We love writing smut- and apparently lying to our readers. Lol. This isn't the last chapter- there will be a brief epilogue after this. Thanks for reading!
Shopping with Sherlock was like shopping with a very antsy, unruly, hyperactive five year old. John couldn't count the number of times he'd cajoled Sherlock into helping him with the shopping- really needing his help- only to lose the consulting detective in the process of acquiring the essentials for the flat and then spending the next thirty minutes trying to find him.
Once, John had even resorted to paging Sherlock over the intercom as if he were a wayward child. Sherlock had arrived at the appropriate till with his arms full of avocados, beanie babies, and cool whip, insisting they were all essential for his new experiment and pouting until John bought them for him.
Shopping with Sherlock was always hell.
This time was no different.
As soon as the doors slid open, Sherlock was off like a shot, leaving John behind to trail after him. John made sure to keep Sherlock in his line of sight. The supermarket was buzzing, noisy and crowded, and John knew he would have a job of it.
"JOHN!" Sherlock yelled loudly over his shoulder, attracting more than a few surprised stares from fellow shoppers as he aggressively commandeered a trolley. "Keep up, no time to lose! Where's the vegetable...bit?" He waved his hand in a vaguely questioning gesture, his keen eyes darting around intently, trying to deduce it.
"That way," John gestured, walking quickly to keep up with Sherlock's long strides as he set off for the fresh produce section. "There's canned pineapples too-" John started, only to receive a withering glare.
"I refuse to eat canned pineapples." John's posh diva replied, sniffing contemptuously. Rolling his eyes, John stayed stoically silent, turning down an aisle that contained oranges, grapefruit, peaches, kiwis, and various other fruits. He rather fancied some apples, now he thought of it…
Sherlock, glancing back at John, halted his empty trolley in barely-restrained irritation, practically baring his teeth at his partner. "John! Not now! We need the pineapples. We don't have time to waste on your airy-fairy browsing habit."
"On my what?"
"You always insist on taking a ridiculous amount of time browsing up and down every single aisle in the whole store…then you only buy two things and you've wasted all that time." Sherlock ranted. "Not today. We're here for one thing. Not...recreational purposes."
John quirked an expressive eyebrow and Sherlock successfully translated the intrinsic, unspoken message as 'But you're just here to buy comestibles that will change the taste of your semen. Isn't that recreational?"
Sherlock huffed and proceeded to the next aisle, frowning in confusion at the potatoes, carrots, parsnips, and cabbages. He turned to John. "Well, where are they?"
"Down near the end." John giggled, inordinately pleased seeing Sherlock at a loss and hunting for something. It was so rare and, if John were being honest, rather endearing.
Sherlock took off for the end of the aisle, his eyes lighting up when he found the spiky produce he'd been searching for. His hands hovered over the pineapples and he hummed under his breath as he poked and prodded the available specimens judgmentally.
"…Hang on...why is it with...these things?" Sherlock flicked his hand disdainfully at the large green sign that highlighted the 'Fruit' special offers section, his brow crinkling in confusion. He glanced around, looking for an employee. "They're stocking their products incorrectly. Pineapple isn't a fruit...someone should get reprimanded."
John tried, and failed, to choke back a giggle as he watched Sherlock peer around, searching for a member of staff like a hunting hawk.
"What're you on about?" He asked. "They're in the right place, Sherlock. They're fruit." He gave Sherlock an amused stare. "You didn't know that?"
"How was I supposed to know that?" Sherlock asked peevishly, selecting a pineapple and sniffing at it gingerly, careful of the spikes. He frowned and cautiously tossed the fruit from hand to hand, weighing it, before holding it up to his head and giving it an experimental shake.
"Probably because you're the one who told me to start eating pineapple. I...thought you knew." John trailed off, watching as Sherlock placed one...two…three spiky fruits into their trolley.
John stared in utter disbelief as Sherlock scooped up two large armfuls of pineapple and tossed them into the trolley before giving it a brief glance, obviously calculating how many more he could feasibly fit inside it.
"John. Help me. Fill it up." Sherlock took up another armful before noting John's incredulous face. He sighed. "I don't understand why you're looking so…put out. You always buy things. Anything I tell you, in fact. Even that posh heated lubricant I sent you on an errand for," He said, unconsciously rewarding himself with a few stunned and affronted glares from other shoppers in the vicinity. He dumped the next batch of pineapples into the trolley while John flushed, avoiding the curious stares from the other shoppers. "Besides, this is all for your benefit. I may not even like pineapple." Sherlock gave John his sweetest, most manipulative, crinkly grin, his eyes bright and charming.
