Author's Note:
Someday...everything will work out for the best for these two...maybe... Thanks to everyone who keep reviewing! I love them and you! =)
Leave it to Mycroft to ruin this perfect moment with John. Although seeing his fiancé dive under the covers out of modesty's sake was amusing. He caught the ring with a glare to his older brother. "Careful!" He growled and inspected the ring, to make sure it had been cleaned of his blood.
"Oh, it will be fine." Mycroft glanced at the large bump under the blankets against Sherlock's side. "Weren't very modest a few hours ago, Doctor Watson. Not really much to hide."
"Sod off, Mycroft!" John's voice was muffled against Sherlock's side.
"That's his ring. I assume he will be putting that back on." His gaze lifted to his younger brother again.
A smirk found its way to his lips as he listened to Mycroft and John bicker. "No worries John, he is just jealous that Lestrade doesn't get him off like that." Sherlock smirked again, his gaze never leaving his older brother. He slid his hand under the covers and offered the ring back to John. His free hand ran lightly and comforting on his fiancé's shoulder blade.
Mycroft's lips pursed instantly and he shifted on his feet. He didn't really need to openly admit that, Sherlock could just read it.
John grabbed the ring eagerly, slipping it on his finger and leaning into Sherlock's hand with a snicker. His head peeked out of the blanket at an angle where only Sherlock could see him and smiled warmly. The touch on his shoulder blade caused his eyes flutter shut, a hand splaying across Sherlock's chest and resting over his heart.
"There is extra dinner downstairs," Mycroft snapped before shutting the door.
"Maybe that will teach him not to talk to my fiancé like that," Sherlock said as he watched his brother leave the room clearly flustered. He lifted the covers and slid under them to be face to face to John. "Now, where were we my dear doctor? Right about here, I think…" He trailed off and leaned into to kiss the army doctor on the lips lightly.
A small appreciative hum escaped John's chest as Sherlock kissed him. Without hesitation he returned it, tilting his head slightly to get a better angle of Sherlock's mouth. Kissing had never been so romantic or perfect but here was Sherlock, his fiancé, causing him to squirm against the warm body next to him. He exhaled loudly through his nose and let a hand tangle in Sherlock's hair.
Sherlock continued to kiss John, his tongue running lightly along the other man's lips before going to explore once more. His body automatically pressed into his fiancé's when he felt the squirming body on his. He wrapped both arms around the army doctor, to hug John closer still. He had found that their bodies could never be too close together. He scratched lightly on the bare skin, as he began breathing through his nose because he didn't want to break the kiss just yet.
The solidness of Sherlock's body against John calmed him instantly. His hands ran down Sherlock's back lightly and he let out a soft moan into the kiss. John decided in that moment that he could snog Sherlock for the rest of his life and die happy. The man was an unnaturally good kisser. It wasn't fair. He tugged at Sherlock's bottom lip with his teeth as he slowly pulled away from the kiss, panting and keeping his eyes closed.
As the kiss finally ended, Sherlock took a moment to catch his breath. Even in the dimness under the covers he could still make out John's face and he smiled. It was hot and stuffy under the blanket now so he pulled it down enough for fresh air to circulate around them. One hand moved up to run through his fiancé's hair. "I missed doing this with you," he admitted quietly as he pressed their foreheads together. He smiled again and gave John a quick kiss on the nose.
John smiled widely, pressing his head up into Sherlock's hand. "I did too," he replied in a whisper. "Kissing you is, quite possibly, my favorite thing." His nose scrunched at the kiss and he playfully pressed his hand against Sherlock's stomach. This moment was perfect and could easily replace the rest of the day on his thoughts. Playful. He liked playful and happy Sherlock. "I love you."
"I love you too," Sherlock replied. He continued to run a hand through John's hair. He didn't want to leave the bed for the rest of the day. Judging from how dark it was out there wasn't, much left of it. When was the last time they had just laid together like this? The day he come home from the hospital after being poisoned? It seemed so long ago. "Can we stay like this for awhile?" His eyes closed in contentment and he hugged John once more.
"Yes, please." John smiled into Sherlock's chest and placed his ear over his fiancé's heart. The steady beat soothed him, reminded him that he was with Sherlock. "Marry me," he whispered softly. "I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to fall asleep in your arms every night and see you every morning when I wake up." He opened his eyes to glance up at Sherlock. "Marry me," he repeated softly.
"Of course I will marry you. Since you think you are going to be such a terrible father, someone's got show you how it's done." Sherlock smirked and gave John a light kiss on the lips. He then rested his chin on top of the army doctor's head. "I love you John Watson." He didn't care he had already professed his love a couple times tonight. With a slightly tight squeeze he hugged his fiancé once more.
