January 29th.
The date on the calendar stared John down from the wall next to him. He leaned forward on his desk, resting his head in his hands, willing it to be 5pm. The clock, however, mockingly reminded him that it was only 2:30. It was a slow day in surgery, nothing more than a case of food poisoning and a couple broken bones - two arms, an ankle, and a wrist (the last being a recurring patient who had attempted suicide a few times before). He had half a mind to beg Sarah to let him go early, but with a colleague on vacation and another home with a stomach virus, they were rather short staffed. It sucked, today of all days, to not get off early. Of all the days...
He tapped his fingers on his desk, shifting his gaze to his phone. He wondered what Sherlock was up to. Nothing too dangerous, he hoped. Last week he about set the living room on fire with one of his bizarre experiments. That hadn't been a fun phone call to get. As if on cue, his phone vibrated, and his heart leapt up into his throat.
'Grab milk on the way home. -SH'
John sighed and rolled his eyes, typing his reply.
'I don't understand how we're out again. -JW'
'Dunno. Just get some. -SH'
'Did it ever occur to you that I didn't want to go to Tesco's today? That maybe I just want to come home? -JW'
'Not really, no. -SH'
John pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and finger. These kinds of conversations didn't surprise him anymore, but he could help but get frustrated sometimes.
'Why would that thought occur to me? -SH'
'Because maybe I want to get home as soon as I can today? Maybe I have some plans for tonight? -JW'
'Plans? With who? -SH'
'You know, for being so brilliant, you're a dense git. -JW'
Today, out of all days. Why did he have to pick today to be so...him?
John felt a weight fall off his shoulders as he stepped inside the door of 221B. Milk secured in his left hand, he paused to slip his coat off and hang it up, and drop his keys in the small bowl near the door. He ran a hand through his hair and headed into the kitchen. Sherlock was nowhere to be seen, and he had to slide around jars filled with weird-colored liquid in the fridge in order to fit the milk carton inside. He put the kettle on and walked into the living room, letting his white doctor's coat fall off his shoulders and landing on the back of his chair.
"Sherlock?" he called, trying to find the other man. Surely he hadn't gone out. John honestly wasn't sure what he was expecting. They had been together for four years now, and Sherlock hadn't changed. Getting into a romantic relationship didn't change his day to day. Not that John would have wanted it to, because that was the man he had fallen in love with. But on days like this, John got so frustrated he could throttle Sherlock. Where was he?
He sighed in irritation and headed up to the bathroom. A hot shower would help him relax. He turned the water on to let it warm up, went back down to prepare his tea and turn the stove off, and closed his eyes as he drank his cuppa. Then, he headed back upstairs, shedding his jumper and shirt, then his trousers and pants once he got back in the bathroom. He stepped under the steaming hot water, letting it fall down over his skin, sighing in content, eyes closed. He turned his face up, letting the water hit him, smiling just slightly. He did hope Sherlock would be home soon. After all, today was an amazing one. Better than Christmas, better than either one of their birthdays…
A pair of arms snaked around his waist and he yelped, jumping and slipping in the tub. The arms tightened, keeping John from falling. Panting, eyes wide, he twisted his head to see Sherlock's deep eyes staring at him, his curly hair slightly damp and sticking to his forehead now. He was wearing nothing but a mischievous grin.
"Sherlock!" John huffed, starting to straighten himself and running a hand through his hair, his other gripping Sherlock's forearm tightly. A deep chuckle rumbled out of the other man's chest. John frowned, wiggling himself out of his grasp.
"You scared the crap out of me Sherlock. Jesus Christ, I could've fallen and gotten a concussion or something."
"But you didn't."
"That's beside the point. I could have."
"I never would've allowed that to happen."
"That's STILL beside the point, Sherlock," he huffed, his hands on his hips. Sherlock just stared, and John caught his eyes roaming across his body. He rolled his eyes, but couldn't help the grin that came on his face. Sherlock took a step forward, reaching out and snaking his arms back around his waist and pulling him close. John leaned into his body, pressing his cheek against Sherlock's chest, placing a hand flat against the small of his back. Sherlock tilted his head down, pressing his soft lips against the spot right behind John's ear, sending a shiver down his spine.
"Are you free tonight?" the taller man asked, his deep baritone sending more shivers down John's spine. He huffed again, despite himself.
"Of course I am, you bloody idiot," he whispered, turning to look at him. "You DO realize what today is right?"
"Of course I do John, don't be daft," Sherlock snorted.
"I just… I never can tell sometimes, Sherlock."
Sherlock lifted one of his hands, running the tips of his fingers down John's cheek. John closed his eyes, sighing softly.
"John."
"Hmm?"
"Do you doubt me?"
John felt his heart sink a bit. He didn't doubt Sherlock, he never doubted him. He felt terrible for even suggesting that. He knew this man better than anyone, always had, and he knew this beautiful, calculating, insane detective loved him. No matter how other things never changed, there were always the little things. Minute attention to detail that only Sherlock could achieve, and in ways that John never failed to notice. Sometimes it just took longer than Sherlock had patience for. He did have very little patience for anything.
"I don't, Sherlock. I'm sorry-"
He was cut short with a kiss, passionate but not hungry. He reached up to thread his fingers in Sherlock's hair, returning the kiss sweetly, pressing himself against him. When they pulled away, Sherlock's eyes were slightly hazy, and neither one of them could hide the beginnings of their arousals while standing naked in the shower. John cleared his throat, pulling his hand away from Sherlock's head, and turning off the water. Sherlock smiled when John placed a quick kiss to his cheek, and followed him out of the shower. He hardly had time to get any sort of clothes on before Sherlock had grabbed his hand and was pulling him in the direction of their bedroom, still stark naked himself.