John wasn't buying it.
"Ok, first off, no- this isn't for my benefit, Sherlock, it's for yours." He hissed, glancing around them furtively, making sure to keep his voice down and hoping Sherlock wouldn't say anything else embarrassing. John shopped extensively at this supermarket and didn't want to gain a…reputation. "And second- we can't buy that many pineapples. They'll all go bad. You'll never eat that many no matter what you're doing it for. Even if you like it. You'll make yourself sick and just waste our money."
Sherlock hesitated, eyeing the considerable and possibly suspicious-looking quantity of pineapple in the trolley. "We have room in our freezer, John, and Mrs. Hudson's for any spares. Molly might even be able to house some at the morgue."
Before John could start to argue on the inappropriateness of keeping fruit in a morgue, Sherlock shoved their trolley back down the aisle. "Might as well stock up on other things while we're here, John. What do they call the sex section these days? 'Personal items?' 'Intimate cosmetics? Where's the lubricant?" He gave John a cheeky wink over his shoulder
John was going to strangle him.
He really was.
He should've known better than to come with Sherlock on this errand.
He had known better. He had still wanted to come, though. Idiot.
John watched with irritated disbelief as Sherlock strolled off in the direction of the correct aisle with a previously non-existent sense of direction. He wondered if Sherlock had some sort of innate homing instinct for where sex products were located. Would explain a lot, actually.
John watched as Sherlock plucked up bottles of lubricant, choosing one of everything and scattering the packages atop the pineapples like naughty, suggestive confetti.
"You can't be serious."
"Of course I am." Sherlock held up two bottles for John's inspection. "Strawberry or cherry? I personally dislike the cherry but you've never tried it on me. I used the rest of our bottle when I had to prove that a man's fingers would indeed fit into a glass bottle so you never got the chance..."
When John failed to answer, gaping, Sherlock nodded as if in agreement. "You're right. Let's take both. It's possible I could make a cocktail from different flavours and use them when I rim you." Sherlock thoughtfully glanced at the tubes. "I know I haven't done it before, but it can't be too hard and the lube should help... What do you think, John?"
"I think this isn't the conversation to be having here." John said tightly, glancing around as if there were people standing in the deserted aisle, hanging on their every word. "We can talk about this when we get back to the flat, just...pick what you want and let's go."
Sherlock followed John's anxious gaze with a bemused frown, wondering what the problem was. "Have..." he swallowed and looked fittingly awkward and contrite, like a dog which has learnt what constitutes bad behaviour but had given in to temptation nevertheless. "...have I done something…wrong?"
John sighed, relenting, but still embarrassed. "No...you haven't done anything wrong. It's just...well, you get a bit eager and...I want our sex life to stay private, all right, Sherlock? I don't want random strangers knowing what we're buying that...ridiculous amount of pineapple for-" John chuckled, tried to stop, then gave himself over to laughter, unable to help himself, suddenly finding the whole thing hilarious. Sherlock's worried face relaxed into a smile, gazing lovingly at John as he snickered. "Or…or announcing to the whole store that we're going to the lubricant aisle. That was all...a bit not good..." John finished breathlessly giving Sherlock a fond smile. "You're unbelievable." He announced, taking the trolley from Sherlock and offering him his hand, which Sherlock immediately grasped. "We're using your card for all this, by the way."
By the time they got back to the flat with six carrier-bags full of pineapples and two of lubricant, Sherlock was already tellingly edgy. He grasped one of the fruits after dumping his bags onto the kitchen floor and peered at it, picking at the spikes experimentally with his fingernails. "How do these work?" he queried distantly. "John? Make this work."
"You've got to cut all the spikes off first. They don't just peel off. No- not that big of a knife, Sherlock!" John darted forward, taking away the bloody Japanese katana from Sherlock and pointing out the correct knife, closely supervising as Sherlock started slowly, methodically cutting away the inedible parts of the fruit to reveal the sweet, fleshy yellow within.
Sherlock glanced at John, seeking approval, as he finished slicing away the hard outer shell of the fruit. He licked his lips and quirked an eyebrow. "It's…ready now?" It looked daunting and inedible. A bit gross. But if eating it meant he got what he wanted…
"You've really never done this before, huh? Not quite." John said, showing Sherlock how to remove the core, make sure none of the spikes were left, and finally slice the fruit into chunks. He snagged one, chewing pleasurably, watching as Sherlock tentatively took a chunk and sniffed it, holding it up and observing the way the light played through it before licking it…then taking the smallest of bites.