At Sherlock's comment John could help but chuckle, looking up at him the best he could. "You are just as nervous as me, Sherlock. Sarah's been talking to me. She can tell." He ran his fingernails lightly down Sherlock's chest, smiling a bit. He rested his ear directly above Sherlock's heart. Hearing the other man declare his love, especially more than once in one day, made his heart swell. "I love you, too." He yawned and tilted his head, playfully running his tongue up the scar at the center of Sherlock's chest.
"If you're still tired take a nap my dear doctor," Sherlock said as he noted the yawn. The tongue on his chest made his body shiver in delight, even if it was on the faded scar. "We are doing the whipped cream thing while you are home." He lifted his head after speaking and gave the top of John's head another kiss.
"I don't want to sleep," John declared stubbornly, looking up at his fiancé. "I want to stay awake and spend as much time as possible with you." His head tilted and he placed an open mouthed kiss on Sherlock's chest, sucking slightly at the skin. A soft hum of agreement escaped his chest. He was tired. Exhausted, really. His thoughts were slow and his body barely had the energy to move, but sleeping meant being alone. Nightmares. No Sherlock. He couldn't just sleep when he was going to be gone in six days.
"You are clearly tired. You're always on me about taking care of myself. I will wake you in an hour. How does that sound?" Sherlock's body reacted to the kiss, and he snuggled into John even more. His fingers gently ran through his fiancé's hair and the nape of his neck to help him relax and hopefully sleep.
"Good," John whispered in reply, relaxing fully into Sherlock's body and letting his eyes fall shut. Just an hour. Then he would wake up to Sherlock next to him and they could start his second day in London. After a few moments he finally fell asleep, his mouth open slightly as soft snores escaped him.
Sherlock smiled as he felt John relax into him. His fingers continued to lightly stroke the other man's head. It was hard to believe just yesterday they had got in the worst fight they had ever had since being together. Everything was fine now though. Would they get in fights like that often? He frowned at the thought. The only thing worthwhile about it had been the amazing make-up sex. Even still, he never wanted to get in another fight like that again with John. It had almost shattered everything they had shared together. He pushed those thoughts aside, trying to concentrate on the here and now. How wonderful it all was. An hour went by quicker than he thought it would and he shook his fiancé gently.
John's dreams had been happy, foggy around the edges, and the gentle shaking made him groan softly and take a sharp breath. An hour. It had been an hour and Sherlock's arm was around him. The idea to beg for another five minutes crossed his mind but he shook his head slightly and opened one eye to glance up at his fiancé. "Hey." He stretched, pressing toes against the top of Sherlock's feet and placing a quick kiss on Sherlock's jaw. "'M hungry," he whispered.
"Mycroft said there were leftovers downstairs. Want to eat here or would you rather go out somewhere? Maybe Angelo's? I'm sure he will give us a candle to make it more romantic," Sherlock said with a slight smirk, as he recalled the first time he and John had gone there together. "I can text him ahead of time, so when we get there the food will be ready and you won't have to wait." He wasn't really hungry but he would nibble on something to appease his fiancé.
"That sounds fantastic," John stated as he rotated slightly in Sherlock's grasp in an attempt to locate his clothes. "Chicken Alfredo," he commented with a small smile. Romantic. The thought made him chuckle softly. They were the farthest thing from romantic. "And some wine, lots of wine." Getting drunk, trying to forget their fight the day before seemed like quite the plan.
Sherlock nodded and then remembered he didn't have his phone with him or his shoes. "We'll need to go back to the flat first. My shoes and phone are there. Probably should clean up a bit as well, or at the very least change into some fresh clothes." Lots of wine? If that's what John wanted then he supposed there was no reason for him to object. Hmmm, maybe he would have drink as well then.
Oh. Right. Sherlock had run off and that's why they were here. "I should probably get a taxi... and carry you down the stairs. I don't really feel comfortable with you walking on your feet yet." He slipped his boxers on and climbed back on to the bed. "How do they feel?" One foot was lifted and he inspected the bandage with a small nod. No visible blood through the bandage, so better than yesterday.
Sherlock had forgotten about his banged up feet. He supposed since he had endured worse pain, that he had just stopped noticing it in his feet after awhile. He wiggled his toes experimentally. "I'll be fine. I can manage going down some stairs." Stubborn pride. He didn't care if it would agitate his already tender feet or that he probably couldn't walk straight. The thought of being carried like some invalid did not sit well with him.
