AN: I'm not entirely back. This is something I've had sitting around for a while that I've finally finished.

It was painful.

Anyway, requests are still open and more than welcome on my Tumblr (same username as here). Hopefully I'll be putting something else new out soon.

John cursed under his breath as he jiggled his keys in the lock, the groceries precariously balanced on his free arm. He kicked the door shut behind him and went to the kitchen to unload his bags. He stopped in the doorway when he spotted the... substance sitting on top of the table.

The table they prepared food on and ate off of.

"Sherlock!" he groaned, edging around the table and putting the groceries on the counter. "I thought I told you to keep your experiments off the table?"

He received no answer, and quickly checked the flat. He found no Sherlock, and was about to start worrying when his phone went off. He unlocked it and saw it was a text from Sherlock.

Lestrade called me out on a case. Boring, but I'm conceding to your desire to get me out of the flat. –SH

John was tempted to tease him, but instead sent Good luck. –JW

I appreciate the sentiment, but I won't need it. –SH

John rolled his eyes and chuckled, slipping his phone back into his pocket as he started putting away the groceries. Giving the table a wide berth, he quickly put away all the groceries. It was when he opened the cupboard to put away the last thing – his jam – that he found it.

Right in the spot he always put his jam there was a post-it note. Curious, he picked it up and read it.

I love your smile.

John felt a sappy smile tug at the corners of his lips. Sherlock wasn't the type to make romantic gestures, but when he did they never failed to turn John into a mushy mess. Still smiling, he put the jam in its place. He was about to close the cupboard when he spotted another note stuck on the inside of the door.

I love your hands.

John blinked and looked at his hands. He thought they were average, nothing amazing about them, but apparently Sherlock saw something special. The man certainly worshipped them often enough. John blushed and cut off the memories. He wouldn't have pegged Sherlock as having a hand kink, but he certainly wasn't complaining.

This note had an arrow below the words. It took him a bit, but he eventually figured out where it was pointing. He was rewarded with another note.

I love your jumpers.

John smiled even more. Sherlock was often vocal in his dislike of John's jumpers, but he could tell how fond Sherlock was of them. Even though he almost never outright admitted it, John could tell.

There was another arrow, and John followed it to the next note, and then the one on that one to the next. They led him around the kitchen, occasionally just outside it, all in out of the way hiding places, each telling him another thing Sherlock loved about him. There were so many: things John hardly noticed, things he was surprised could actually be loved, old stuff, new stuff, and more than a few that made him blush. John felt a bit overwhelmed.

The pile of notes grew, and bit by bit John stopped seeing little bits of yellow out of the corner of his eye. Eventually, he could spot no more yellow notes. He had a bit of trouble finding what appeared to be the last note, but eventually pulled it off of the back of a bag of crisps. He put the bag back and read it.

I love you, John.

John's breath hitched slightly. They didn't directly say those words often (they both knew, and neither of them were the type to be talkative about what they felt), but when they were said, it meant a lot.

This one, like all the others, also had an arrow. Wondering what else Sherlock could possibly say to turn him into more of a mushy mess, he followed it. It led him to the refrigerator. Since there were no notes on the outside, he opened it and found the note stuck to the orange juice.

So I know you'll say yes when I ask you...

John followed the arrow's direction and found another note sitting on the table. He frowned slightly. He was sure there hadn't been one there a moment ago. As a matter of fact, he realised, the note was exactly where the experiment had been. How odd. He walked over and picked it up.

Will you marry me?

John gasped and leaned against the table to steady himself. He honestly thought Sherlock would never ask that. He was confident in their relationship, and knew Sherlock loved him more than it should be possible to love, just as he did Sherlock, but Sherlock disdained the pomp and circumstance of large events like weddings. He was also somewhat averse to the nature of the declarations. He thought it was unnecessary to tell a roomful of people you loved someone when it was already extremely obvious. He'd made that clear long before either of them had even considered the idea of a relationship.

When they entered a relationship, he'd put the idea of a wedding on a dusty shelf in the back of his mind. That Sherlock was willing to do this, just for him... it meant more than John could ever say.

Just then, he felt wiry arms wrap around him from behind. He relaxed into the embrace.

"You, Sherlock Holmes, are a romantic sap underneath that 'high-functioning sociopath' exterior."

Sherlock nuzzled John's neck. John could feel his smile against his skin "But you already knew that. Besides, you know you love it."

"That I do. I don't know what went wrong with me."

Sherlock retaliated with a swat to John's arse. John giggled (though he would forever deny making such a sound) and danced out of his hold.

"So all of this is what you love about me?" John asked, gesturing toward the notes.

"I consider it the abridged version. There are, quite possibly, a thousand reasons why I love you. That's one of my conservative estimates, at any rate."

John, to his embarrassment, felt tears well up in his eyes. "That's – that's really amazing, Sherlock. That might just equal how much I love you."

"Hmm, maybe," Sherlock said, smiling softly. "However, there is this pressing matter that must be dealt with. Even though I am certain you will say yes, tradition dictates that I must ask before planning the event. So, John Watson, will you marry me?"

John rolled his eyes. "I should say no, just to prove you wrong for once."

Sherlock smirked and moved forward, putting his hands on John's hips. "But you won't."

John sighed, trying and failing to keep the smile off his face. "You're right. I won't." He took Sherlock's hands in his and looked straight into his eyes as he said, "Yes, Sherlock. Yes, I'll marry you. As if there was any doubt."

Sherlock's smile nearly blinded him. He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a silver band with a delicate pattern of engravings. "May I have the honour?"

John returned the smile and held out his hand. Sherlock slipped the ring on and kissed John's knuckles before capturing his lips in a long kiss. Eventually they pulled away and just held each other for a while.

Despite himself, John started thinking about the wedding. John loved that Sherlock was willing to do this for him, but he didn't want to push the man too far. He was more than willing to compromise.

"We could just go down to the office and sign the papers. Keep it low key and invite only a few people to witness it."

Sherlock snorted. "Do you honestly think Mycroft will let us get away with that?"

"No, I suppose not," John chuckled. "Knowing him, he's already started planning our wedding."

"I certainly hope so; it will save us a lot of hassle."

"Wait, so you're really serious about this?" John pulled back to look up at Sherlock. "You're going to proclaim, in front of a number of friends and family members, that you're mine and I'm yours, and that we will be until the day we die, even though it's obvious to anyone that meets us? Don't you think it's a bit... redundant? Or stupid and unnecessary?"

"It is somewhat redundant," Sherlock admitted. "But staking my claim on you is never stupid or unnecessary, considering all the people that think they have a shot at stealing you from me."

John was definitely not imaging the playful spark in his eye.

"Possessive bastard."

"Pot, meet kettle."

John laughed just as Sherlock's mobile chimed. John moved his arms enough for Sherlock to get it out of his pocket.

"Ah, it's Mycroft. He would like to know if we would like Angelo to be one of the caterers."

"One of the caterers? Never mind," he said as Sherlock opened his mouth, "I don't care. I am more than willing to leave this in Mycroft's capable hands. Tell him yes though."

Sherlock quickly typed out the message, returning his mobile to his pocket when he was done. There was a comfortable silence for a moment before a thought hit John.

"You do realise that after the ceremony is the reception, and that I expect you to play nice with our guests."

"We'll cross that bridge when we get there."

"Sher–"

Sherlock shut him up with a kiss. John decided to let it slide – for now.

AN: Hope you enjoyed it! Reviews are much appreciated. :)