As dinner wound down, they found themselves settled in the smaller downstairs study. One last brandy, small discussion, then home. John had wanted the time to discuss their evolution, Sherlock wanted to pull John off of the self imposed tenterhooks. They had their whole lives to work this out, for now to give it breath, to give it a solid place within them... this was Sherlock's hope.
Folded in on itself and sealed with his family crest, the page full of sentiment for the man that sat beside him in quiet contemplation. To break this would be sacrilege, silence, reverent and pure between them. Only interrupted by the crackle of wood, the flutter of warmth, of light. His body in motion as words formed, yet unspoken, his knees hitting the soft carpet beside his John. His hand raised in offering, the simple letter... those silly words. The vow unspoken.
I want to tempt you away from your heroic
silence for joy that is free and foolish.
I want to weave these early stars
like a rope for you to hold
and make your way past your old
hurts, faiths crumbling like dust.
This wanting is not a nebulous thing;
it is the soul desiring its other self
where need knows no hindrance of words.
I have only this longing, this reaching;
the necessity of you.
Not enough, too little, the words... such depths he plumbed to come to this place...he still felt inarticulate. Sherlock cast his eyes down to his now empty hand, rested on John's thigh, the vellum still weighty in his sense memory. Intake of breath, tears audible as they graced the letter he had handed his... closest to his heart... there was not a word yet to express that was not rankled or garishly horribly wrong. This man he kneeled before, was the best man he knew, had ever known. John deserved more than he, Sherlock knew, but they both knew that love and this deep abide had a life of it's own, didn't they? Who was he to deny it in the face of John's earnest heart?
A tentative touch on his cheek raised his gaze back to John, the whole of creation in his eyes. The astonishment was the most prevalent, open trust and affection close behind, for him and his motley writing skill, as well as his person. Warmth spread through as he dipped into his pocket and brought out the signet as he looked askance toward John. The cool metal heated quickly in his hand, the firelight catching the masterfully filigreed fluting. No stones, light ornamentation, it had been used for personal correspondence only... fitting Sherlock mused.
"What's this then?" John's voice caught. "Please explain... you've... you're frightening me a bit, yea?"
"I'm frightening... John... listen. Did you not read? I know the words should probably be spoken, but you know we are both horrible with it." Sherlock appraised, gazed openly before allowing his emotions on the subject to be visible. "John, I love you. I expect nothing and at once everything from you, you insufferable beautiful man." He shifted, sat against John's leg in supplication of the need to touch, to gather strength from his friend as he went on. "Jean-Baptiste Severin Holmes... this is his signet. He was my great grandfather, and from what I am to understand a very formidable man indeed. It was by pure chance that I even became aware of this years ago... he used it for his personal correspondence between only he and his wife, Aliénor. Mother found it and had it properly stored."
"So you are-"
"Yes, I am asking for your hand with a token from my family with their well wishes... well not your hand... more a promise. This, all of this, is going to fall away once we return to Baker. It will be hard on all of us, I am not naive and neither are you. The world is going to crash in on us, the three of us... might be a bit hard to breathe."
Sherlock ruffled his hair with his hands in frustration. "I wanted to give you something to remember this, to remember us... when I'm not by your side... if we are ever separated again-"
"No." John rebuffed. "Not going to happen. I'll not lose you again you daft idiot! What makes you think... no. It's just us now Sherlock, the three of us." John huffed a laugh. "JSM? I see where the meaning for us is different the-"
"Sentiment, John... my sentiment. A hopeful one."
"You sure?" Concern laced John's voice. "I know we spoke of it... we know... you are so... damn it Sherlock." The smile was timid, but the hand guiding Sherlock was sure. "Fine. I'll have the ring... but as you said... this is a promise between us... yes?" John's mouth was on his, the sweetness of the brandy mingled with the heat of the unsaid behind every caress. "Then you're mine as well now... promise... only mine."
Flooded and overwhelmed, Sherlock broke against John as he raised into his lap. The tears unbidden and lovely, mingled with their kiss. They spoke more than he could ever hope to in their lifetime... John understood, held him tightly. Eventually they would break apart, be at Baker for the first time in ages, a trio settling back into everyday life...but for now, this last moment was solely about the two of them.