John glanced up with a raised brow, biting his bottom lip. "I'm not so sure," he muttered. "Which one hurts less? I can help you out, have you lean on me." He crawled up Sherlock's body, lightly meeting his lips, teasing his bottom lip slightly. "Let me help you. That is what I'm here for." He nudged Sherlock's cheek with his nose before pulling away, straddling Sherlock's thighs with a proud grin on his face.
"Fine, I'll use you for support but I don't want to be carried," Sherlock relented with a slight pout. A smirk found its way to his lips though, as he eyed John straddling him. "You just like telling me what to do. You are power hungry doctor and lover. Might have to show who is boss later tonight." His smirk broadened, confident and cocky.
"Not tonight," John reminded him with a small shake of his head. "We are supposed to meet Sarah. I wanted to have her come to the flat." He rubbed the back of his neck nervously at the admission. "Thought I could make dinner for all of us. Also, this is our crappy telly night, Sherlock." A hand carded through Sherlock's hair with a warm smile on his face. "I just want a quiet night in. I want to fall asleep in your arms tonight." He gave Sherlock a chaste kiss as he moved off the bed. "Mostly because I am power hungry." The grin on his lips stretched to his ears, his hips wiggling slightly as he pulled his jeans on.
The pouting lip returned but Sherlock nodded in compliance. "Fine." He didn't like the thought of John and Sarah in the flat together. Grant it, he would be there too but it still irked him. He supposed it always would. It wasn't like he could beat her to a bloody pulp like John had done to Jackson. He sighed at his thoughts and swung his legs over the side of the bed to place his feet lightly on the floor to test how pressure sensitive they were. Still tender and painful but he wouldn't tell John that. His fiancé would only worry and insist on actually carrying him.
It was more than obvious that Sherlock was a bit unhappy with John's plan but he wanted to be polite and, honestly, he was excited. The butterflies in his stomach were going crazy at the thought of seeing the growth of his daughter in person. Daughter. His child. He would be able to feel her move, talk to her, have some sense of what a normal pregnancy was supposed to feel like. "Did you get to feel Amy move the last time you met with Sarah?" He asked softly. The glance in Sherlock's direction was nervous as he moved to his fiancé's side, biting his lip and tightly wrapping his arm around Sherlock to support him.
"Yes, it's still weird to me every time though. Little Sandi kicks a lot when I'm talking. I guess she likes me voice. Or that's what Sarah says," Sherlock replied with a slight shrug. With John's help, he stood up. He found his left foot was slightly more bearable, so he favored that side over the right. He glanced up to his fiancé, a small smirk on his lips. "In your expert opinion, doctor, how long until my feet heal?"
John felt his heart rate pick up at that. Active. Healthy. His daughter. "Of course she loves your voice, it's quite wonderful," he paused a bit in contemplation. "Wonder what it sounds like to her? Bit jumbled, I bet." He smiled and picked up Sherlock's slack as he stood. His feet were in horrid condition. He didn't even know how the other man was standing. "Maybe three days if you keep off them? I'll take care of them the best I can." He used a foot to kick Sherlock's underwear up into his free hand, holding them toward Sherlock. "Going to be a bit tender for about two weeks so take care of them after I leave."
"Guess it's a good thing I got stuff done early, instead of waiting last minute then," Sherlock mumbled. "Oh, knowing Mycroft he will bug me into submission while you are gone. He's an annoying older brother like that. Mum says it's his job to look after me. I think he does it just to annoy me." He shrugged again. He had been so focused on his feet, he had forgotten he needed to redress. He plopped back onto the bed and put his clothes back on as carefully as could so the fabric wouldn't brush against his feet too much.
John smiled, eyes scanning the floor as he searched for his button up shirt. It had been shed far before they had decided to stop fighting. Once he found it and slipped it over his shoulders, he moved back over to Sherlock. With a confidence he had lacked in the beginning of their relationship he tangled his hand in Sherlock's hair and pulled his head up for a heated kiss. "It's because he loves you," a pause, "Also because I've asked him to." His lips turned in a mischievous grin. "You get pictures of me on a weekly basis, right? The same goes for me. Mycroft wants to make sure I'm happy, too." He glanced at the door as he felt his stomach growl. Food. He was starving.
"I guess." The words were mumbled as he slid his pants on. After Sherlock was properly clothed, he stood up once more. Yeah, staying off his feet for a few days sounded like a good idea. He ignored the pain and once more used John for support. "John, maybe we should have Angelo deliver us the food. I don't think…" he trailed off and then growled in frustration before going on, "…I don't think I'll be able to make it…"
John looked at Sherlock and sighed. "I can carry you, Sherlock. I at least want to get you back to the flat. Nobody will see us. We are going straight into a taxi and straight out." His eyes studied the profile of his fiance, a small smile on his lips. "Let me help you, that's what husbands are for." A hand ran down Sherlock's spine in a soothing motion. "I'm strong enough."
