A/N: Hello, lovelies! Thank you for the follows, favourites, and wonderful reviews! It sort of accidentally turned into smut, so I've had to rethink the rating for this story because of this chapter, because when I'm writing I tend to 'Go with the flow' as 't were. Please review, ego juice is appreciated!

Give Me Love chapter 4

Sherlock woke up the next morning to the smell of coffee and bacon. 'Either we're out of tea or John's moved us to America,' he thought with a smirk as he rolled out of bed and pulled on his bathrobe. As he walked into the kitchen, John smiled over his shoulder. "Food's on the table, love, I'll be there in a minute, the damn coffee filter broke, so I just have to tidy this." Sherlock walked behind John and took the tea towel from his hands. "You go eat, I'll clear this up, okay? Won't be a moment." He kissed the tip of John's nose and shooed him toward the table. "You're in a good mood this morning, then. How unusual for you, Sherlock." Sherlock smiled as he finished clearing up the mess. "You have no idea, John," he replied, sitting opposite his… He supposed that the usual term was boyfriend, but quite honestly, that didn't begin to cover what John meant to him. Partner was slightly better, but it made them sound almost like business associates, which, come to think of it, they were, but… Sherlock sighed imperceptibly and began eating his scrambled eggs on toast and bacon, for once actually enjoying his food.
"So, John…"
"Mmm?"
"I was thinking…"
"When aren't you?"
Sherlock chose to ignore John's slightly sarcastic comment, and continued,
"We should consider the possibility of a civil agreement at some point, don't you think? Seeing as your supposed heterosexuality has turned and fled already."
"Sherlock?"
"Yes, John?"
"Did you just ask me to marry you, after us being romantically involved for two weeks?"
"Why, are you opposed?"
"No, of course not."
"Well then, I'll take it as a yes. Shall we tell Mrs. Hudson?"
"Wait a minute, Sherlock. I think that we should wait for a little while. No, not that face, stop that, it's not because I'm not sure. It's just that marriage tends to be done at least a year after the couple becomes romantically involved, that's all."
"Hasn't it been, though?"
"Hasn't it been what?"
"A year. In fact, it's been 432 days since we became romantically involved, it's only the formality that's been in existence for two weeks. I was under the impression that you were aware of this fact."
"432 days, is it, then? Sherlock, you are aware, of course, that I thought that you were dead until 15 days ago, yes?"
"Yes, John, I am, painfully, aware of this fact. Your point? Or were you just being an arse and making me feel awful for events that I had no control over?"
"My point, Sherlock, is that it is terribly difficult to agree to be in a relationship with a man that for all you know is dead."
"However, you realized that you love me 432 days ago, and therefore, when this relationship started. Don't think Mycroft wouldn't notice the changes in your behaviour, John. He told me, 115 days after my… disappearance… that you no longer seemed to be simply mourning the loss of a friend. That was the day that you stopped eating. That was the day that your limp returned. That night, you cried yourself to sleep for the first time. That was the day that you were no longer only mourning me, but also the love that you were convinced could never be returned. And that, John, was the day that it did start to be returned. I fell in love with you that day, and that was the day that I knew that I needed to protect you from much more dangerous things than snipers and thugs. That was the day that I knew that when I got back, I would need to protect you from me, and, more importantly, from yourself. And therefore, because of that silent promise that I made to you, John, that was the day that I knew that someday, I would marry you."
John breathed deeply and closed his eyes. He knew that he wanted to marry Sherlock, but he was also still worried that eventually, the detective would find him dull. That Sherlock, his Sherlock, would leave him again, this time for good, and not because he was dead, but for a much more painful reason: That he, John Hamish Watson, was ordinary. Painfully so. And he was still counting down the days until Sherlock realized it as well.
"Sherlock-"
"No, John. I know what you're thinking and I need you to delete that thought right now. You are not, never have been, and never will be simply ordinary. As a point of fact, you are one of the most interesting individuals I've ever had the pleasure of knowing, and that's a part of it there: It truly is a pleasure to know you, John Watson. Now eat your bacon, I've finished already and there's something I want to try."

Another few minutes found Sherlock practically dragging John into the bedroom, closing the door carefully behind them, before turning to John, lust apparent in his eyes. He gently but insistently pushed John down onto the bed.

John reached for Sherlock, bringing him into a lust-drenched, needy kiss, gasping as Sherlock's teeth grazed his lower lip, gently biting him, reducing him to little more than a quivering heap.

Sherlock's hands left John's jaw, beginning to unbutton his fiancée's shirt, silently thanking him that he hadn't worn a jumper today, as that would have meant needing to separate their lips.

Their lips parted far too soon in both opinions, but neither man had enough oxygen left in their bloodstream, and it was terribly difficult to breathe in the position they had been occupying.

Sherlock moved slowly down his lover's body, leaving a soft trail of kisses down John's ribs, now visible because of all of the weight that he had lost while Sherlock had been away.

Had John's pants always been so tight? He was rock hard long before Sherlock reached the waistband of his jeans and began toying with the button, teasing John horribly. "Sherlock….mmm…."

Sherlock suddenly dropped the charade and pulled both John's pants and his boxers down, freeing his erection and leaving John naked and vulnerable before him. John sat up slowly, never breaking eye contact with his Sherlock, and practically ripped the detective's shirt off, too worked up to care for buttons. "Sherlock?" "Yes, John?" "You're certain that you want to do this, right? Because if you do want to wait, we ca- …mmmmm…."

His sentence was cut short as Sherlock kissed him again in response, even more hungrily than before, and yet still leaving room for teasing his John, careful to make sure that the moans he was eliciting were of pleasure and not pain as he bit his lover's lip gently, deciding that this was a very good reaction as John moaned and arched his back, baring his neck to Sherlock, who, in turn, began to kiss every inch of the skin exposed to him, occasionally pausing to mark John's skin with love-bites and gentle scratches.

John was soon overwhelmed by the sensation and, feeling as though there were fire in his belly, came, his vision leaving him for several minutes as he collapsed onto the bed. Sherlock leaned down and kissed his John's nose gently. "You sleep now, darling, okay? I'll stay with you, I promise." he kissed John gently, finally successful in cataloguing the sensation and the wonderful taste of John's lips against his own, before finding himself drifting off into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.