In no way belongs to me, yada yada yada...
"Marry me?" Sherlock's voice is soft, and if I didn't know better I'd say it was trembling. But Sherlock Holmes doesn't get afraid. My own reply sticks in my throat, trapped beneath the sudden rush of emotions, so instead I lean in and press my lips to his. He starts slightly at the unexpected contact, and I experience a moment of worry that he is uncomfortable, but then he relaxes into the kiss. "I love you," I say, the words reverberating into his mouth.
We break apart, both starved of air but grinning like idiots. "God, I love you," I repeat, with feeling. I hope he knows just how much I mean it. There is a pregnant pause, in which he takes my hand. "Am I to take it that you approve?" he asks then, a stilted laugh following the typically blasé comment. I laugh with him, happiness seeping from my every pore.
He peers at me anxiously, and I suddenly realise that he genuinely isn't sure. Trying to cover his emotional vulnerability with that Holmes veneer, as usual. I look him in the eye and smile. "What can you deduce, Sherlock?" I ask him softly, and he looks abashed beneath the expression of relief. "Of course I'll marry you," I add, not wanting to leave him with any doubts. "It would be my honour."
He does laugh at that, the tension evaporating from his form. "You," he announces fondly, "must be utterly mad." Warmth passes between our locked eyes. "Must be," I agree, still unable to keep the grin from my face.