It wasn't that Sherlock thought John wasn't strong enough. It was his pride. He shook his head. "I can make it outside, I just don't think I'll be able to go anywhere else the rest of the day." He also didn't want to hear his older brother make some snide come back at him, after his remark about Lestrade that had made his brother leave the room uncomfortably.
"Alright." John moved forward and kept his arm wrapped tightly around Sherlock's torso. Part of him understood. When he had been shot he was scared of people looking down on him, carrying him and viewing him as weak. It made sense. "It's alright. We've got this. I'm here to help." He stood up on his toes to kiss Sherlock's cheek. Being in love with Sherlock, John was slowly learning, was a lot of responsibility that he was...oddly looking forward to. The thought of having to wait another six months made his blood run cold for a moment and he stopped walking without realizing it.
Sherlock merely nodded in agreement as he concentrated on anything but the pain jabbing into his feet every time he took a step forward. They were about to head down the steps when John suddenly stopped, something he wasn't ready for. He jerked to a stop and with his free hand he gripped the railing so he wouldn't tumble down the stairs. That could have been bad, as they probably both would have fallen if Sherlock hadn't stopped his tumbling forward motion. "You okay my dear doctor?" He turned his head to look at his fiancé, his lips creased slightly in worry.
The words were stuck in his throat and John opened his mouth several times before he smiled tightly and nodded. Fuck. He couldn't keep thinking like that. If he kept his mind on the positive then he was able to focus, to keep his head clear, and remind himself that he would return home. That he wouldn't get shot. Or worse. "Fine. It's fine." He tightened his arm around Sherlock and helped him down the steps the best he could. "D'you want me to ask Mycroft if he has any... I don't know, slippers or something?" His voice was rough and tight.
With a critical eye, Sherlock stared at John for a moment. He then shook his head at the question. "No. It's fine," he mimicked the words back to his fiancé. He didn't think slippers would help anyway. Either way there would be some kind of friction against his feet. So, to him there was no point in asking to begin with.
"Alright. I'm sure." He opened the door mid-sentence and couldn't help but chuckle,. "Mycroft got us a bloody car. Of course he did." He looked up at his fiancé with a grin as the door to the black car door opened. "Sometimes your brother scares me," he muttered out of the side of his mouth as he pulled Sherlock into the car with him. He pulled away from Sherlock right away and pressed himself against the window. His thoughts were over-taking any rational moment he was having and he wanted to be by himself.
Sherlock wasn't surprised there was a car waiting for them outside. In fact, he had been expecting it. He smirked a bit at John's words and climbed into the car carefully. It was nice to sit down, to get off his feet finally. Walking from the bedroom to the car had been excruciating and the relief was more than welcomed. He turned to watch his fiancé with a thoughtful frown, wondering what was bothering him. He reached over and took John's hand and gave it reassuring squeeze, hoping that would help ease whatever was clearly troubling the army doctor.
John returned the squeeze without a second thought but didn't turn to face Sherlock. He couldn't. Looking at the other man would only upset him more. Maybe it had been a bad idea to come back to London for a week, showing him something he had to wait another six months for and holding it over his head. Hopefully, if he didn't get shot first. "Do you ever get scared?" He whispered with another squeeze to Sherlock's hand.
Sherlock raised his eyebrows at the question in surprise and then frowned in thought. Should he answer truthfully or lie? He knew where this conversation was heading. He remained in quiet reflection a moment before finally replying. "Well…yeah…I've pretty much thought of every scenario of what might happen to you while you are over there. Sometimes knowing everything isn't what it's cracked up to be." He had opted for truth, though regretted it because the words weren't exactly comforting.
John visibly tensed and slammed his eyes shut. "I'm sorry," he whispered as pulled away from the window and curled against Sherlock instead. "Two weeks ago we were on patrol at night and we were getting shot at. Hollman got hit," his voice trailed off and he took a shaky breath. "And he was right next to me and all I could think about was how close it was to me." He kept his eyes shut. After this he wasn't going to be able to face Sherlock. "It hit him square in the head, Sherlock. One moment he was there and the next...blood. Everywhere..." And John trying desperately to save his best friend. "It was almost me."
Sherlock let go of John's hand and wrapped it around his fiancé's shoulder, to draw him into a sideways hug. Hollman…had that been the fellow that had lead him to the tunnel entrance? While he had been there, he hadn't really taken the time to know any of John's company. This wasn't a story he wanted to hear. Knowing how close it had been for the army doctor. However, John clearly needed to talk about it, so he tried not to dwell on all things that could have happened instead. He wasn't really sure what to say, so he reached his other hand across his lap and squeezed his fiancé's hand once more.
