John was standing in the doorway, opened box in his left hand, the ring still inside. His lips were parted, and his mouth looked like it couldn't decide if it wanted to beam or gape in shock. His eyes were bright and shimmering, but dry.
John blinked and swallowed hard. "Sherlock, you...Really?"
Sherlock's throat felt like the desert. "I...Yes. Where's Billie?"
"I gave her to Mrs. Hudson for a bit," he said, walking to the bed, looking down at his feet. He stood in front of Sherlock, apprehension painted across his face. "You're serious?"
That wasn't really the response Sherlock had wanted. "I'm absolutely serious," he said, almost feeling offended that John would ask such a question.
John's eyes flickered down to the ring in the box. "You really are," he said, more so to himself.
"John," Sherlock sat on his knees on the bed, "why wouldn't I be serious? Why would I joke about such a thing?"
His mouth twisted. "You did with Janine."
Oh. Sherlock had honestly forgotten about that. Even so, he was surprised that incident was apparently filling John with apprehension. Janine was different Janine wasn't John. "John," Sherlock grasped his shoulder, "you are not Janine. This isn't a tactic for a case, this is…" His heart felt heavy. The only thing that kept him from despair was that it looked like John was in genuine disbelief, and not any sort of disgust. He wasn't displaying signs of rejection, either. (Please don't say no.) "I wouldn't do that to you. I couldn't." It was crucial that John understood. "When you were in the hospital, right after Mary shot you, I looked at you in the bed, unconscious, an IV in your arm, and it truly hit me how I nearly lost you. I would think of you, before the ambulance arrived, alone, wounded, and bleeding, and I would feel physically ill. Life is short, John."
John blinked rapidly, breathing deeply.
Sherlock gulped, removing his hand from John's shoulder slowly, folding both hands on his lap meekly. "We spent years concealing everything. I don't want to do that anymore, not after everything that's happened." His palms were sweating. "I want you to know how much I love you."
John's jaw clenched, and his lower lip quivered ever so slightly.
Sherlock looked directly into his eyes. "That's why I want to marry you, John." They stared at each other in silence, the air in the room suddenly feeling oppressive and stuffy. "However," his eyes lowered, "if you don't want-"
John cupped Sherlock's jaw roughly and smashed their lips together, making Sherlock gasp. John quickly pulled back, though, and hugged him tightly, arms around his neck. "I'm sorry, Sherlock," he whispered hoarsely. "I shouldn't have doubted you, it wasn't fair. I just couldn't believe you'd want to marry me, after all…"
"All what?" Sherlock asked.
"Me being a dick when I was recovering," he said, sounding miserable and guilty.
"No, John," Sherlock gently grabbed his shoulders again and pulled him back. "You're not a very good patient, I'll give you that, but did you honestly think I would be angry at you because you were upset and injured?"
John had a watery smile. "I guess I sound like a bit of a prat when you put it like that."
"Perhaps," Sherlock joked lightly, although he wasn't calm yet. John still didn't give him an answer. He grew serious. "You couldn't stop me from wanting to marry you even if you tried, John. You are-of utmost importance to me." He felt heat consume his neck. "You don't just own my heart, John: you saved it."
John brought a hand to his mouth, giggling into his palm giddily, two tears leaving his eyes.
This was a good reaction. Sherlock allowed himself to hope and beam brightly. "You haven't given me an answer, you know."
"Yes," John nodded, removing his hand from his mouth, revealing a dazzling smile. "Yes, of course I'll bloody marry you, Sherlock."
Sherlock threw himself on John in relief, hugging him, and since he was still kneeling on the bed, his face was smashed against John's jumper-clad chest.
John giggled and ruffled Sherlock's hair playfully. "I can't believe you made Billie propose for you. You're mad."
"But it worked," he said into John's jumper.
"It did. I was shocked at the time, but it was pretty adorable. You're adorable."
Sherlock grumbled, because he always did when John called him that, and he sat up straight. "I believe the tradition is for me to put the ring on you?"
"Then be a gentleman and follow tradition," John held out the box, his hand shaking slightly.
Sherlock took out the silver band, set the box down on the edge of the mattress, and slowly slid the ring onto John's left ring finger. He was so happy he felt like he could cry. "Kiss me, John."
John kissed him, his lips warm and welcoming, hands cupping his face.