John choked back a laugh, almost gagging on his own pineapple at the sight of Sherlock's stunned, wide-eyed reaction.
"Good, yeah?" He managed to get out, chuckling as Sherlock took another bite. And another. And then another. "Might want to slow down- you don't want to make yourself sick just because you like it." John cautioned, knowing it wouldn't do any good for him to say anything. When Sherlock found something he liked, he enjoyed it with a gusto and enthusiasm that bordered on the obscene. He invariably made himself sick of whatever it was he loved and never touched it again. It'd been that way with vanilla cupcakes. The almond milk. Chocolate covered blueberries. Mrs. Hudson's biscuits. John hoped Sherlock didn't do the same with sex.
Sherlock devoured the final, soft, sweet chunk of pineapple, his eyes closed, focussing on the sensation of saccharine tang on his tongue. He swallowed, glancing at John with a hint of hesitation as the shorter man cleared away the remnants of their pineapple, wiping down the sticky counter, and gave an assessing glance at the remaining fruit covering the surfaces of the kitchen.
"I don't know what we'll do with all this, Sherl. Not like you can eat it all in one day- and no, that wasn't a challenge don't go setting about trying to prove that a human being can do it, even if they shouldn't."
"I already texted Mrs. Hudson when you were faffing around with the pineapple. She's happy to keep half of them in her freezer." Sherlock cleared his throat, fidgeting, before taking John's hand and, without a word, led him to their bedroom. John, bemused, allowed himself to be towed down the hall, watching as Sherlock gnawed nervously upon his bottom lip, ran a frantic hand through his black curls.
He waited, patiently, for Sherlock to say whatever it was he needed to say.
"Listen, John...what I did today...I want to apologize for." Sherlock murmured, avoiding John's eyes as he spoke.
"You've already apologized-"
"That was roleplaying." Sherlock dismissed his earlier, forced apology with a wave of his hand. "That was...for fun. We were playing. This time...I really mean it, John." He gave John his best apologetic stare. "I am sorry."
John smiled, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's body, and felt the taller man sag against him. "It's fine...well...I mean, no, it's not fine but...I forgive you. I love you, Sherlock."
Locking his arms around John, Sherlock rested most of his weight on him, feeling John support him admirably. "I'm not lying, John, when I tell you this. And it's not...endorphins. It's not lies, it's not...something I would say unless I really meant it..." He paused before whispering against John's neck. "I love you. John Watson. I utterly love you. I don't know why or how you put up with me. I know I'm impossible sometimes...rude, arrogant...demanding...but...I am grateful-"
"Stop right there, Sherlock." John said sternly, pulling away and giving Sherlock his best no-nonsense frown. "I don't want you to be 'grateful' for me...putting up with you. I love you. You're a mad, impossible man who..." John smiled fondly. "...who does ridiculous things to get angry, rough sex when he could just ask...who wants to monopolize all my time and- as much as I complain about it-I'm flattered. It's...incredible...sometimes when I think about how much you love me." He cleared his throat uncomfortably and gave Sherlock another stern look. "So no more talking about being grateful, you idiot. If you want to tell me you love me...tell me that and leave out all the rest. Ok?"
"Would you mind spending the rest of your life with me?" Sherlock blurted out, his heart thrumming in a way that made him light-headed and giddy.
John blinked up at him, stunned. "What?"
And apparently stupid.
Sherlock awkwardly pulled away, averting his eyes, realizing he'd said something entirely not good. "...Sorry...if...um...," he murmured, truly lost for words. "I was...well...I thought…"
John chuckled and Sherlock's eyes darted between each of John's, trying to figure out if he were being laughed at or not.
He should have known John wouldn't laugh at him, though.
"Got to admit it's a good thing you asked, Sherlock." John admitted, face split wide by a happy smile. "I was already planning on spending the rest of my life with you and have been trying to think of ways to make you want the same and make sure you never get bored of me."
"I'd never get bored of you." Sherlock admitted quietly as John threaded their fingers together. "...So...you agree to stay with me, here, in the flat with stomach-churning specimens, pineapples, and tenuous sexual endeavours?"
"For the rest of our lives." John agreed happily, more amused than put-off by Sherlock's description. "Together."
