Disclaimer: I do not own SHERLOCK, nor any of the associated characters.

Tumblr Prompt, "Marry Me? -Sherlock"

~*I Think I Wanna Marry You...*~

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"Oooh, how about this one… ten found dead, six women, two men, two children. Exact same times of death, not poison, all in different corners of the same state, pattern forms a crescent moon when locations are linked. Police are baffled. Sound like fun?" John said, shaking the newspaper slightly with a loud snapping sound.

With a loud sigh, Sherlock wiggled in his armchair a moment and tilted to the side before responding, "No."

The top of the newspaper sagged to reveal an unimpressed looking John Watson, M.D., who likewise tilted his head. "No? What is 'No' about this case?"

"Too easy. Related to the secret society of lunaris, still active at current, believe that the moon goddess will tear down this earth. They were poisoned, but not at this time… autopsy should confirm that all the bodies were drained of blood and then frozen -as shown by cell ruptures. This was a staged event, members used frozen trucks to place the bodies in specific locations… making a point, but not a good one. Next?"

"Well, that's sort of it, Sherlock. That's everythi-…" John cut off mid-sentence, which naturally peaked the Consulting Detective's interest.

"What? John, don't go silent on me, you know I hate that…" Sherlock of course referred to a recent case wherein a certain assassin had managed to get the drop on John, who had managed to lead to Sherlock almost halfway to their location in the underground catacombs of London by continuously talking… until Moriarty's man had worked out what was going on and paralysed his vocal chords.

Sherlock would never admit this, but those had been some of the longest, most terrifying moments of his entire life.

"Sorry, Sherlock, I… it's just… they did it. They finally did it… dammnit. Now I owe Lestrade a tenner…" sighed the ex-army medic.

"Owe Lestrade a-…? What are you even on about, John, speak plain English…" the consulting detective snapped, losing patience.

John, in fact, chuckled in response. "Oh it's just uh, a little bet that Greg and I had going… about… well it's not important, but let us just say that for once Mycroft has beaten you to the punch in this area."

"John." his patience was fading fast, given the stringent need to know evident in his tone.

Dr Watson sighed loudly, regretting choosing Mr Holmes out of so many potentials… but only a little… at times like this.

"They're getting married, Sherlock! Greg and I had a bet about which one of your Holmes' would ask us first, but you lost out to Mycroft for once…" John said, and flicked the newspaper back up, "Good luck to Lestrade, we should send them something congratulatory…"

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A hand compressed the newspaper in his own, right down the middle… and all of a sudden, John was face-to-face with a determined Sherlock Holmes.

"John… Marry Me."

He nearly fell out of the chair, "Wait, what?"

Sherlock rolled his brilliant blue eyes, "Marry Me, Me John… You, Me, Marriage…"

John snapped the newspaper up again, feigning disinterest to hide the way his heart was racing at the idea. "Sherlock, I am not going to marry you for the sake of some imaginary competition with your brother… now shoo, or I shall be forced to use this newspaper to bop you on the nose."

"But Joooooooooooooohn, I swear I was going to ask you tonight, Mycroft merely beat me to the punch and I needed to ask you now…" Sherlock whined.

John dropped the newspaper. "You what, sorry? Repeat that last bit for me, slowly…"

"John Hamish Watson, tonight I was going to find a ruse to get you out of the house for approximately one hour at which point I would prepare a gourmet meal for two. Upon your return, I would show you inside, seat you and proceed to ask for you to join your life with mine in the surprisingly important but nonetheless arbitrary practice of marriage. However, Mycroft has made a game of it, and it seems I could ask you now… so, will you please marry me?" Sherlock said in a rush of words.

John pinched the bridge of his nose, sighed and said firmly, "No."

"No?" queried Sherlock.

"No." John confirmed. "I do not consent to marry you at this point in time, however if I go out to the pub for an hour from between five and six, and come home to find what you described… I am certain my mind and therefore answer, will have changed drastically should some tall, attractive, consulting detective ask me once again…"

"I see," replied the younger Holmes, glancing at the clock. "Well it would seem that you would need to get ready in haste, Dr Watson, for it is already quarter to five… and I have… preparations to make."

"Gladly," smiled John, pecking the Consulting Detective on the lips and rising to go change.

"Fantastic," muttered Sherlock, rubbing his hands together with a pleased smile. "Operation: Holmes-Watson begins in fifteen minutes…"

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When John returned home that night, he found a delightful scene awaiting; a cheery fire, a gourmet meal, a stunning man proposing to bind their lives together…

He couldn't even find it in him to be annoyed about the Skull taking pride of decorative place upon the table…

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The End