Sherlock felt the cool metal of the ring on his skin and he whined, deepening the kiss, needing John now. He just had confirmation John wanted to be with him forever. And be legally binded together. "Let me touch you, John," he said into the kiss. "Please."
"Fuck, yeah," John said, pushing Sherlock onto the bed. "Why do you think I gave Billie to Mrs. Hudson?"
Sherlock smirked. "Planned ahead. Smart." His eyes caught sight of the ring on John's finger, and a lump formed in his throat.
John leaned down and kissed him, climbing on top of him. "Stop crying, Sherlock, or you'll get me started again."
"I want you," he murmured, nuzzling kisses into his temple, the feeling of John's muscular thighs and hips against his, igniting a flame in his groin. He wrapped his arms around John's waist and tugged him onto the bed, next to him. He kissed John slowly, but with heat, their lips sliding, Sherlock tentatively sucking his bottom lip. Sherlock kissed him deeper, subconsciously leaning his body forward, wanting to press himself against John. He wanted to be close to him, to be connected. He wanted John inside of him, or to be inside of John. He didn't care at this point. Either way would work. He just needed to be connected.
John moaned into the kiss, and Sherlock realized that he had John on his back, grinding against him, and his tongue was in his mouth. When did that happen? Oh well, John was enjoying it-they were both hard. No, they couldn't get wrapped up doing this. He needed more. "What do you want, John?" he asked, moving his lips to latch onto John's stubbled jaw. He loved John's prickly stubble on his lips; it never failed to make him shiver and tremble.
"Mmm, dunno. Anything," John said, vice turning deliciously low and husky.
"We're at an impasse," Sherlock nibbled his earlobe. "I have no preference."
John's hips squirmed beneath his. "Mmm, you're enjoying climbing on top of me today."
"I want you," Sherlock sucked the spot just below his ear, the spot that always made John's breath hitch.
It worked. His breath hitched, "Fuck, Sherlock. I know what you want, and I want it, too. I-I want one-specific thing."
Sherlock knew John was asking to be on the bottom. If he wanted to fuck Sherlock, he just outright said it, but when it was the other way around, he grew more subtle, almost sheepish, although John rarely got sheepish. Sherlock suspected that it was because, before their relationship, John had always taken the "dominant" role, but Sherlock didn't think either of them was more dominant or submissive than the other. They were on the same level, and some nights, Sherlock really needed to be coddled, and other nights, John really needed it. Some nights, they both needed to cling to each other, or they both needed to be rough.
Sherlock had never been in a relationship before John, so he didn't have to adjust to any change of pace with being in what was considered the more dominant or submissive role. John did. However, Sherlock suspected that John's shyness around this act was more so due to him feeling vulnerable, and having trust issues. If Sherlock really thought about it, he was very pleased and almost honored that John trusted him enough to do this.
He would never voice any of this aloud, though. "Yes?" Sherlock asked, his lips brushing John's ear. He kept pressing small kisses to his neck and jaw, knowing making eye contact would increase John's bashfulness with requesting this.
"On my side," John said, clearing his throat, "with you behind me. Know what-?"
"I know what you mean," Sherlock kissed his lips firmly. "Yes, we can do that. Your leg-"
"Is fine," John smiled. "We've done this before. I'll just have the bad leg on top."
"You sure?"
"Positive." He smiled. "I love you."
"All right," Sherlock smiled back and, his stomach fluttering with anticipation. "All right." He reached over John to the bedside table and opened the drawer.
"Do you always have to get everything ahead of time?"
"I don't want to stop in the middle of things to get lubricant, John," he said, bringing the bottle to the side of the bed.
"Fair enough," John said, smirking slowly. "Or are you stalling?" He licked his lips teasingly. "You nervous?"
Sherlock wasn't, but seeing John laying on his back, hands by his head, pliant and open and licking his lips, turned his face red and he maybe felt the smallest bit of nerves. "Don't be silly," he muttered and kissed him, licking the seam of John's lips. John's hand reached up and tangled in the curls at Sherlock's nape, tugging lightly, grinding their growing bulges together, hooking his ankle over Sherlock's calf. Their hips rocked together, the warm friction of their clothed hardness making their breath grow faster, and long kisses turning shorter, harder, the liquid heat in Sherlock's abdomen traveling down to his groin, turning him harder, more eager. His hand explored and went under John's jumper, smoothing over his toned chest and nipples. He pulled up John's jumper, and they broke the kiss briefly to remove it, throwing the jumper on the floor.
