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Chapter sixteen

Dawn was breaking. The sun had not yet risen completely and wafts of mist were lingering above the thick blanket of snow. It had started snowing the day before and not stopped throughout the night. Maybe, they were going to have a white Christmas after all, John thought. For the past fifteen minutes, he had watched Sherlock sleeping. He sat on the study desk in their bedroom, sipping his coffee and pondering the events of the previous night. Fortunately, there were tea and coffee facilities in every bedroom. Beginning a morning without coffee was an absolute no-go. Especially this morning, he needed the caffeine badly. He felt absolutely whacked. John had barely slept four hours that night, which was hardly surprising in the light of his recent revelation. On the other hand, he also felt relieved. He finally had taken a decision.

He wasn't yet completely convinced that he welcomed the new situation. The prospect of a romantic relationship with Sherlock Holmes of all people was still terrifying to John at times, because it was new and unknown. He knew the attractive features of Sherlock's eccentric character, and he knew his friend's dark aspects as well. He had no idea how Sherlock would cope with a serious romantic involvement. Then again, he was good at being "involved" with Sherlock. He could handle him, whether he was being very charming or extremely annoying. However, why someone like Sherlock would favour someone like John over someone like Victor Trevor, remained a complete mystery to him.

But John was a man of his word, even if he'd only given it to himself, and he wasn't a coward. He had never been interested in another man before. He had considered himself straight all his life. Sherlock, however, was unique. He had to confess that he had very secretly, and very unconsciously, been afraid for some time now, that this might happen in the end. He really did fall for Sherlock the moment he met him, and Sherlock had immediately responded to him favourably. No, there had been no love at first sight, but it had started there and then, and it had been visible. Naturally, Mycroft had been the first to recognise the small changes in his brothers' behaviour; then Greg Lestrade, the members of the Yard… Mrs. Hudson had never thought anything else of them. There probably was no person in whole London who believed them to be anything other than a couple by now - certainly not among their acquaintances.

Most certainly no longer, since he was wearing an engagement ring and his dear future brother-in-law, for lack of anything better to do, had told Queen and Country, which was a clever move on his part, John had to admit. Since that moment, John knew he was as good as checkmated. The ring prompted another question: What to do with it afterwards? A relationship with Sherlock Holmes was one thing – probably something close to a suicide mission – an engagement was something else. He wasn't sure if he was prepared to take such a step yet. Well, he would cross that bridge when he came to it, John thought. One step at the time.

Starting with the expression of affection.

After some hesitation, he took a deep breath, set down his coffee mug, moved over to the bed and knelt down next to it. This was the time to seize his chance, to start putting his plan into action.

"In for a penny, in for a pound. Off you go, John!" he encouraged himself.

Then, he carefully reached for his friend's curly hair, the only part of Sherlock visible outside the sheets he had rolled himself up in. "Sherlock?" John whispered softly.

No response.

He stroked Sherlock's hair tenderly and called again. "Sherlock?"

It took several more minutes before the detective slowly returned to the realm of the living, stretching. Drowsily, he emerged from under the sheets and lifted his head far enough, to have a good view of John, supporting himself on his elbows. "Jawn?"

John cleared his throat and smiled shyly. "Good morning, Sherlock," he replied.

"Whatisit?" Sherlock slurred, clearly having difficulties to keep his eyes open. "Somethinghappened?"

John couldn't suppress a smile at the slurred speech and sleepy face of his friend. Strange thing was that Sherlock could go on for days without sleeping properly, but when he finally did sleep, it was a sound sleep and one could hardly wake him up. Now, he looked like a little, lost child. This vulnerable aspect of his character was so unlike Sherlock's resourceful, arrogant and self-assertive side that John often had asked himself how his friend got along before they had met each other – without the anchor who helped him not to float away and reminded him to eat, sleep and behave.

"No, luv. Nothing," John answered amused. "I'm going to swim laps in the pool. I have sore muscles from our night's work. Active recovery, you know."

He could have left a post-it note for him, of course, but that wouldn't have done the trick. John planned on giving him a subject for his deductions from now on. Let's see what he could make of it.

"The medical name for this condition is delayed onset muscle soreness, or DOMS, and it is thought to be due in large part to inflammation of the muscle as a result of micro tears of the muscle fibres. Treatment of sore muscles after exercise is focused on reducing the inflammation and allowing the sore muscle to heal properly. The simplest and most reliable treatment for sore muscles is rest. Most people with muscle soreness will improve with no specific treatment within five to seven days. Some simple activity, known as 'active recovery,' can be helpful during this phase of treatment. Active recovery stimulates blood flow to the muscles, improves circulation in the muscles, and helps reduce muscle pain," Sherlock rattled off automatically.