Sherlock grinned, his pale face creasing in a sweet visage of joy. "...Can we, um...you can undress me." he offered, taking John's fingers and placing them on his shirt buttons, nudging them encouragingly.
John smiled, his heart turning over in his chest at Sherlock's sudden shyness. It always amazed him, he thought as he started slowly undoing the proffered buttons, lowering his head to kiss each newly exposed patch of skin, how Sherlock would provoke him and behave sluttishly in the most blatant of ways to get what he wanted- which was usually rough sex on any horizontal surface of the flat...but when he wanted something sweeter, something gentler and more loving...he lost all his nerve. He reverted back to the way he'd been the first time they had sex, when he'd been innocent and awkward, stuttering out what he wanted and blushing over saying those sorts of things out loud.
"Just...yes," Sherlock murmured vaguely, backing away from John and settling himself on the bed, toeing off his shoes and socks and burying his toes in the carpet, flexing them nervously as John knelt in front of him. John reached up, bringing Sherlock's head down so he could gently kiss him, slowly stroking his tongue along Sherlock's and burying his hands in Sherlock's thick curls. He didn't grasp at the silky curls, didn't tug or yank at them as he sometimes did. Instead, he used his light grip to gently direct their kiss, tipping Sherlock's head to the side.
They readjusted themselves on top of the duvet, crawling back onto the bed, getting comfortable, keeping the kiss unbroken. Sherlock sighed tremulously, shivering as his last physiological quirk of resistance fell, allowing him to surrender his body to John, slump against the mattress, close his eyes, and weakly flick his tongue against John's.
He didn't know why he always felt this way when they had sex. When there was no teasing. No playing. When it was just them, just John between his legs, smiling up at him with such a sweet, loving smile that Sherlock wanted to close his eyes and pretend he hadn't seen it- just as much he wanted to bask in the obvious love and desire John had for him and somehow manage to preserve it and never let it slip away.
"What do you want, love?" John asked, breaking into Sherlock's embarrassingly maudlin thoughts. John toyed with Sherlock's belt, each movement making something low and hot thud in arousal in Sherlock's abdomen. "What do you want?"
"I want to remember everything," came the slightly-choked answer and Sherlock winced as he realised, a few seconds later, that his brain-to-vocal chords filter was functioning even more poorly than usual.
"What do you want to remember?" John asked curiously, raising up so he could press kisses along Sherlock's jaw, small, licking kisses along the column of his neck, and take his earlobe between his teeth, biting carefully so as to elicit only the smallest of shudders.
Sherlock, though, had no words to answer John with. He shook his head, hands coming up to grip at John's arms as if to stop him from moving away, wanting to pull him closer and never let go. He didn't understand how John thought he would be the one to get bored- when it was obvious to Sherlock that it was the other way round. John would get bored and tired and fed-up of Sherlock long, long, long before Sherlock came close to doing the same to John.
"Do you want to remember how we first made love- and don't argue with me, Sherlock, that's exactly what we did-...the first time, here in this bed? How you shook and came for me before I was even inside you?" John asked, nibbling at Sherlock's throat. "Do you want to remember how beautiful I thought you were? How I couldn't believe that you wanted me? That it took you almost thirty minutes to convince me?"
Sherlock licked his lips, taking a deep breath before exhaling it forcibly as John bit at his collarbone before laving over it soothingly. Sherlock gasped, swallowing thickly a few times before sucking in a breath to enable him to speak, staggeringly. "T...tell me...how you felt, what you...how you felt," He mumbled, rather incoherently, hoping John understood what he was saying. "How you felt…when we…"
John chuckled, sending tremors through Sherlock's body. "Couldn't you have just deduced it?" He asked, pushing Sherlock's shirt from his shoulders and skimming his hands along the smooth, pale chest in front of him. "It was there...plain as day for you to see. For anyone to have seen, probably. How much I wanted you." John licked at Sherlock's nipple, sucking it into his mouth and laving over and over it with his tongue as Sherlock's already nervous composure began faltering even further.
"I wanted you in every possible way." John murmured, ducking his head and giving the other nipple the same treatment. "I loved you...before...then...now...I probably always will." He admitted, raising back up so he could seal their lips together again. "You're...you're...part of me." He whispered against Sherlock's lips, flushing at the incredibly stupid, sappy way that sounded but he didn't know how else to say it, didn't know how else to convey to Sherlock how much he had wormed his way into every facet of John's life, leaving behind an indelible mark.
