Sound hadn't been updated in a while because I kind of lost the momentum on it, but I promise I have not abandoned it. For now, enjoy this chapter. CWPFAW is almost over, only three chapters left after this one!
John opened his eyes and smiled at the man laying next to him. It wasn't very early in the morning, thank God, and Sherlock hadn't slept well the night before, so John knew his boyfriend was succumbing to the important need that was sleep. John softly kissed Sherlock's forehead and laid back down, curling into his previous position.
There weren't a lot of things better than waking up next to the person you loved.
With a sigh, the doctor pressed one of his ears to Sherlock's chest. His heart was beating regularly: BuBum, BuBum, BuBum; but it was more drawn out and slow. Sherlock relaxed completely when he slept, which, in John's opinion, was one of the reasons he didn't like sleeping. John knew Sherlock had been on guard for a while before they met, maybe distrustful and certainly wary, so sleeping felt like weakness to the detective. The doctor wondered sometimes if Sherlock's earlier love had helped or hurt him in that way.
John wasn't supposed to be jealous of the other man, especially since he gave up on Sherlock. Sometimes, however, he couldn't help himself. That man knew a side of Sherlock that he didn't know, the more analytic, focused, grand-gesture detective that swept into rooms quickly and left them the same way. John saw glimpses of that Sherlock occasionally, but wondered what it would be like to have him all the time.
The doctor shook his head. That man wasn't here, and this version of Sherlock was perfect the way he was. He also was sleeping, in soft pajamas, right next to John. He grinned. What did John do to deserve him?
"Morning, darling," he whispered as Sherlock began to stir.
The detective wiggled around a little in John's arms. "Mm. I don't want it to be morning. Mornings are boring. Nights are not."
"Well, you can't have nights without mornings."
"Point taken." Sherlock tried to nestle closer to John, even though there wasn't much closer they could get. "Harriet didn't come home last night."
John bit his lip. "I think she and Clara had a talk, but I don't know how it turned out."
Sherlock smirked, leaning down to press a kiss to John's jaw. "Probably satisfactory, considering she was away for nighttime, and an unusual amount of time the day before. But who knows?"
"You know something, don't you?"
His smirk grew wider. "One of my informants, who insists on talking to me even after I saved her life, told me she had intercourse with a newly made-up Clara and Harriet. I can only assume they are further 'making up' in Clara's flat."
John's eyes flew open. "Who would give you that kind of information?"
"Irene Adler."
He shook his head in disbelief. "And how did you happen to meet the most influential dominatrix in London?"
"I told you. I saved her life once."
John laughed. "Alright. So my little sister and her wife are back together then?"
"They never legally divorced in the first place."
Sherlock was so adorable. "I love you, you know?"
The detective blushed. "Yes. I love you, too."
"Now that we've started our day," John winked, "with a very interesting conversation no less, what do you say about breakfast?"
Sherlock nodded. "I've gotten quite fond of your pancakes. I believe I learned to say 'yes please'. You would be proud."
John smiled, or rather, smiled more. He didn't seem to stop smiling these days, especially when Sherlock was involved. "Good." He somehow unwove himself from the detective's grip and stood up, still connected to his boyfriend by one hand. "Now, come on. You might be able to convince me to put the chocolate in the pancake batter."
Harriet Watson woke up with her wife beside her. Immediately, a great big warmth surged through her. It was as if giant fluffy clouds surrounded the two of them, each with candied apples all over. And Clara had an aura of soft white light around her, reaching out to touch Harry underneath the sheets.
God, what kind of drugs had she been put on?
"Baby," she said. "We need to get up. My brother will be wondering where I am."
"Buu I don' wanna," Clara mumbled.
Harry couldn't resist pressing a small, smacking kiss to the top of her wife's head. "I know. I'd rather stay here, but Johnny is a worrywart by nature. You know that, too."
Clara shifted in Harry's arms, and the brunette noticed how exactly unclothed they were. Can't we stay in bed and take advantage of that?
No! Focus, Harry!
"Clarabella, we need to get up." Harry got an idea all of the sudden. "If you do, and we explain to John what happened, then I'll do that thing I did during our honeymoon."
Clara fully woke up pretty fast after that. "You're completely right. We should go. He lives in 221B still?"
