one continuous thing: John.
Because John was his. And god help him, Sherlock…Sherlock…loved him. He loved john so much. The realization of his feelings hit him right there on that sofa like a ton of bricks. HE LOVED JOHN! And for some reason, he came to the conclusion that he had always known that. From the moment he jumped from the roof of St. Bart's. He could've walked away and taken his chances but he didn't. Because he might be safe but John wouldn't be. And life without John would be no life at all. Of that, he was certain.
Sherlock Holmes looked down at this lover and placed a chaste kiss into his hair.
"I love you," he whispered, turning his attention to the raging battle that appeared to be taking place on the television. But out of the corner of his eye, he could've sworn he saw the corners of John's mouth twitch up into a tiny smile.