Sherlock, dizzied and dazed by lust, by the cloying words John was saying, flinched in delight as John relentlessly smooched across his cheekbones, his jaw, traced the little dip of his philtrum with his tongue, making Sherlock gasp.
"You make it...you make it sound like...oh fuck," Sherlock groaned, as John's fingers delicately but knowledgeably slid between his legs.
"Make it sound like what?" John asked, rubbing Sherlock's cock through his trousers, his fingers dipping down further to tease at his balls through the thin fabric. When Sherlock's thighs began to tremble, flexing to either side of John, he began undoing Sherlock's belt and flies, pulling the fabric from Sherlock's hips.
Sherlock groaned in gratitude as John pulled down his trousers to mid-thigh, freeing his cock and giving it a few firm strokes. "S-strip me. The rest of the way. Please," he slurred in a deep, hungry tone.
"You don't have to beg, Sherl." John said, doing as Sherlock had asked and tossing the trousers and pants to the side, turning to eye Sherlock's erection, bobbing in front of him. "You don't have to beg me for anything. Whatever you want, I'll give it to you." John promised, stroking Sherlock's cock, gliding along the length of it, rubbing his thumb across the head, moaning breathlessly when it grew harder in his hand.
Sherlock gritted his teeth, whining softly as John's thumb eased a rewarding, pleasurable spool of pre-come from the tip of his cock. "John, it won't be long," He uttered in warning. "Take me."
"Yes, sir." John replied cheekily, pulling away long enough to shed his own clothes and grab the lube from the bedside table. Sherlock eagerly scrambled back on the bed, his heart thrumming in his chest as John crawled up his body, his eyes dark with want but his face open and smiling.
"God, but you're gorgeous." He said, pinching Sherlock's hip teasingly, his tongue between his teeth as Sherlock wriggled and yelped.
"...Was going to say...you make it sound like...like you're head-over-heels," Sherlock huffed, laughing nervously, extending one long-fingered hand to seek hopeful reassurance from his partner.
John took his hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing it chastely. "I am, Sherlock. I'm hopelessly, irredeemably, shamelessly, and irrevocably head-over-heels in love with you. Didn't you already know?" His lips quirked up in a teasing smirk when he saw Sherlock's chin start to buckle. "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways."
Sherlock, torn between being sarcastically derogatory and happily accepting the heartfelt sentiments, rapidly blinked his stinging eyes, his lower lip twitching, not knowing what to say.
John, though, didn't give him a chance to respond, moving between his legs and uncapping the bottle of lube.
"I love you when you're being stroppy and rude because you don't have a case, bashing around the flat and snapping at me every time I clear my throat." He eased one lubricated finger into Sherlock's already still-stretched from earlier body. "I love you when you're sulking and won't talk to me. I love you when you're happy, when your eyes light up and you're laughing. I love to hear you laugh, Sherlock." John murmured, kissing the base of Sherlock's cock before taking it in his mouth as he eased another finger in alongside the first and began a slow, rocking rhythm, keeping his movements slow and unhurried. He loved having rough sex with Sherlock…but that didn't mean he didn't equally love making love to the consulting detective when given the chance.
"...John," Sherlock managed, gulping inelegantly before wetting his lips. "I...you're so...I'm..." He quivered with a full-body, pre-orgasm jolt, resulting in a couple of strangled gasps and more fluid beading from his cock. "John-" Sherlock said warningly and John sat back on his heels, his fingers still moving inside Sherlock's body.
"It's ok." He soothed, smiling fondly at his wreck of a lover. "I love you when you're coming too quickly, when you want me so much and you're enjoying what we're doing so much that you can't help yourself, you can't control yourself. You…can't control yourself. I love it."
"That's...but...I don't...I want you inside me." Sherlock managed to grate out, sighing thankfully when John immediately removed his fingers and slicked up his cock.
"Love you when you're being bossy and demanding. I love you when you try to be bossy and demanding…but we both know you're just wanting me to bend you over and fuck you." John said wickedly, easing his cock against Sherlock's wet, loosened hole, hissing as he breached his body and the first, blissful slide inside made him shudder.
Sherlock's resulting, barely-audible groan was delicious...and after John had tentatively thrust once inside his lover, making sure he wasn't too sore for this, Sherlock became more vocal. His fingers gripped demandingly, desperately, at the tight flesh of John's shoulders, managing to avoid pressure on the milky keloid remains of the vicious bullet wound.