"C'mere," John murmured, pulling him down by his shirt collar and going back to kissing him. Sherlock's hand resumed its exploration, reaching down to feel John's erection. He felt close to full hardness already. He didn't like to keep John waiting. He unzipped John's jeans, and he felt John's hands unbutton his dress shirt. They never took their time undressing each other. Sherlock knew that was supposed to be a sensual part of foreplay, but he thought that simply wasted time, and he was glad John agreed.
Once they were naked, Sherlock took a moment to let his eyes roam over John's body. John's hair was mussed and a gorgeous blush was blooming across his cheeks and ears. He was looking up at Sherlock with all of the trust in the world, legs bent at the knees and spread apart, cock hard against his stomach. He looked divine. If he didn't have other things in mind, he would have just sucked John off, then and there. Sherlock's eye caught the silver ring on John's finger, and he felt like his breath was stolen from his very lungs.
John's red, slightly swollen lips pulled up in a warm, soft smile. "Okay, Sherlock?"
"I'm more than okay," he said, voice leaving his lips like velvet. He kissed John soundly and fumbled blindly for the bottle of lube on the bed. He found it and uncapped the lid with his thumb. John's hand cupped his jaw, and Sherlock felt the ring again. His throat tightened. Would he ever get used to that feeling? His hand wrapped around John's length and stroked lightly, only a tease, and his own cock throbbed at the sound of John's throaty moan. His thumb rubbed over the tip and he started kissing John's neck, wanting to feel the vibrations of his moans and groans on his lips. He pressed deep kisses to the side of his neck, nipping as he stroked John a little harder, the skin hot and rock solid beneath his palm. His lips latched onto John's Adam's apple, lips tingling with John's grunt. He looked up to find John's brow creased and his lips parted with pleasure. Sherlock felt a low, quiet growl rumble in his chest and he bit the side of John's neck, and tugged gently on his sack.
John choked out a moan, and Sherlock took the opportunity to squeeze a glob of lube on his fingertips. His index finger circled around John's entrance, the fuzzy, dark blond hair smoothing under his wet fingertip. Still pressing wet kisses to his neck, Sherlock gently slid his finger inside of John's hot, tight hole.
John let out a small whimper, tossing his head to the side, his fingers clenching in the duvet.
Sherlock's head shot up in alarm, finger stilling. "Did I-?"
"No, no, keep going," John protested. "It feels good."
Sherlock's muscles relaxed in relief, and he began to press gentle kisses to John's ear, wanting to offer him comfort in contrast to his prodding fingers. He worked his finger inside of John, shivering at the knowledge that his length would be inside of him soon, the thought alone bringing him to full hardness. He moved his finger in and out a few times, slowly, and when he felt no resistance, he pushed a second finger in. John groaned deeply as Sherlock spread his fingers apart, stretching John, and he kissed him when John's eyes screwed shut. He slid his fingers out and in several times, John's inner walls warm against his fingers and slowly beginning to relax. He wanted to ensure he would not hurt John later on.
John bit his lower lip, a shallow breath shuddering from his chest. "I'm fine," he panted into Sherlock's ear, "come on."
"It's been awhile," Sherlock said into his skin, sucking his collarbone. He thrust his fingers in and out steadily.
John's hips bucked up and he threw the back of his hand over his mouth, fingers balling into a fist, biting the skin, muffling a broken moan. His hand wrapped around his dick, but Sherlock took it away. "You'll come."
John groaned in frustration. "Then get in me. You won't hurt me, and if you do, I'll say so."
When John decided to be in this position, he tended to become rather bossy. Sherlock liked it. "Okay," Sherlock agreed, sliding his fingers out gently. He was secretly pleased, because his own arousal was now borderline painful. "Roll on your side?"
John nodded, a flash of tentativeness in his eyes.
Sherlock couldn't hold back a moan as he lubricated his cock, and he lay down on his side behind John, nudging his tip against the swell of his buttocks. He hooked his leg over John's hip.
"How's your leg?" he asked.
"It's fine," John said, turning his head and capturing Sherlock's lips. "Please, Sherlock, I want to be close to you," his whispered, voice dripping with lust.
Sherlock swallowed and he nodded curtly. He nudged his prick against John's entrance, slowly entering him, and Sherlock's mouth dropped open when his tip was engulfed by heat. Sherlock pressed the front of his body against his back, wrapping his arms around his torso, hugging him from behind as his cock went deeper into John.
