I wake early that morning, the soft pink glow of the dawn illuminating the room and the man sleeping next to me.
The man sleeping next to me.
Sherlock. My Sherlock.
He's smiling in his sleep, and it makes me wonder just what he's thinking about. The sun shines onto his face, making his right cheek flush a deep magenta.
I reach out to touch him slowly, marvelling in the way his cheekbones appear sharp and chiseled in the light. I brush the soft stray curls from his forehead and he stirs slightly.
I retract my hand immediately, not wanting to disturb his peaceful slumber.
He emits a soft whine, followed by a mutter of, 'please don't stop.'
I smile slowly. So he's been awake all this time. 'Good morning sweetheart,' I whisper, touching my hand to his cheek, where it belongs.
'Good morning John,' he murmurs gently, his eyes remaining closed.
He takes his arm from under his cheek, and drapes it across my middle, effectively pulling me flush against him. I tangle my legs in his, stroking my thumb across his face.
'Seven years,' he says, his eyes finally prying open.
'You first saved my life seven years ago, Sherlock,' I tell him.
'You continue to save mine everyday, John,' he counters.
I grin cheekily. 'You'll carry on saving my life for as long as you live.'
He laughs quietly. 'What did I do to deserve a god like you?' His hand travels up my arm and rests against the back of my head. 'I love you.'
'I love you most,' I whisper, leaving no room for argument.
He smiles, pressing his lips to mine in a soft, chaste kiss. 'Science proves that that's not possible,' he mutters, his voice husky and sending chills down my spine.
'As a doctor. I can confirm. That those. Are the symptoms.' I punctuate each sentence with a peck to his lips.
That sends him off into a fit of giggles (and my heart bursts with adoration) and when he recovers, his expression turns serious.
'Seriously,' he begins. 'What did I ever do to deserve a god like you?' he asks, his golden eyes shining bright like the sun.
'You existed, Sherlock. The moment your life began you were good enough to deserve me,' I explain.
'I love you so much,' he whispers, his eyes glazing over with tears.
I smile gently at his display of emotion, wiping his tears away before they can fall. 'Don't cry,' I say quietly. 'I love you too. I love you so, so, so much, Sherlock.'
He smiles brightly and dives forward to capture my lips with his. His fingers scrape through the hairs at the back of my head and my chest feels like it'll explode with the burning sensation of his mouth against mine. And it feels wonderful.
When we part, he rests his forehead against mine. 'I love you more than you could ever know,' he whispers.
I grin. 'Happy anniversary, Sherlock.'
He rests his head against my chest, tucking it under my chin. 'Happy anniversary, John,' he murmurs.
We spend the whole of January 29th, 2017 in our bed, in our flat. Together.
From the pink glow of the dawn to the deep blue of the dusk.
To celebrate the seventh anniversary of John and Sherlock's first meeting! God, I love my two dorks so much it's crazy.