"Love you...Oh, Christ..." John moaned, bucking into Sherlock's body reflexively, his body fighting against his desire to keep this slow and gentle. John managed to gain control of himself with another shudder and leaned down to mouth against Sherlock's neck as he moved his hips in a ceaseless, steady rhythm, rocking into Sherlock again and again.
"I love you...when you're on a case and you're...amazing everyone with how brilliant you are...when you turn to look at me because you...want me to be amazed too. God- I'm always amazed by you, Sherlock." John panted, feeling Sherlock's breaths huffing warmly on his shoulder, his fingers digging more and more brutally into John's skin as his pleasure built. "I love you when you're making me angry. Without even knowing what you're doing...and you give me that look because you don't understand. I love you when you're making me angry on purpose...and you know it and I know it...and we both know where it's going to end up but we like to pretend it won't...Oh…" John sped up his thrusts as he felt Sherlock's muscles begin fluttering around him, knowing the other man was close, the knowledge making the arousal in his own body coil tighter, spark and flare.
"...John...wait," Sherlock managed, heaving for breath, his cock throbbing between them and his whole body telling him that he needed to release, now. He forced down his desperation, pulling in a few deep breaths before spitting out what he needed to say as if his life depended on it. "You...I...wouldn't be here...without you...you've...saved me...I need you...please stay with me..."
"I'm not leaving you." John promised, kissing Sherlock a bit sloppily as they were both panting, far gone and dazed with pleasure. "I'm not leaving you. I wouldn't leave you...Haven't you been listening to me? I- Christ...I love you so much." John reached down between them and fisted Sherlock's cock, thrusting shallowly into his body, urging him to come, his own orgasm not far off. "I won't leave you. Ever. I won't…I love you...just you. Just as you are. Even when you're being a dick and we're fighting- actually fighting and angry at each other- even then, I love you with all my heart."
"...I'm...I'm nearly...oh..." Sherlock wavered on the edge of his orgasm, voice raw and torn with effort, brow crinkling and his whole body tensed in anticipation.
"Come, sweetheart." John murmured encouragingly, stroking Sherlock's cock faster, his own hips moving faster as he felt the beginnings of his own orgasm uncoiling, unable to stop it. "Come for me."
"Kiss me," came the sudden, aggressive demand and John quickly leaned down, kissing Sherlock as passionately as he could, trying to pour all his emotions into the kiss. He felt Sherlock tense, then he cried out against John's lips, his muscles clamping down on John's cock as he came, come slicking between them and sending John juddering into his own orgasm, leaving him panting against Sherlock's mouth.
Sherlock could feel himself trembling beneath John's body, collapsed, hot and sweaty, on top of him, and he wrapped his arms and legs around John, trying to anchor himself. He was shaking, his chest tight, and felt as if he were about to fly off in a million directions. John seemed to sense his discomfort and pressed a kiss against Sherlock's cheek, choosing to ignore the moisture he found there- for which Sherlock was grateful.
"It's ok, Sherlock. I'm never going anywhere...I'll always be right here. I promise. I love you."
Sherlock's eyes closed at John's words and he scrabbled at John's body, seeking solace amongst the hot, wet skin and beautiful racing pulse in the arteries of his throat and wrists. "John, you know...I love you? Properly?"
John let himself be squeezed in the tight embrace, knowing what Sherlock always needed after they made love. "Properly?" He teased, lightly, kissing him again. "As opposed to improperly?"
Sherlock rolled eyes, the expression inconvenienced by his wet eyelashes which were glued together in pretty, tear-soaked cobwebs. "Improperly is fine, too," He murmured, "but I'd rather you know that I love you like a...a real person. Like...in the movies."
"In the movies with all the romantic music and the heated looks and the happily ever afters?" John asked, raising up on his elbow so he could stare down at Sherlock who avoided his gaze, still feeling vulnerable and hating it. John tiled his chin until Sherlock was forced to meet his eyes.
"I don't know how else to describe it, John." Sherlock snapped. "I've never loved anyone else before- not like I love you. It's...That's the best way I know how to describe it and you-"
John silenced his bitter tirade with a kiss. "It's perfect, Sherlock. I love you too. Like in the movies."
Sherlock beamed a beautiful, rare, genuine smile, his pale skin wrinkling into charming dimples. "Like in the movies." He agreed.
"With our own happily ever after." John whispered back, kissing him again.