John inhaled deeply, grabbing the pillow, clenching around Sherlock. "Ohhh, fuck."
Sherlock buried his face into John's shoulder, hips rocking on their own accord. He forgot how fucking amazing it felt to do it this way, being utterly consumed by tight, intense heat. He trembled and moaned, holding John against his chest, his heart beating heavily.
John gave a muffled groan and said, "Move."
Sherlock thrust gently so he was fully seated inside of John, slid out until only the tip remained, and slid back in, causing them both to moan and quiver. Pulses of pleasures cascaded down his body, causing his toes to clench. He held John and thrust steadily, each snap of his hips eliciting panting from John.
"Feels so fuckin' good, Sherlock," he turned his head and tried to kiss him.
Sherlock lifted his head and found his lips, moaning into his mouth, the all-encompassing heat and tightness of John rendering him speechless. The movements of his hips rocked them forward and backward, the mattress squeaking under their weight. Sherlock let out a soft cry into John's mouth when he shifted his hips and changed the angle slightly, delving even deeper into John. The warm velvet bliss made Sherlock thrust harder, the primal instincts he had fought so valiantly for years breaking through and taking over.
John gasped and rolled his head on the pillow, hand scrambling to grab Sherlock's.
Sherlock held John closer and smeared kisses along his broad shoulder, an overwhelming bubble of lust and adoration threatening to explode, and his chest felt too tight. His eyes shot open and he cried out. "John," he pleaded into his ear. "John, it's too much."
John turned his head and kissed his forehead. "Take your time," he said shakily, clearly trying to keep it together. "It's okay, sweetheart. I love you."
Beautiful John, always wanting to care for him, neglecting his own needs. No, Sherlock needed to pull himself together. He looked over John's shoulder and saw his erection, hard and red and dripping. He needed to please John, but he needed to stop for a short moment, or else he would scream.
John's chest heaved beneath his hands. "It's okay, it's okay," he babbled, "you're okay. Just breathe, beautiful man."
Sherlock's heart soared. He inhaled a deep, unsteady breath and resumed his thrusting, kissing the back of John's neck.
John let out an uhhh and started to stroke himself in time with Sherlock's thrusts.
Sherlock should have done that for him, but he couldn't stop hugging John. He needed to hold him. He needed to be grounded back to earth. He needed to hold John close and love him with every fiber of his being.
"Sherlock, faster" John said roughly. "I think I'm close."
Thank god. Sherlock let his hips snap and fuck John with short, deep thrusts, his balls drawing up. He bit John's shoulder, growling as he felt his climax building.
John gasped and his back arched. "Sherlock! Christ, Sherlock, you're amazing," he moaned, eyes screwing shut and hard breaths punching form his chests. "Let go, Sherlock. Come on, you can do it."
John's praise and encouragement were enough for Sherlock's climax to bloom throughout his body, his hips snapping and cock spurting, his arms tightening around John, his long, deep cry buried into his shoulder.
The force of his climax made John groan, "Sher-!" he shouted. He came, muscles contracting and squeezing around Sherlock, prolonging his orgasm, making Sherlock see white. His thrusts were quick and erratic as he rode out his orgasm, letting himself be taken over by every spasm of pleasure. His hips slowed to a halt when he began to soften, and they lay there for a moment, catching their breath. Sherlock nuzzled the back of John's neck with kisses and then pulled out, flopping onto his back, breathing hard, his eyes closed. He had forgotten how intense it was to be inside of John. His body felt like pudding. He felt fingers brush his damp fringe off his forehead, and he opened his eyes.
John had rolled over to face him, and he looked radiant: hair a mess, eyes soft and sleepy, neck red where Sherlock's teeth had been, semen spurted on his lower abdomen. "Hey, you."
"Hey," Sherlock said with a drowsy smile. "Are you all right?"
"I'm perfect," John said, voice rough from moaning and shouting. He crawled closer and buried his face into Sherlock's pale shoulder. "That was bloody incredible. I love when you let go like that."
Sherlock flushed, grinning, although he was still unsure how to respond to direct praise like that. John yawned and shifted closer, his hand resting on Sherlock's chest, over his heart.
The ring rested over his heart.
Sherlock kissed the top of John's head, the lump in his throat preventing him from speaking.
They lay in silence for a couple minutes, savoring each other's company, until John murmured, into his skin, "I really love you."