"And I didn't tell you because I didn't want to worry you." John opened his eyes, wide and scared, to look up at Sherlock. "But I cried for the first time on a tour and yelled at my company." His eyes moved again, locked on Sherlock's leg. "We Skyped that night and you asked what was wrong and I just lied. I'm horrible." His neck stretched and he placed a kiss on the underside of Sherlock's jaw.
"No you aren't." They had both kept things from each other to try and protect the other. For instance, Sherlock still hadn't told John about Moriarty's network trying to get to him. Mycroft's people had a vast majority already rounded up. Hopefully all loose ends would be tied up by the time his fiancé came home. He kissed the top of John's head and snuggled closer into his fiancé. He let his head drop onto the army doctor's shoulder.
The car slid to a stop and John moved fractionally. "I love you." He gave Sherlock's hand one last squeeze before getting out of the car and helping Sherlock to his own feet. Being outside, being in London, brought a small smile to his face and he narrowed his eyes against the morning sun to get a better look at his fiancé. "C'mon, I'm hungry." He tugged Sherlock toward the front door of 221B.
"I love you too," Sherlock responded as he was helped out of the car. He followed John inside and up the stairs. He moved to the couch and slumped into it immediately, closing his eyes against the throbbing pain in his feet. "If you bring me my phone, I'll text Angelo. It's in the bedroom." Usually he requested things be brought to him because he was too busy thinking but this time it had been because he didn't want to be on his feet any longer than he had to.
John went without question, grabbing Sherlock's phone and bringing it back. With a look toward Sherlock's feet he moved back into the kitchen. "Chicken Alfredo," he reminded Sherlock as he rummaged through the cabinets. Pain pills. Where has those been relocated to? It took him several tries but he finally found them, pouring some into his hand and getting a glass of water. "Here, take these." He placed the pills in Sherlock's hand and gave him the water.
Sherlock sent a quick text and then let the phone fall into his lap, as he leaned his head against the couch. Usually he would argue against taking pain medication but right now it seemed like a fabulous idea. So, without protesting he swallowed the pills with a gulp of water. Hopefully they would work quickly because the pain was more intense than he was letting on. He didn't want John worrying over him.
John managed a tight smile as Sherlock took the medication, taking the cup of water and moving back into the kitchen. He needed to keep moving. If he sat down and relaxed he would just start thinking again. That couldn't happen. He moved to the center of the living room, rigid with his hands tensing at his sides. Laptop. Blog, maybe? That would distract him.
Sherlock watched John with a worried frown. He just didn't know what to say or do to help calm his fiancé down. How could he take away a fear that he, himself, had on a regular basis? He wanted to get up and give the army doctor a hug but his feet were still throbbing from coming up the stairs. He didn't think he would get very far without stumbling. John had enough going on in his mind to worry about him. So, he stayed on the couch. He closed his eyes again, as he continued to try and think of a way to make his fiancé feel better.
While the cleaning of the flat had been nice, and John really did appreciate it, he hated how difficult it was to find anything. Where had his laptop been moved to? With an agitated sigh he fell on to the couch next to Sherlock and flipped the telly on, not even bothering to change the channel as he curled into Sherlock's side. Watching telly was a mindless activity. That was something he needed right now. "Did she cheat on him?" He asked softly as the crowd on the channel started to shout and boo at the woman who appeared on the screen.
If Sherlock had been paying attention, he would have pointed out where the laptop was. However, he was lost in his own thoughts until John snuggled into him. He snuggled back, an arm resting around his fiancé's shoulders. He turned his attention to the program on the telly at the army doctor's question. "No. She was planning a surprise birthday for her husband, which was why she was spending so much time with the brother." He shrugged a bit, wondering how John could possibly find this drivel entertaining.
John turned the channel with a violent push on the remote, only moving to suddenly acknowledge Mrs. Hudson's presence as she brought their food up. "Thank you," he stood slowly and placed a kiss on her cheek as he took the bag. The tension in the room was strong and she left. "Do you want to eat now or wait?" His stomach growled. He needed to eat and slowly start to figure out what he was going to make for dinner. What could Sarah even eat?
Sherlock couldn't help but wonder if they were spiraling into another fight so soon, as he watched John change the channel. He gave Mrs. Hudson the faintest of smiles when she brought their food up. "We can eat now," he answered cautiously. He wasn't sure if his fiancé was upset with him, the conversation in the car, or something else entirely. Usually, he was good about reading people but he found himself lost as he tried to decipher John's body language and words.