Disclaimer: settings and characters as depicted in BBC series not mine. No money being made. Plot is mine.
Night Time Shenanigans
Sherlock had insisted that he and John both be present for the capture of John Clay and his fellow moles. After all, if it hadn't been for him, Scotland Yard would never have managed to stop the 'perfect crime' before it occurred.
"Perfect crime – if that isn't an indication of Clay's monstrous ego, then nothing is," Sherlock mumbled into John's neck as they waited. It was pitch dark in the disused cellars, which meant he was free to spoon up behind John and nuzzle him at will. No one could see them and as long as John was quiet, it would not be noticed.
It was oddly interesting to be doing this in a semi public venue. There was the tension of waiting for their prey to surface, something that Sherlock enjoyed for short periods of time (too long and he got bored, which was something of a dichotomy.) There was the tension of not being caught, which he knew that John in particular was keen to avoid. Then there was the tension of being protected. His Heart was watching for their prey, with the firm belief that he would get between any danger and Sherlock first.
"Hmm, a clever man with a big ego, how unprecedented," John whispered back, his voice a bare breath in the air. Sherlock nipped his earlobe in response to the tease, pleased that his partner could say such things without being offensive or banal. John jumped and then dug an elbow gently in Sherlock's side, careful not to escalate things beyond their ability to conceal at this point in time.
"Mycroft sent me a text this afternoon," Sherlock chose to leave that line of conversation for now, "He congratulated me."
"I suppose he saw the ring," John sighed softly, delighting Sherlock with his deduction. Mycroft had indeed seen the ring and drawn the correct assumptions from it. Sherlock and John were going to be together for the rest of their lives, something that boggled the mind and reassured simultaneously. Sherlock had always thought that he was going to be alone for the rest of his life, something that was perfectly fine, by the way. Or at least it had been. He couldn't imagine being fine and alone now. John had changed that for him.
"You're a Holmes now," Sherlock took great pleasure in breathing that into the ear he'd been nibbling and was delighted when his Heart's weight came back against him fully. He tightened his grip carefully, holding John up on his feet for a long moment before nudging him back upright.
"That means everything to me," John confessed. They stood together in silence for a long moment, simply waiting together for their prey to arrive. A slight noise alerted Sherlock that things were about to happen, and judging by the different tension in John – ready and coiled – his partner had heard the noises as well.
It was another fifteen minutes before the first rays of light from the 'moles' broke through the old flagstones on the floor. As the vaulted space around them lightened, Sherlock forced his eyes to adapt by blinking rapidly. John's hand took up his gun and his right arm came up to wrap around Sherlock's waist, holding him in place with iron determination. Sherlock hadn't anticipated this and wasn't sure that he liked being held still – he wanted to be out the front, capturing their prey and preventing the Yard from messing the plan up.
Fortunately for the peace of their partnership, Scotland Yard got it right for once, waiting until Clay and his two associates climbed out of their hole and were far enough away to be cut off by a very efficient pincer movement. There was a confused moment when everyone was shouting, highlighted by a glint of steel in Clay's pale hand, but John's gun barked once and the knife went spinning into the darkness, convincing Clay to drop to his knees and raise his hands above his head.
"Well, that was… anticlimactic," Sherlock pouted as Lestrade began directing the mopping up, sending a man down through the tunnel just in case someone had slipped away and alerting his people at Wilson's store that the bust had been made.
"Oh Sherlock," John sounded amused, "What did you think would happen?"
Sherlock sniffed in irritation and tugged John out of the cellars, heading for street level and a cab home.
"A chase would have at least been entertaining," he complained, one hand buried in John's pocket, "Or a fist fight."
"I can think of better ways to entertain you," John promised and Sherlock cheered up at once. When all was said and done, John was much better than Clay-the-criminal.
"I warn you, I have high expectations," Sherlock said loftily as they wound through the empty building. John's chuckle was darkly promising.
"You always do," was the easy reply and Sherlock beamed in the darkness.