"I really love you," Sherlock said. "I should hope you love me, saying yes."
John chuckled lowly. "I'm trying to say something profound here. You know that doesn't happen often," he joked.
Sherlock smirked. John had admitted he found emotional declarations difficult years ago, but since they got together, he opened up more with his feelings. "I'm sorry. Go on."
John looked up at him, eyes dark and warm in the low light of their bedroom, a smile playing at his lips. "I think I've always loved you. I was always drawn to you, definitely, but now, I feel like I really know you. I didn't think I ever would. I didn't think I was smart enough to keep up with your brain, though I'll admit I don't think I'll ever fully understand how your brain works. But, I know you, and I'm happier than I've ever been with you, happier than I was in the beginning, before all of the Moriarty mess. Not just because of this," he waved his hand, gesturing to their lovemaking, "but because I love you, as a person, and I feel bloody lucky to be loved by you, and be allowed to love you."
Sherlock blinked rapidly, mouth opening, but sound refused to come out.
John dazzled him with a toothy smile. "You're so cute," he kissed the tip of his nose.
Sherlock swallowed. "John. You do. You do know me. No one else does. I-John."
John carded his fingers through his curls, caressing the damp locks. "And no one else knows me but you."
If Sherlock didn't make a small joke right this instant, his heart would burst. "I think Billie knows us."
John giggled. "I think she does, yeah." He sighed happily. "Our wedding is going to be bloody fantastic."
"Better than the last one?" he raised an eyebrow playfully.
"Much better than the last one. I don't think I want a big affair again."
"I don't want that, either. A small ceremony."
"With your parents."
Sherlock grumbled.
"They're coming, Sherlock," he insisted.
"Fine. Harry?"
"If she's sober. She says she's making an effort, because she wants to meet Billie."
"I see. Mrs. Hudson."
"Oh, absolutely. I think she'll cry when we tell her about our engagement."
"You didn't tell her?"
"No," John twisted a curl with his finger. "I told her I needed to have a serious discussion with you when I dropped off Billie."
"I am curious to see her reaction."
"We'll tell her when we get Billie, which should probably be soon. I did just spring it on her."
"In a few minutes," Sherlock said, eyelids feeling heavy from the aftermath of his climax and John petting his hair.
"We'll put Billie in a dress."
"She can be the flower girl."
John snorted. "She'd have to be able to walk to do that."
"She should start walking soon."
"It'll be months, Sherlock."
He shrugged. "We'll work it out. When do you want to have the wedding?"
John yawned. "I don't know. I don't want to wait long, but not right away. Maybe...three months? Even if we're not going all out, we have some planning to do."
"Sounds fine to me." He could hardly believe he was having this conversation. "I want to wear a ring," he said. He wanted everyone to know that he would be married to John. "But, our line of works prevents us from getting something too extravagant."
"Eh, that's okay. While this is lovely," John wiggled his left ring finger in front of Sherlock's face for emphasis, "I don't need something fancy."
Sherlock nodded sleepily and buried his nose in John's damp hair, a tiny grin on his lips. "We're going to get married," he murmured happily.
"We are, Sherlock." He gave a soft laugh. "We really are."
They must have dozed off, because the next thing he knew, Sherlock was awakened by a stream of sunlight from the sunset hitting his eye. He groaned and turned on his side, accidentally waking John in the process.
John grumbled and rubbed his eyes with his knuckle.
"Sorry," Sherlock pouted, "didn't mean to wake you."
"It's okay," he said, voice scratchy from sleep. He looked down at himself and grimaced. "Fuck, I'm disgusting. I forgot to get a damn flannel."
"I should have," Sherlock berated himself, "you shouldn't have had to get up. I forgot. I'm sorry."
John snorted, rolling his eyes. "Just because you fucked me doesn't mean I shouldn't have to walk again for the rest of the day."
Sherlock colored. "Well…"
John kissed his cheekbone. "You're ridiculous. I need a shower. You should join me."
Sherlock's interest immediately piqued. "Oh?"
"Yeah, you smell like sex."
He deflated. "Oh."
John sniggered. "I'm teasing, Sherlock. Come on."
They went in the shower and kissed tenderly under the stream of water, absentmindedly washing each other with a soapy washcloth, until the droplets turned icy, making them yelp and jump out, laughing.
"I don't know how much cleaner we got," John said as he handed Sherlock a towel.
