"John?" Sherlock came to stand behind him at the sink and nuzzle his neck affectionately.
"Hmmmm?" John leaned back and rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder.
"Next Thursday. Will you come out with me?"
John turned to look at Sherlock, puzzled amusement in his eyes. "Yes, of course…why?"
Sherlock grabbed the tea towel and began to dry plates. "It's a surprise, John."
"It's not my birthday."
"No, John, your birthday is September the 6th. Thursday is March the 20th.
John laughed and said, "You're daft." But he said it as though being daft was the best thing in the world.
Thursday evening arrived. Sherlock had said to dress for the weather so John presented himself in the living room in his Derby shoes, new jeans, light wool shirt and a blue cashmere jumper; his favourite because it was the first gift that Sherlock had given him. Sherlock appeared moments later, dressed in a tightly fitted, tailored suit that must have cost lord-only-knows-how-much but whatever the amount it was worth it, because he looked magnificent. Sherlock helped John into his oiled canvas Belstaff (another treasured indulgent gift), then shrugged on his own overcoat and ushered John out of the door.
The destination was Kew Gardens. The sun was beginning to sink toward the horizon as they entered the park; the air held that hushed anticipation of spectacular things to come that characterizes the early days of spring. Mauve and white crocuses and ever-shy snowdrops were closing their petals against the cool evening air but the Japanese flowering cherries, like triumphant brides in their wedding finery, refused to be dimmed by the twilight. It was under the fragrant shelter of one of these glorious ladies, surrounded by drifts of pink and white cherry-petals that Sherlock guided John to a seat on a bench.
John, hitherto simply happy to savour his feelings of love and security with Sherlock beside him; feelings still new and a cause for constant wonder and gratitude, gradually became aware of some new emotion in his love. It couldn't be, surely…nervousness, uncertainty? Anxious, he looked to Sherlock's face. Sherlock saw the look and gave him a self-depreciating grin, "Nothing to worry about John, at least I hope not!"
He then grasped both of John's hands in his and said, "John, I have something to ask you. I don't expect you to answer right away but it would make me very happy if you would consider it…"
He looked at John hopefully but John appeared completely mystified as to what he was talking about so he was forced to forge on. "John today is the first day of spring. Winter is over. Beautiful things have come to life; divine things which, like flowers, I paid no attention to before you came into my life."
He stroked John's wrists, taking reassurance from his steady pulse and continued, "I'm talking about how deeply I have fallen in love you John; it happened just as surely and as swiftly as spring emerges from winter and just as inevitably. You now mean everything to me and I want always to be the one who loves you, protects you, makes you happy and ensures that you never want for anything. May I please be the one, John? Would you think about marrying me one day? I can wait as long as you want, forever, in fact. Forever is fine as long as I can be by your side while you think about it. Please?
John stared at him slack-jawed. "You want to marry me, Sherlock?"
"Well, ah. Yes."
"But I'm, I'm damage−"
He was silenced by a firm kiss. "No John. You were wounded and now you are healing and almost well again. There is a difference."
"But Sherlock...it's not just that." John's face twisted in pain and he whispered, "I'm so sorry, I thought you knew…if I'd realized you didn't, I would have told you. I haven't meant to deceive you, honestly, I'm so sorry…" he looked so distressed that Sherlock was afraid.
"What, John? What is it? Just tell me and I'll fix it for you."
John said in an anguished whisper, "But you can't Sherlock, no one can. I…I…can't have children, after what happened with Geoffrey, the doctors told me…" Tears overflowed and ran down his cheeks. "I'm so sorry Sherlock, I thought you knew."
Sherlock said in confusion, "I do know John. But…I don't understand why you won't marry me because of it…"
"Because you need an Omega who can give you lots of children, Sherlock. You are a magnificent Alpha, intelligent, courageous and so loving and gen…tle…" John choked over his last words.
Sherlock took him in his arms and implored. "John. Stop and listen to me. Please."
He waited for John to quiet. "You couldn't be more mistaken about me – well, alright, you are correct that I'm magnificent and intelligent, I'll give you that," he said, trying to make John smile, "− but…on the children point, you must allow me to decide for myself and I assure you that it doesn't matter to me. Look at me and you'll see it true." He sought John's eyes. "And I don't mean I don't like children, I do, frankly more than a lot of adults I meet, so if you want a child someday John, I'm very willing to consider other options."
"What I want is you, John. I love you and I like caring for you but also I can't begin to tell you how much your love means to me. I want it for always. That you love me is a miracle; I think you might be a saint, John! And if not, I intend to worship you forever as though you are one, regardless." He squeezed John's hands. "Now, was that your main objection to the idea of marrying me?"
John, still on shaky emotional ground, shook his head, paused and then nodded.
"Alright then. Let's talk more about how magnificent and amazing I am. I liked where that part of the conversation was going…."
John gave a tremulous laugh as Sherlock had intended he should, but he seemed to have forgotten that he was expected to formally accept his marriage proposal. So Sherlock purred seductively in his ear, "John, you still haven't said yes…soooo, you drive a hard bargain, but I'm prepared to sweeten the offer…." He gave John's ear lobe a flirtatious nip.
John gave a sniff, followed by a small laugh. "If you are sure, then yes, Sherlock. I love you and I want to look after you for the rest of your life too. I can't think of anything more wonderful than being your husband."
"Hmm. Yes, I guessed that the suggestion of sex would work. But I brought a ring too, just in case; my plan B, so to speak."
John was laughing by now, so Sherlock gently grasped his left hand, kissed it and then slipped a ring onto his third finger. It was a trinity de Cartier ring, the platinum love band set with twenty white diamonds to symbolise the 20th day of the March, the first day of spring and the day John accepted Sherlock as his promised husband.
"Dinner?" Sherlock smiled down into John's eyes.
John looked up at him in adoration. "Starving," he answered.