Sherlock was waiting in the kitchen, wrapped up in his coat. He was pacing back and forth, running through the events that were to unfold. He had politely asked Mrs Hudson to go out for the afternoon; he had even bought her some movie tickets. He had the kettle going and the TV on low in the other room.
He heard the door being unlocked, opened and then heavy, even footsteps coming up the stairs. He stuck his hand in his pocket. He listened to the other stop so he could take off his wet jacket, slide off his boots and continue into the flat. He went straight into the kitchen.
"Hello, Sherlock," He slid on arm around Sherlock's waist as he took the kettle off and poured some tea. "You want one?" John moved his hand to rest on Sherlock's hip.
"Uh… yes please, darling," Sherlock stood there and watched John make the tea. They both took a long sip; Sherlock looked on slightly lustfully at John's pursed lips.
"Any progress?" John said, noticing Sherlock's gaze.
He seemed to have been awoken from a dream. "Sorry, progress on?" He flicked his eyes to meet John's.
"The case? With the shooter?" John stepped closer to Sherlock, noticing how distracted he was.
"Oh, yes. I don't see how I didn't realize sooner. The shooter was a female, the suspect's sister. That way she'd have easy access to the family fortune, because Bekky was always the responsible one, am I wrong? The only thing standing in the way of her fortune was her mother, not the guard, so she only had to kill her mother," Sherlock forgot everything else as he went through his discoveries.
"And the other five? Bullets in the eye, every single one. Except her mother, who was shot in the back? How do you explain that?" John asked, fiddling with Sherlock's jacket.
"She was trained to shoot in the left eye, for obvious reasons. She had never met the other five, her mother's colleagues. She could kill them easily, like she was trained. But she obviously had an emotional attachment to her mother, couldn't kill her while looking her in the face. Her mistake was killing the colleges. If she hadn't, the business would've kept going and making her money, and the time and date of the deaths wouldn't have been discovered. It was simple really," Sherlock looked into John's eyes and refocused on his current mission. "So, lots of progress."
"That's good," John planted a kiss on Sherlock's cheek and sat down on the couch in the other room.
"John. I-I err… You know that I love you," Sherlock sat next to John and put a hand on his knee.
"Yes, I do. And I love you too. Why's that?" John turned the TV down even more to give Sherlock his full attention.
Sherlock took a big breath and turned to face John. "I came back for you, John. You were what brought me back. I didn't want to be dead; I wanted to be alive, just for you. I saw you, lonely and afraid and I just had to come back. It's been two years, on the dot in fifteen minutes, since I came back and told you I loved you for the first time. Every day since then has been perfect in ways I cannot describe. My pulse quickens simply when you enter the room, John. I don't know what I would've done, what I would do now, without you. If you had not been here, waiting for me, then I would still be 'dead.' I need to thank you for that, for being there and loving me back. So, thank you. And, as well as that, I wanted to tell you that I want to spend the rest of my life with you, John."
Sherlock flickered his eyes from the TV to the clock to his jacket to John's eyes.
John had tears swelling in his eyes. He had put his hands on Sherlock's hands on his own knees. He was choking on a sob, a happy sob. He had been waiting for this for so long.
"I know, Sherlock, I know! And I love you, too. I…" His voice trailed off.
Sherlock put his hand in his pocket, wrapped his long fingers around the small case, within which was a simple golden ring. He prepared himself for the big moment. When he opened his eyes, however, John was on his knee in front of Sherlock. Sherlock stood up from surprise; his eyes widened and mouth gaping. John let out a small, breathy laugh and a tear rolled down his cheek. Sherlock stumbled back a little, the corners of his mouth turning up with pure adoration for John.
"Sherlock," John breathed his name, another tear of happiness rolling down his cheeks. Sherlock stepped back towards John, the ring box clenched in his fist. He couldn't form words. "Sherlock," John said louder. He had a little blue box in his hand, which he opened to reveal a plain silver ring. "Will you marry me, and spend the rest of my life with me?"
Sherlock wiped away his own tear with his free hand and said, with his hand on his cheek, "Yes, John! Of course!" He then extended his arm to John, sobs racking through him as he smiled lovingly down at John.
"Other hand, Sherlock," John said with a loving laugh. Sherlock looked at his fist, twisted his hand so that the little ring box was held between his fingertips. John's jaw dropped. Sherlock looked to John then to the ring. "Me first," John said, and Sherlock swapped the ring to the other hand and lowered it to John. He slid the silver ring along Sherlock's finger. He grabbed his hand and kissed it. He got up and looked up to Sherlock, both men were crying and laughing, the biggest smiles either had ever portrayed across their love-struck faces.
"I would, John, love to spend the rest of my life with you," He slid the ring on to John's ring finger and he, too, kissed his hand.
They embraced, tight and long. Sherlock kissed John's neck as they both laughed and cried and smiled.
The happy they felt now definitely made up for all the sad both man had felt before. And all the sad they would ever have to feel.
"Oh, boys!" Mrs Hudson let out a little cry of joy. "Oh… about time!" She said and ran up and gave them both a hug. "Oh, I'll get out of the house for a bit longer! Give you to your privacy!" Then she hurried back out the door. "Oh, I just… Good Lord. It took them long enough…"