"We're perfectly fine," he said, drying off his body, staring at John's naked, wet body and not bothering to be subtle about it. He felt a little self-consciousness when his penis twitched.
John saw it and raised his eyebrows, a shit-eating grin on his face. "Really?"
"Shut up," he muttered, drying his hair, "we were just kissing each other while nude."
"I'm aware." He bit his lip, still grinning. "Your hair's all fluffy."
He looked in the mirror. He looked like a dandelion. "Shut up, John."
John walked over and ruffled his hair with both of his hands, letting the towel fall to the floor.
"Hey!" Sherlock pushed his hands away.
John laughed giddily. "You have no idea how perfect you look right now. I wish I could have a picture."
Sherlock threw his towel at John. "You've taken enough pictures of me."
"Shush. Listen, it's getting late. Why don't you order food while I go get Billie?"
"Okay. How about pizza?"
"Extra cheese?"
"As always."
"Sounds great."
Later, after their pizza was eaten and Billie's last bottle had been drunk and she had been bathed, Sherlock and John sat snuggled in their bed, clad in pajamas, along with Billie, who wore fuzzy, purple footie-pajamas with a green frog pattern. They didn't let her sleep in their bed, because they knew she had to get used to sleeping on her own, and they would never forgive themselves if she was crushed by one of them in the middle of the night, but for right now, they wanted to sit together as a family. It was a special night. John didn't tell Mrs. Hudson, not yet. They would in the morning, together. For right now, they wanted to enjoy being in their own little bubble.
Sherlock had his arm around John and Billie, pretending to read something on the computer on his lap, but he was simply enjoying their company. John was curled up against his side, leaning down a little, head pillowed on his shoulder. He held Billie, rubbing her back as she sucked her thumb.
"She's got to stop doing that," John murmured. "Bad habit."
"I'll only worry if she still does that with her adult teeth. At the moment, she has no teeth." He clicked on a webpage to appear like he was actually reading.
"I guess." A pause. "She's going to be beautiful in a little white dress."
"Of course she will. She's a beautiful baby."
John's smile was as warm as the sun. "She is." He shook his head. "One day, she'll be in a white dress for a wedding again, but not ours."
Sherlock's heart clenched. "John, that's years from now." He couldn't think about some imbecile coming and taking his little girl away.
"Whoever her spouse will be, they'll have to deal with us," John said.
Sherlock snorted. "What an unlucky person."
"You've got that right. But, for now, she's ours. You going to shut the computer or keep pretending to read?"
Sherlock sighed dramatically and gave up the act, closing his laptop and putting it on the floor. He said nothing and turned on his side, placing a chaste kiss on John's neck and resting his head on his shoulder. He gently caressed Billie's hair, which looked like a deep gold from the lamplight. She didn't respond, eyes closed, thumb in her mouth.
"When will you take her to bed?" he asked. "She's already out."
"I know. Just, in a little while." He rested his cheek atop of Sherlock's head. "I want to sit with both of you."
Sherlock pulled the duvet up, yawning. "M'kay."
John smiled into his hair.
Sherlock's eyes slid closed, and his chest felt warm. He couldn't be more peaceful; he was cuddling (though he wouldn't use that word out loud) with his John, his fiancé, with no troubles on his mind. His fiancé was safe and happy. His daughter was safe and happy. What more could he want?
Memories of Mary were beginning to fade, slowly but surely. The scars would always be there, but that didn't mean they had to be noticeable. The past few years since he had to jump were the most taxing of Sherlock's life, especially the last year or so with Mary's torment and sorting out the legal business with her death.
But, this was the reward: a loving family.
John whispered to Billie, "Come on, darling. Papa's got to take you to bed."
Sherlock, mind pleasantly sluggish with peace and drowsiness, got off John and burrowed into his pillow, sighing in contentment. He dozed off, and woke up when John climbed into bed, wrapping an arm around him.
He hummed happily in his chest.
John kissed the back of his neck. "I love you…fiancé."
"I love you, too, fiancé," he mumbled, the corners of his lips tugging up.
John's breath left his lips in a small sigh, warm on the back of Sherlock's neck. "Can't wait to call you my husband."
Sherlock would have beamed if he weren't so tired. "Me, too," he said, words like molasses on his tongue.
John settled behind him. "Soon enough. Goodnight, Sherlock."
"Goodnight, John."
They slept soundly, no worries of plaguing their minds. They were in love. They were all safe. They were all happy.
They were just fine, in the end.