As it turns out, Mrs Hudson was exceedingly pleased, hugging both of "her boys" to her chest and bustling around to make them a celebratory pot of tea. Similar reactions came from Molly, Lestrade and Mike Stamford, who introduced them. The shock and ever so slight disgust on the faces of Donovan and Anderson was a bit off-putting, but their friends were pleased.

John was making a full recovery, from his eating disorder and bullet wound, and the weight gain was fantastic; enough to give him a shape and stop him looking so skeletal, almost back at his original physique. Even Sherlock, with his erratic eating habits, had regained the half-stone he'd lost during his absence. Mrs Hudson had been feeding them up well. The self-harming on John's part had stopped too; a fantastic achievement. The scars were gruesome and macabre, marring, in Sherlock's opinion, a beautiful body. Sherlock was astounded by the change in John's health, and regularly informed him of how well he was doing. Only in passing, and never making a big deal of it, just letting him know.

The pair awoke one morning, after Sherlock had slept for once, to the sound of rain drumming on the roof and thunder rolling through the sky. Kissing John's pulse point, Sherlock smiled at John. "Morning John" he mumbled into his lover's shoulder, wrapping his arms around him tightly. "Mornin'" came the bleary reply, clouded with sleep. Relaxing into the embrace, John felt Sherlock's arousal pressing against his ass; he grinned. They'd not had chance to have sex until this point; the bullet wound had caused him too much pain. Turning over, John kissed Sherlock full on the mouth, having a minor internal breakdown about the risk of his own morning breath, and reached down to caress Sherlock's impressive erection. They always slept naked, and the habit felt like a blessing to John this morning. Sliding down the bed, John engulfed Sherlock's cock without any warning, and the man beneath him moaned loudly at the sensation. Swirling his tongue around the head, John focused on sucking Sherlock right to the point of climax.

Just as Sherlock felt the coil in his stomach reach its tightest, John stopped, looking up at Sherlock with lust-filled eyes, pupils dilated. "Take me". Those two words, John found, stirred something in Sherlock that had laid dormant for far too long. Reversing their positions, Sherlock found a tie to attach John to the bedpost, and pounced on the painfully hard length. John grunted, pulling at his restraints in a futile attempt to escape. Sherlock sucked, trying to remember what John did to him that felt so good, whilst reaching for the lube he kept in a bedside drawer. It was originally for an experiment, but waste not, want not.

Smearing the lubricant over three fingers, Sherlock began to gently circle John's entrance with his finger before pushing up to just the first knuckle, giving him time to adjust. He needed time to prepare properly; Sherlock did not want to hurt John in any way. It wasn't until Sherlock had eventually got two fingers in all the way that he found the prostate gland; John bucked off the bed and swore loudly, moaning all the while with pleasure. Sherlock smiled, stroking the bundle of nerves until John could manage all three fingers, impaling himself on them as he circled his hips. Sherlock smeared more lube on himself, then slowly lined himself up with John's entrance, waiting for the nod of admission. Inching in ever so gently, Sherlock gasped. It was so hot, so tight, it felt incredible. He didn't know this was what he'd always wanted until now. It was no wonder people killed over this, John felt amazing against his aching cock. When Sherlock was fully embedded in John, he waited, giving him some much-needed time to adjust. The ache John felt was dull, Sherlock had stretched him well, but persistent. After a while, John nodded again, shifting his weight on the bed. Sherlock, after pulling all of the way out, snapped his hips back and hit John's prostate almost immediately, the doctor arching off the bed and almost screaming at the intense pleasure.

"Not going to last long if you keep doing that" John muttered, utterances punctuated with heavy breaths and grunts. "Neither am... ugh... I" came the lustful reply. They locked eyes, and all of a sudden it became much more intense. Sherlock began to up the pace, hitting the gland with each and every thrust. Sherlock leant down, kissing John deeply, trying to convey all the emotions he couldn't. He didn't have the knowledge of feelings; he could only vaguely match the words up to the right ones. But he needed John to know that he had never felt this good about anything, not even the drugs had given him an effect so stimulating, so completely and utterly perfect. Still thrusting in and out of John, Sherlock looked John dead in the eyes. "I love you. I -ohh- love..."

They were both getting close, reaching the crescendo, and Sherlock reached a hand between them, stroking John's length in time with his thrusts. John moaned, panting louder until...

"I'm... Sherlock, I'm going to..."

"Let go, come for me John. Come for me"

At his request, John relaxed, letting the climax wash over him in waves of pleasure. The tightening around Sherlock's cock as John's muscles contracted was too much to bear, and, combined with the sight of John finishing, sent Sherlock over the edge. With a deep thrust, he spilled his seed into John, groaning loudly. Collapsing onto John, Sherlock slipped out of him and just cuddled him, holding him as close as humanely possible. It felt wonderful to be so content, so satiated. Feeling a kiss on top of his dark curls, Sherlock looked up at John, at his lover.
"Sherlock?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you too."

Smiling giddily, the pair met with a kiss before John passed Sherlock a baby wipe, to clean himself up with. Not even getting out of bed, they were clean(er) and back in their original positions before long. Sherlock had something he needed to say, but he didn't know the words for it, he didn't know how to express this bubble of joy he felt in his chest in anything comprehensive; he couldn't quantify any of this, but that wasn't scaring him so much any more. John had told him to "just go with it", and Sherlock had obliged, finding that it wasn't quite so scary, this feeling business.

"I just want to tell you, that I don't want to ever be away from you. And when I see you I just want to hold you and keep you safe and never let anyone hurt you. I find myself wanting to indulge you in all of those silly things the couples do in those boring films of yours. And I'm not one hundred percent sure what it is, because I'm still not used to emotions, but I think it's love. And I just want you to know what you mean to me. And how I want to be with you for the rest of my life. And I think I'm asking you to marry me."

Sherlock looked away, petrified of rejection. The words were out of his mouth before his brain had chance to analyse possible responses. John could be scared off, he could decide it's too soon. None of the scenarios Sherlock played out contained an acceptance. John, however, had other plans.

"Yes!"