(This chapter is dedicated to 8of9 and SilverOcean01. A toast to your health and continued inspiration!)

"Was that okay?" John asked quietly after a long, long silence. "I probably should hav-"

Sherlock cut him off by rolling over and giving him a long kiss.

John humphed and then laughed, eagerly answering the kiss. "Soo…that was okay then?" he asked, tugging at wild curls.

Sherlock smiled into the kiss and nodded.

"Good." John wound his arms around his boyfriend and held him close for a while. After ten minutes or so of just enjoying each other and being together, John asked, "Would you like anything? Like... food, drink, tea?"

Sherlock pecked John on the nose, running a hand up his side. "Nope. Just you. You're perfect."

"Flirt," John scolded fondly, and he sighed happily. "I love you, Sherlock. And I'm... grateful that we shared all this," the soldier added with a flushed face.

Sherlock smiled a little. "I know, so am I, though I truly can't help wondering how many time you've said that to someone else. It's stupidly sentimental, but…"

John sighed and flopped down on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Well, that killed the mood.

"It's true though, isn't it?" he asked quietly. "How can I ever be special?"

"No, it's not," John snapped, giving him a glare. "It is not true." He sat up and swung his legs out of bed. "I need the loo."

Sherlock sighed, curling in on himself a little. Yes, yes it was true, or John wouldn't be angry. How could he know that he was different from any of the other people John spent his nights with? He told them he loved them, didn't he? And that he was glad they'd been together?

John relieved his bladder, staring blindly at the wall. It wasn't true.

John was one of those people who found it not so hard to express their feelings, but never had he felt more strongly than about Sherlock. He had one night stands, yes, but he had never told any of those women that he loved them, simply because it wasn't true. Only Sherlock could rouse those feelings in him, and that the man in question doubted that, that bloody well hurt.

The young detective sat up in bed, feeling slightly bad for saying what he had, even though he had meant it. John was his first, and his last, but it wasn't the same for the other.

John got up a bit later and made his way to the kitchen, having thrown on his dressing gown. He sighed deeply and sank down on a chair, staring miserably in his cuppa.

Sherlock noticed that John didn't come back to bed, and got up, heading down the stairs too.

John sighed deeply and listlessly stirred his cold tea. He glanced up when Sherlock entered the kitchen.

Sherlock smiled down at him, tentatively sitting next to him. "I'm sorry?" he attempted.

John huffed and shrugged. "What for?"

"For what I said. You're obviously upset. I shouldn't have been honest, it always stuffs everything up."

John groaned and ran a hand through his hair. "Don't be like this, Sherlock. You should always be honest. But if you think I shag around, telling people I love them, you're wrong."

"But what's the difference between the relationship you had with them and the one you have with me?"

John stared at Sherlock, looking for words. After a while he said, "We are meant to be. I... I searched for someone who'd make me feel like you do, but you're the only one."

"How can you be sure? You've not met everyone in the world. What if…what if you go back to Afghanistan and forget me when you come back? You're gone forever each time."

John took a deep breath and looked at his friend, his lover. "Oh, Lock," he said fondly after a while, "I would never forget you. And I would never want someone else."

He curled up beside him, resting his cheek against John's. "I might get boring," he reminded him.

John giggled and wrapped an arm around a narrow waist. "Never, Sherlock. You will never get boring." He turned his head a little and pressed a gently kiss to Sherlock's cheek. "I probably will, though. I'm average."

"Rubbish. You're not average. Army doctors are rare, and you're just one of a kind."

A gentle smile appeared on John's face. "Okay, if you say so. I'll trust your judgement, then." He gave his cheek another kiss and then got up to make another cuppa. "Do you want some tea, Lock?"

"Alright…wait, why are you dressed?" Sherlock complained, following him into the kitchen. "It was dark in the bedroom and I didn't get to admire you properly as it is."

John glanced backwards at his friend, a smirk around his lips. "I thought you already know what I look like. It's nothing special."

Sherlock's eyebrows both shot up. "Nothing special? John Watson, have you looked in the mirror? You know what, you probably have. And I'm jealous because you're allowed to look at yourself whenever you want and I only got one opportunity…in the dark."

John chuckled softly, and turned around to see Sherlock. He leaned casually against the counter. "It's just a dressing gown, handsome. Known for being easily removed."

Sherlock smirked, placing a hand on either side of him so that the soldier couldn't get away. Gently, he leaned in and sealed their lips.

John made a soft noise and placed his hands on two naked hips, pulling the both of them closer together until he could feel Sherlock's warmth.

"Love you," he whispered, pinning him to the bench with his pelvis while his hand moved to untie his dressing gown.

John bit his lip and then smiled at Sherlock, curious as to how he would respond to the tattoo on his upper arm.

As the dressing gown fell to John's feet, the tattoo was the first thing Sherlock noticed. He blinked at it in surprise. "…John?"

John smirked and showed it off. "Yeah... You didn't see it last night?" he asked, tilting his head a little.