"Yep." Harry longingly kissed her wife. "But we should get dressed first. We don't want to scare my big bro or his almost-virgin boyfriend."
John flipped two pancakes with each hand, doing some serious acrobatics to land them all back in the saucepan. Sherlock laughed, making his absolutely gorgeous baritone pronounced. "What?" John asked, smiling.
"Quite impressive. Who knew army doctors could have such prowess in the breakfast process?"
"I believe you already knew that." He walked forward, standing over Sherlock. "Army doctors have prowess in other areas as well."
"Oh, I definitely knew that," the detective murmured, pulling John down to kiss him.
"Good." The doctor ran a finger over Sherlock's lips, and then went back to his pancakes. "How long do you think it will take for Harry and Clara to get back here?"
Sherlock smirked. "Thirty seconds."
John raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
The detective rolled his eyes. "I haven't been wrong..." He broke off. "...very often." He shook his head. "I've only been wrong a few times. Only a few that I can think of. Maybe a few more, but I probably deleted those. Or maybe I was high. Or..."
John held up a hand. "Darling, you know I don't care about any of that." Sherlock didn't look very convinced. "I love you with all the mistakes and the flaws, because that's what love is. And I do love you. I'll say it as many times as you need me to."
"Well, isn't that just adorable!" a voice sounded from the front door. Harry waved from the opening. "Can we come in?"
John stared at his boyfriend. "I told you so," Sherlock said, the smirk back in full force on his face.
"Hey, Johnny! Have you been good to Sher while I was gone?"
The detective smiled at Harry. "Of course he has. Now, to ask the more important question, have you been very good to that blonde behind you?"
Harry blushed, seeming to stop in the middle of the doorframe before said blonde yanked her inside. "She has been very good to me. Hi, my name is Clara. You must be Sherlock Holmes. It's nice to meet you." Sherlock nodded to her. "You know, Harry thinks you've been rooting for us the whole time, even when we weren't rooting for us, and for that, I thank you very much."
Said newly-discovered-romantic smiled. "You're welcome. Any friend of John and Harriet's is...most likely a good person." John shot him a look. "John, you could have always married an assassin to fuel your adrenaline addiction. I wouldn't have tolerated that."
"Alright, I can see your point." The doctor motioned to the couch. "Now, how about you sit down, and I'll get you some chocolate chip pancakes."
Harry stared her brother down. "He made you do the chocolate, didn't he?"
John shrugged. "I can't refuse him much."
"Whatever." Clara slid her hand down Harry's waist and across her stomach, and Harry shut up pretty fast. John secretly marveled at how easily his sister and Clara fit together, like moon and stars, like the rain and the clouds. Or, as Harry used to say, like a stripper and their pole. John had always thought that description was a bit strange, though.
Sherlock looked peaceful. Like this was all he wanted in life. John wondered if he could be Sherlock's peace. He wanted to be, quite a lot. The calm to Sherlock's storm, because Sherlock was a tsunami that crashed over everyone he met.
"John?" A pause. "John, the pancakes may be burning." More pauses. What was Sherlock saying? "John Hamish Watson, the kitchen is on fire!"
John started, running back into the kitchen, and finding it very not on fire. "William Sherlock Scott Holmes, why did you lie?!" he huffed.
Harry snickered. "His full name is William Sherlock Scott Holmes? What kind of stupid rich boy name is that?"
"Hush, love," Clara admonished. "Your initials spell HOW."
It was Harry's turn to huff. "Yeah, yeah."
Sherlock was still staring at John like that. Had Sherlock really not told John his full name?
"William Sherlock Scott Holmes," Sherlock said suddenly. John turned around, stirring the soup in the pan with a free hand.
"What?"
The detective rolled his eyes. "Do I really need to repeat myself?"
"No." He laughed once. "I meant why did you tell me?"
Sherlock looked away, but before he did, John caught a glimpse of something incredibly sad on his features. "In case you'll be looking for baby names someday." He paused. "Probably in a nice house with a picket fence in the suburbs, married to a remarkably boring woman that won't let you go on cases."
John frowned. "I'd still go on cases with you until neither one of us could anymore. It wouldn't matter what my wife thought."
Sherlock gave him a bitter little smile. "That may come closer than you think."
