I own nothing you recognize. Thank you, PrimeLaughter, for betaing. Dedicated to tumblr user kingcogi. Happy Birthday, my friend.
John groggily opened his eyes and sat up, breathing in deeply. He loved the smell of the morning air…and whatever he was smelling wasn't it. His eyes snapped open as he realized that something was burning, followed by few choice words. He jumped out of bed and ran into the kitchen, wondering what the hell was going on. When he entered, he stopped dead in his tracks. Sherlock was standing in the middle of the room, a cloud of smoke and steam surrounding him, and was holding a cast-iron pan that he evidently just retrieved from the cabinet. The majority of their limited amount of pans were piled in the sink, and a pot on the stove was boiling over. And somehow, Sherlock splattered egg on the ceiling. How do you manage that?
"Sherlock? Everything all right?" John asked his boyfriend. Yes, boyfriend. They'd been dating for five years to the day, actually. Today was their anniversary.
"Well, I was wanting to cook you breakfast in celebration of our five year anniversary, but that didn't really work," he said. "I'm horrible in the kitchen…I should have known this, but I was so caught up in the idea, I-" he was abruptly cut off as his boyfriend pressed his lips against the other's, effectively shutting the detective up. Sherlock tapped John's lips with his tongue, and the doctor obliged, opening his mouth. Their make out session escalated quickly, but was suddenly cut off by a knock at the door. They broke apart, panting for breath, and Sherlock called, "Who's there?"
"Molly!" the muffled shout came from behind the door. Sherlock smirked. She had become a wonderful friend; their most trusted, in fact. Shortly after John and Sherlock came out about being gay and a couple, she had approached Sherlock and told him that she had been in love with him, not just a little crush; full-fledged love. The high-functioning sociopath stood there, completely flabbergasted that he had missed that. He was one of the best detectives in the world, and he missed that. He had always thought it was just a little crush. But Molly also told him that she could see John would be better for him that she could ever be. Sherlock had smiled and thanked her, and then he invited her over for dinner with himself and John.
"Come on in, Mols!" John called. The knob turned and the girl walked in, closing the door behind her. She didn't take five steps before stopping and wrinkling her nose in disgust.
"What. Is. That. Smell?" she demanded. "Did Sherlock try and cook again?"
"Yes!" John replied, slightly exasperated. "Would you like to help clean up?" he finished his sentence as Molly walked into the kitchen, her eyes widening at the sight in front of her.
Two hours later, the three adults had finished cleaning the dishes, made breakfast, cleaned those dishes, gotten dressed (in the case of the men), made coffee, and sat down in the living room. Molly was in a fat armchair and John was on Sherlock's lap, who in turn was siting in a large leather recliner chair.
"So, how's life?" Molly asked.
"Good," John answered. "We were talking about adopting the other day, and we came to a consensus that we would like a baby girl."
Molly raised an eyebrow.
"Neither of you have any idea of how to raise a child, let alone a girl. Neither of you have a younger sister - John, your sister is older, you wouldn't have known any better - so you don't have any background info on what happens to girls in puberty - emotion wise, Sherlock - and she wouldn't like it when you had to take her shopping, or asking you about things like periods and tampons and-"
"Molly? Are you done?" Sherlock interrupted. Sighing, Molly nodded. "All right. John and I spoke about that already. It did come up. But we still want to adopt a baby girl. And besides, we can always ask you, right?" Molly grinned.
"Of course," she replied. Their conversation turned to various other topics and continued all day. Naturally, it was windy and rainy, so it's not like they would want to be outside. Mrs. Hudson popped in once to wish John and Sherlock a happy anniversary and to give them a gift. They attempted to decline it multiple times, but she insisted. It was a picture of the two of them, both smiling on Christmas Day. Tears came to both of their eyes, although they later denied it.
It was around eleven when Molly glanced at the clock and stifled a yawn.
"Alright, guys, I'm going to head; I'm hoping to finish something before I fall asleep."
"Bye, Molly," John said, rising to hug her, Sherlock following suit.
"It's on the kitchen counter," she mumbled to him.
"Thanks," he muttered in reply. She left, and John yawned.
"All right, Sher, I'm going to head to bed." Sherlock nodded, distracted by thoughts. "Happy Anniversary."
"Happy Anniversary, John." John turned and entered the bathroom, and when he reemerged, he went into the kitchen to find Sherlock toying with a small box. The consulting detective turned towards his boyfriend, took a step forward, and bent on one knee. John gasped, instinctively knowing what was happening.
"Will you marry me?" Sherlock asked, his eyes full of hope and endless love. It was a simple question, but the weight it carried was immense.
"Yes."