"No, actually…I was focused on…other things. You know you could've got ink poisoning from that, you realise?"

"It was a really clean shop, Sherlock, don't worry." John smiled and pointed at it. "It's the coat of arms of my platoon, see? The snake is because I'm a doctor."

Sherlock chuckled softly, nodding. "I know what it is, John." He sat up on the bench beside him, still fascinated. "Why did you get it?"

"Cute," Sherlock mused with a smile, nodding in comprehension. He dropped a brief kiss on it before turning his attention elsewhere.

John smiled at his friend and raised an eyebrow. "Like what you see?"

He gave him a naughty grin, nodding and kissing his pectorals. "Love what I see."

"Oh, that's even better," John replied, slightly breathless. "Thanks."

"No worries," he sucked lightly on his skin.

John closed his eyes, groaning softly when the water was boiling. "One sec, handsome," he mumbled, getting up to make them some tea.

Sherlock smiled naughtily, waiting for John to finish making the tea, arms around his waist and his hands gently dipping lower.

A choked sound escaped John's throat when his entire body went still in anticipation of what Sherlock would do.

Sherlock gave him a gentle caress, before pulling away with a smile. "Apologies. I'm being distracting."

John shivered once and shrugged. "I... I don't mind, actually."

"Bring the tea into the lounge." He smirked, "I'll join you in a second, John." With that, he turned and went upstairs.

John blinked and bit his lip as he made the tea. He grabbed his dressing gown from the floor and put it on again, mostly because he was feeling a bit cold. He carried the tray to the living room and sat down on the sofa.

Sherlock returned with a photo album in hand, jogging down the stairs and curling up beside him on the sofa. It was a collection of pictures of their time together, from preschool years to their high school graduation. It really hadn't been that long ago.

John grinned when he recognised the album. He pulled Sherlock close against him, by curling an arm around his waist. "Sentimentalist," he teased him gently, "I thought you didn't want to save all those pictures up..."

"Yeah, well," he blushed, "I've been bored. And I've fixed everything up while you've been away – I put in headings, captions, everything." He opened it to the very first picture of them together in existence, a picture of them playing with building blocks in John's childhood room.

John pressed a kiss to Sherlock's shoulder and smiled. "You were so cute," he said softly, "Those curls... Remember you always wanted to build a pirate ship?"

He giggled a little, turning red. "Mm. So were you. Your nose looked even more adorable on a baby version of you."

"My nose? What's wrong with my nose? This..." He tapped the thing in question. "This is a very normal nose."

"It's just very…cute," Sherlock said eventually, giving it a small peck.

"Oh, shush!" John shook his head, laughing. He looked back at the photo. "How old were we here? Four?"

"Spot on, John. Well, almost – I was three years and eight months of age and you just a bit older, but cuter." He grinned.

John fondly rolled his eyes, ruffling Sherlock's curls. "Yeah, yeah, you said so." He smiled and planted a soft kiss on Sherlock's temple. "What's the next one?"

He flipped the picture over to John and Sherlock's first days of school for the year – with Sherlock starting kindergarten and John starting Year One.

John cooed softly and smiled. "I always liked to wait for you near the gate until you were finished with that. You always complained at how stupid people were. Still do, actually. It's a miracle you think me intelligent enough."

He softly rubbed his waist, chuckling. "Intelligence is more than the grade on your report, John – it is also perceptiveness, knowledge and comprehension. All of which you have."

John smiled and leaned against him. "Thanks. You are being awfully nice, you know that?"

"Don't get used to it. You don't want to wear yourself out, since I'm only like this at certain times." He teased.

John playfully narrowed his eyes and shot back, "Well, I've got quite some stamina, love."

"Do I hear a challenge in that?"

John smirked. "Oh hell yeah."

He gently pulled him flush against his body.

John sighed happily and tilted his face upwards for a kiss.

Sherlock answered with a passionate one, his tongue looking for entrance into the other's mouth.

John's blue eyes fluttered shut and a soft, pleasured noise escaped his throat when he parted his lips for his friend/boyfriend. When their tongues touched, John's hands curled in the expensive fabric of Sherlock's dressing gown, and he moaned softly.

"I could take you to bed right now and – "
"Sherlock! John! What are you both up to dearies?" the cheerful voice of their landlady drifted into the room as she climbed the stairs to greet them.

Author's Note: SherlockedSherlockian

Merry Christmas dear readers!
This is our Christmas gift to you all! And if you've been extra good, I might try (no promises ;) ) to throw in another chapter for New Year's! Thank you for being wonderful , dedicated Sherlockians, and I know I speak on behalf of both CowMow and myself when I wish you a blessed, memorable and joyful Christmas and a New Year filled with success and surprises. Remember, if you ever feel alone this season, you certainly are not – together, our fandom is a family, and that is one of the best things about being a Sherlockian.

We may be crazy like no other, but we also love like no other.

Thank you, Sherlockians, for being a family we can all treasure. Stay beautiful.

Yours Always,
SherlockedSherlockian xxx

Shout Outs (WE OWE YOU!)

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