"You told me it in case I needed to look for baby names," John said, not realizing the implications of what he said until Clara's eyes began to tear and Harry started jumping up and down.
"Sherlock and you..." Clara whispered, "you're going to adopt? This early? I mean, I'm very happy for you, and we'll help whenever we can." Harry smiled really wide, nodding emphatically behind her wife, having wrapped her arms around Clara's waist.
Sherlock shook his head. "No. Besides, I'd ask him to marry me before we ever thought about adopting."
John's mouth fell open, the pancake he was flipping probably landed somewhere on the floor, and he stared at his boyfriend. "You'd marry me?" It wasn't that John couldn't see himself spending the rest of his life with Sherlock, it was just that he was the first man John had ever dated, and the shortest amount of time he imagined dating someone before getting married. Surprisingly enough, they'd only been together for a couple of months (two months, thirteen days).
The detective looked at the ground for a moment. "In a heartbeat."
John felt himself choke up. He didn't know what to say to that. How could he love someone do much after so little time? And more importantly, how on earth could that person love him back? "Do you really mean that?"
Sherlock's face rapidly turned a cross between disappointed and resigned. "Baby, finish those pancakes, and then please come over here."
John numbly moved all the pancakes, completely cooked or not, to the plate where he'd been setting them, and wiped his hands on a towel, walking over to the couch. Harry and Clara were as jittery as teenagers that had drank too many energy drinks. Sherlock pulled John down to him so that the doctor was sitting in his lap. "How many times do I have to say that I love you?"
"A few more," John murmured. "You don't want to be tied to a veteran with an adrenaline addiction and a gun in the bedside drawer."
"You shouldn't want to be tied to a formerly sociopathic Freak with a penchant for dangerous experiments and deducing people." Sherlock ignored John's protesting expression at his use of the word Freak. "And yet, here we both are."
John grinned. "William Sherlock Scott Holmes, will you marry me?"
"Really? You're asking me?" Sherlock looked so damn socks-knocked-off that John just had to kiss him.
"I even have a ring."
The two men stared at each other for a few seconds. Sherlock spoke up, "John, my love, if you're going to propose to me properly, you should do it within the next minute or so, otherwise I'll wonder if you're serious."
John laughed. "I'll be right back." He stood up and went into their bedroom. John did actually have a ring, but he'd been saving it for a very long time, too long. It used to be his grandmother's, before she died, and she'd left it to him in her will. John had been waiting years to give it to someone, to share it with someone, but the right person hadn't come along until now.
As soon as John saw the sapphire ring again, the situation fell on him like a brick wall. He was going to marry his boyfriend, Sherlock Holmes, a beautiful madman that had never meant to stay in the first place. But he did, and John loved him.
When had John's life become this amazing, gorgeous mess?
He looked the ring over a bit longer, cupping it in his hand. Sherlock would be wondering where he was. John walked back out into the sitting room. Clara was quietly hysterical, trying not to ruin the moment, John could tell. Harry's leg was bouncing incessantly, and her fingers were tapping on the worn leather couch.
"Oh my...John, is that...?" Sherlock had put a hand over his mouth.
"The ring? That would be correct. I needed to do this the right way." John kneeled in front of the chair his boyfriend was sitting in, putting on hand on his knee, and holding the hand the ring was in out to him. "Now will you marry me? Because I love you, and I sometimes feel like I've known you forever, and we are the best as a team, and mostly I love you." John fiddled with the wedding band, waiting for an answer. "Please."
Sherlock laughed, and God in heaven was that the most brilliant, loveable, sexy, (etc. etc.) thing John Watson had ever heard. "I would have married you without a ring, and with Anderson and Mycroft as our witnesses in a dirty courthouse." He leaned down to brush John's lips with his own. "Yes. Yes, yes and yes please."
Of course, John had to pick this time to cry. "John, John, John," his fiancé whispered. "I love you."
"I still need to hear it every day for the rest of our lives."
"Gladly."
Tell me honestly, was that completely sappy? It totally was. Plus, it wasn't in the chapter plans that anyone would propose, so that came out of nowhere. Whatever. That one flashback never happened, but it's after Moriarty shows up in the flat after his trial. I hope you enjoyed that bit of happy fluffiness, because there are some rough seas ahead. Read + review!