This chapter's short and a bit of a filler. Sorry it's been taking me so long to update.
Disclaimer: Sherlock is not mine.
To Sherlock, John is the most amazing man in the world. He's surprisingly complex; he's one of the only people that Sherlock sometimes has a hard timing predicting. Like right then, for that moment, Sherlock expected John to return a simple "I love you," but instead he was suddenly reciting poetry to him. He was reciting "A Dream Within a Dream," and even though it isn't about love, and wouldn't normally been seen as a declaration of love, it was to Sherlock. How John knew that Sherlock loves that poem, and how he knew what it meant to him was unknown. To Sherlock, that is love.
When John got to the second stanza, he began to slow down, as if there was a ritardando etched into the lines that were floating through his head. The last line was slow, a long pause between each word, and punctuated at the end by a long, passionate kiss.
"How did you know that I love that poem?" Sherlock asked after they pulled away.
They had long forgotten about hailing a cab, and both of Sherlock's arms were now wrapped around John.
"In your sleep, you mumble it, and in your sleep your recite it as if it were the sweetest declaration of love," John replied, looking into Sherlock's eyes.
Sherlock's eyes were normally a stormy gray, but at that moment the storm seemed to be subsiding, and bright blue and green skies seem to seep through. John pushed a stray curl from Sherlock's face and studied his expression. Love struck wasn't exactly a good way to describe it, and frankly a very immature way to describe it. The best way to describe it is "John-I-love-you-more-than-words-can-express."
To Sherlock, John was perfect. His imperfections made him human, and it made him John, which made him perfect. Sherlock loved how John looked at him like he was the world's biggest mystery, like he was mad and impractical, but he was all John wanted. They looked at each other and exchanged silent words and declarations. Silent promises and the gray-blue-green slate on warm, dark blue.
They looked away and realized they were in public and had been standing at the edge of the sidewalk for quite sometime, wrapped each other's arms. They stepped back, and walked towards a near-by cafe.
"John?"
"Yes?"
"Can I hold your hand?"
"Always."
I apologize for the cheesiness of this chapter. I think there will be a chapter or two until the end. I'm not sure if I'll do Mystrade. Right now, I'm going to say no, but that could change.
Thank you, as always, for the favorites, alerts, and reviews.