"Hang on a sec, Sherlock," he protested, half stumbling behind him. Sherlock ignored him, pulling him into the bedroom and pushing him to sit on the bed.
"Sherlock…"
"Hush, John."
John frowned and crossed his arms, but didn't say another word as Sherlock moved about the room swiftly. He moved like he did when they were on a case and something had just dawned on him, making John raise an eyebrow. What in the world was he doing? His disappeared into their closet and began shuffling around. The best part about this was the phenomenal view John was now getting of his bare ass. He stifled a laugh, biting his finger gently. Eventually, Sherlock straightened himself and headed back towards John, a box in his arms. John's jaw almost dropped and it was shoved in his face.
"What is this?"
"A gift, obviously," Sherlock responded, rolling his eyes. John's eyebrow lifted again as he stared at the package, with it's beautiful wrapping job.
"Mrs. Hudson wrapped this, didn't she?" he giggled.
"That's hardly the point, John. Stop being tedious and open it."
John giggled again. Anyone else would've gone on about how rude the man was being while trying to give someone a present. John saw through the seemingly exhausted tone. He saw the words Sherlock's eyes said that his mouth could not. His chest swelled as he began to peel back the wrapping paper. God, he loved this man. He was the best thing that had ever happened to him, and he was lucky that their lives were so melded together now that one could never be without the other. All of his thoughts, however, came to a screeching halt when he opened the box and saw the leather-bound books staring up at him. His mouth fell open again. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Sherlock fidgeting slightly, both in pride and in nervousness.
"Sherlock…" he whispered, breathless. He ran his fingers down the spine of the first book. These journals… They were the most prestigious medical journals one could get, and they were really hard to find. Not many had been printed, in this format anyway, and the one time John had seen then for sale was at an auction and the going price had about made him sick to his stomach. His vision blurred slightly. The longer the silence went on, the more nervous Sherlock seemed to get. Finally, John let out a shaky breath, followed by a half laugh, half sob. He placed the box on the bed and stood, grabbing Sherlock and hugging him as tight as was possible. Sherlock had frozen in his arms for a second, before reaching up to return the hug.
"So you, ah… They work out alright?" he asked. John laughed again.
"You brilliant man. They're so… perfect. You're perfect."
John kissed him again, fiercely. Sherlock returned the kiss with even more vigor, not able to keep from grinning against John's lips.
"There's one more thing," he murmured, leaving John taken aback.
"More? Christ Sherlock, those were more than enough. I can't imagine how much they must have cost you."
But Sherlock was moving again, this time out of the bedroom and across the flat. John had no idea what to make of what was going on. Thoughtlessly, he followed him out, watching him go over to his long coat and fumbling around in the pockets. John leaned against wall next to the fireplace, arms crossed, watching curiously. Sherlock had wrapped his hand around something John had yet to see, and was slowly making his way back over to him. Very slowly. John's brow furrowed in confusion at this change in body language. Then Sherlock was in front of him again, glancing left and right before staring into him again.
"There are usually protocols for this kind of thing. Rules, apparently. I think they're stupid, of course, but regardless, Mrs. Hudson rather fussed at me when I was talking to her the other day." He rolled his eyes, fist still tight. John just stared, clueless.
"I don't see the point in these kinds of things. Material objects that symbolize something greater are ridiculous. However, while it is not me, it is most certainly you."
"Sherlock, what on Earth are you going on about?"
Then, he moved, and John found himself staring at Sherlock's hand, which had a small box in it. A small, velvet box. He felt the color drain from his face, and his mouth parted slightly.
"Sherlock-" he voice was barely a squeak. Sherlock didn't look at him, and instead opened the box to reveal a ring. John felt dizzy. That was… there was no way.
"John, in one hour, twelve minutes, and sixteen seconds we will have known each other for exactly seven years. Of those, the last four have been intimately involved. You have become the most natural part of my life since then, much more than other things." He motioned towards the skull on their fireplace and John almost laughed hysterically.
"Sherlock, is this a proposal?" John couldn't help but ask. Sherlock just stared at him.
"A proposal implies question. I just said you were the natural part of my life John, pay attention."
This brought more laughter from John. He couldn't help himself. His heart was racing so fast it felt lit was about to burst out of his chest. Sherlock blinked, his eyes moving, his mind clearly processing the reaction and trying to figure out where in his library of John Watson this fell. John leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Sherlock's, until he calmed down enough to be able to breathe again.
"Yes," he whispered, beaming like an idiot, tears falling down his cheeks. Sherlock stared at the tears before looking back up into his eyes.
"As I said, John, there was no question. No need to say yes."
"You git," John said affectionately. "I love you."
Sherlock took out the ring and plopped it into john's hand, and he tried not to laugh again. Of course this is how Sherlock Holmes would ask someone to marry him. He expected nothing less. He slipped the ring on his left ring finger, and it was one of the most amazing moments of life his.
There was a time when Sherlock pissed him off more than he could describe. There was a time he could never get a moments peace to write his blog or take a girl out on a date. There was a time when John thought his life was caving in on him, and he was so alone, his best friend thought to be dead. And then there was this. This was his life. His best friend far from dead, and far from just a friend anymore. Now here they were.
"We just bloody got engaged," he breathed, laughing again. He couldn't do anything but laugh. His brain wouldn't let him react any other way. Sherlock tossed the velvet box aside and it landed on the couch with a small plop. He ran a thumb over the ring that now sat on John's finger.
"Indeed. Though I still think requiring a ring is rather trivial."
"Oh hush."
Sherlock pulled him close and John breathed deeply, taking in his sweet scent. He had thought he was the happiest man alive. Now he knew he hadn't been, not by a long shot. He had far surpassed that now.
"Happy anniversary John Watson."
"Happy anniversary Sherlock."