Author's note: We are almost at the end of the story, I hope you enjoy it.

-o-O-o-

Chapter 14: Wait For It

Needless to say, John did not sleep even for a bit that night. He stayed silently staring at the ceiling above his bedroom for more than he would ever care to admit. Things hadn't gone exactly as he planned, and now he had to wonder if he had made a terrible mistake by springing his proposal on Sherlock like that. It was true that there was nothing he wanted more than his friend accepting, but maybe he never should've assumed that everything he had orchestrated would be handled completely well by his clearly emotionally repressed flatmate.

John sighed and sat up on his bed, running his hands through his face as he tried to figure out what he should do next. Pressuring the detective could possibly be the worst thing he could do; he should probably hold off. Patiently wait until the other was ready to talk about it. That is, if he was ever ready to even talk to him about anything ever again. Being a man of action, he hated the thought of stalling, yet he failed to know what other options were available.

When he set out on this so called 'mission', he had anticipated the genius to be a bit taken aback by the revelation, but he could never have predicted that the emotional onslaught would be more than what the boffin was able to deal with. In hindsight, it did seem like a cruel thing to do to his best friend, even if that was the farthest thing from his true intention. If Sherlock declined his proposal, the blogger knew he would not be able to blame him for it.

He decided that he would clearly gain nothing by staying upstairs all day, so he grabbed as much courage as he could muster and stepped out of his bedroom. Maybe if Sherlock was out and about already, they could have that awkward talk that they clearly needed to have if their relationship -even if it was just friendship- was going to survive the massive muck up he made.

Once he got to the sitting room he noticed that his friend was still tucked away inside his room and that the door was closed. John made a conscious effort not to be disappointed by that; after all, Sherlock had had quite a stressful night the day before, he was probably still sleeping off the shock. Yes. That is the only reason why he would still be in his room after eleven in the morning. Or at least, that's what the blogger told himself to keep from panicking.

-o-O-o-

When almost six hours had passed, the doctor was not longer able to fool himself into believing the musician's sequestered status had nothing to do with him or what he attempted to do yesterday. He felt terrible for having assumed that just because he thought the detective was ready to have a relationship with him, it meant he actually was; he even threw the marriage proposal in for absolutely no pressure at all. Christ! No wonder his flatmate nearly had a nervous breakdown after that.

The doctor stood up from his chair after having spent the afternoon fretting, trying hard and failing no think about the situation at hand. He knocked softly on the door to his friend's room, but he did not answer. He couldn't actually hear any movement from inside it, and for a moment he worried that Sherlock had left while he was upstairs. But a quick look around calmed his fears a bit when he saw Sherlock's coat still there. He knocked again, to no avail, and retreated to the kitchen once more.

Not a minute after his departure from the door, the detective walked out of his room in a strange mixture of scared and determined that made John's heart hurt by the sudden fondness it brought him. Sherlock looked around the room till his eyes landed on the blogger and quietly gasped. John, for his part, could do nothing more than to stand there, pinned in place and terrified of what the next conversation could possibly mean for his future.

Once the silence became unbearable, the soldier knew he had to break it, somehow. He needed to apologise. Certainly not for what he did -he will never regret that- but for the way he did it. "I'm sorry." He said simply, for lack of anything else to say. The detective looked affronted. As if he hadn't expected that to be the first thing to come out of the blonde's mouth. He fidgeted with the dressing gown he had thrown over yesterday's clothes. The doctor understood that he had to do anything he could to be able to see that rumpled and soft sight everyday of his life, that was the reason he needed to do this, "Look, about last night..." He started, passing the lump that formed inside his throat. "Can we just forget about it and remain friends?" He asked. Even if that was not what he wanted; still, he preferred that reality against the sans-detective one he would have if he kept pushing.

The frown that appeared on the other's face was as confusing as the man himself. There was a strange reactive expression that the doctor could not place, even if he was always highly skilled at reading his friend. "But-" The detective said, but stopped once again to narrow his eyes. "You proposed." He took out the ring from his pocket and showed it to John as proof, almost in evidence of the accuracy of his statement.

The moment the doctor saw the shine between those fingers and the nearly desperate look in the other's eyes, the dam of sentiment broke and everything came rushing out. "Exactly!" He yelled, more in despair than in anger. "I proposed and I ruined everything." His hands were shaking and he eyed the other from across the kitchen table. "I thought-" The doctor took a shivering breath before continuing. "I don't really know what I thought. But I didn't realise that instead of making you see you could do this, I was pushing you into something you didn't want." He said as he rounded the table and came to be directly in front of the genius. "And for that I'm so sorry." He reached out to the other's still-raised hand and wrapped those pale long fingers around the ring that, no matter what, would always be his.

"John," Sherlock sighed, looking oddly at his own hand. "You're being an idiot." He said with finality. The blogger was unmistakably completely shocked by the 180 turn the conversation had taken, he opened his mouth to ask what his friend meant, but nothing seemed to come out. "I never thought you would do something like that to me." The younger man explained. "You made me believe you were giving up cases. You made me believe you were marrying someone I hated." The doctor was ready to apologise for the third time, but his flatmate stalled him, silently asking to let him finish first. "I thought that I was not only losing my best friend, but also my only chance of getting what I never thought I'd want." He extended his arm again to place the shining jewellery on John's palm. "You figured out a way to stop my denial; something not even my brother had been able to do since I met you." A proud expression invaded his face, in complete dichotomy with what he had just done. "I believe I never answered." He commented and signalled to the other's hand, but said nothing more. Patiently waiting for his friend to speak.

"Umm." John was not certain what he was supposed to do, what his friend wanted him to do now. He figured since this was probably the last chance he would get to ask before he would be undoubtedly chased away from the detective's life by Mycroft's ever watchful eye, -not that he would struggle too much after the crushing pain the rejection will cause him- he might as well do what he wanted. He looked into the other's eyes: kind and beautiful even then. He thought how much he would miss those eyes. So, John, ever the soldier, met his final battle. Quiet as a last breath, he whispered. "Will you marry me?"

"Obviously." Responded the boffin, and the suitor was not sure he had heard correctly. Sherlock extended his hand expectantly, waiting for the doctor to place the ring in his finger. He wiggled his digits with an smug expression and the biggest smirk the blonde had ever seen in him. That was the moment he realised what the other had done and the heavy weight that had been crushing him was lifted, only to be replaced by overwhelming elation.

"You cock," He said as he playfully punched his friend's -fiancé's- arm while said madman laughed uncontrollably. He held him by the collar and dragged him forward until he could meet Sherlock's lips with his. After a very passionate kiss, he took his hand, slid the ring on his fourth finger and kissed his knuckles. "You scared me. For a moment I thought you wanted me to ask again just so you could say 'no'." The blogger commented and the boffin chuckled.

"Serves you right." He grinned and gave a little peck at his cheek.

"Oh, I'll get back at you for this," John warned. "You'll see." He held the other's hand while dragging him to the couch and placing them on it.

"The game is on, Captain." Responded Sherlock, and they both could not believe they had finally arrived there after how hopeless it had seemed for so much time.

-o-O-o-

Author's note: What do you think of Sherlock's answer? Was he right?

Come back next week for the epilogue to this story. In the mean time, you can check out the new Christmas short-story about Johnlock that I'll be posting on Christmas day.

Thank you for reading and commenting.