He didn't look much more awake than before. Probably he had collected those facts and stored them away in his mind palace for further reference.

John couldn't help but feel amazed at him. He really shouldn't. John was accustomed to Sherlock's brilliance. But every now and then, he caught him off guard, and he was speechless again with admiration, the sort admiration, he had felt in the early days of their acquaintance. The one that knocked him sideways a bit.

"Right, genius. Try to get some more sleep. I'll see you at breakfast," he answered. John quickly bent forward and kissed him on the forehead. He ruffled Sherlock's hair one more time and swiftly brushed along his cheekbones with his fingertips as he removed his hand. Then, he quickly left for the swimming pool with a content smile playing on his lips, leaving a confused-looking consulting detective behind.

That hadn't gone too badly.

The pool was situated in a large and light room on the main floor. The floor was tiled with small, light blue and white mosaic pieces. A steady, subdued light illuminated the room. Three of the walls were provided with huge panorama windows which probably revealed a magnificent view over the formal garden by daylight. Now, the artificial light from the room was reflected in them. The water reflected the soft light as well. Even inside the pool, lights had been embedded in the floor and basin walls. The whole room bathed in soft light and the variations of light and shade created a relaxed and even somewhat romantic atmosphere. The furnishing of the room was elegant and delicate again, but somehow John preferred the more intimate atmosphere of the Turkish bath in London he and Sherlock visited regularly. Sherlock had told him that the Turkish bath in the Clinic was as exquisite as the swimming pool, but he, too, preferred their normal London spot.

"You are an early bird."

John jolted out of his thoughts. Oh for God's sake. Not him again.

Howard's presence had apparently escaped John's notice while he examined the room. Howard supported himself against the pool edge with his elbows, dabbling his hands in the water nonchalantly and treading water.

"I could say the same about you," John replied. For a moment he was in two minds about whether to turn around and leave again.

Howard closely observed John, who, standing only in his bathing suit, felt exposed. "You look awful. Did he keep you up all night?" Howard finally asked playfully.

Sort of, John thought.

Instead of answering, John decided to pay no further attention to Howard's remark or to Howard himself. He jumped off the edge of the pool and did what he had intended to do - swim. On the other side of the pool, Howard, however, was still watching him with a steadfast gaze.

While John stoically swam his laps, a routine from his army days, an idea came into his head. He couldn't let this chance slip. Although he was a little doubtful about his own plan and fairly convinced that Sherlock wouldn't approve of it, he decided to act on his hunch.

He submerged for the last fifteen metres and surfaced next to Howard at the pool's edge, still keeping a "safe distance" from him. Just in case.

"And what made you crawl out of bed so early this morning?" John asked as casually as possible.

"I always exercise before breakfast. Besides, Grace was especially demanding last night. She kept me awake for some time," Howard laughed one of his appalling laughs.

Grit your teeth and get to it, John thought. "You always exercise before breakfast? Remarkable. Well, you look healthy, of course."

"You noticed," Howard insinuated.

"I use my eyes," John replied. Although Sherlock would probably disagree with this statement. He could literally hear him sneering "You see, but you never observe, John".

"Well, I travel a lot and the hotels have pretty good facilities, nowadays. So, it's no problem to keep fit," Howard shrugged and looked at John intensely. "You're in good shape, too."

Howard wasn't an idiot, but John knew that he was self-interested and slick. He was a womanising type, except that he wasn't chasing women. Howard wanted to be the centre of attention and he was looking for men who were stylish, congenial and willing. He also liked them smart. Not the type of astuteness that was characteristic of Sherlock, but the cheerful and witty sort. John had that and he certainly had the looks Howard was seeking in men. This certainly helped, smoothing out the questioning and getting the answers.

"I…yes. You do what you can," John said. "So you travel regularly? Just in Britain or internationally as well?"

"Internationally. Europe, Asia, and Latin-America. Beautiful men there, by the way. I actually haven't travelled in Britain for three years now. Do you travel?" Howard asked.

If that was true, he wasn't the man they were looking for.

"More and more frequently, yes. Sherlock has a profitable business."

"Of course, you work together. He never takes his eyes off you, does he? Well, I can't blame him, of course. I'd guard you like gold, too, if I were your boyfriend."

"Fiancé," John replied automatically. Where he usually kept telling everyone that he wasn't actually gay, he told everyone now, that they were actually engaged. Sometimes, fact was stranger than fiction.

"No man should make the mistake of getting married. They dream in courtship, but in wedlock wake," Howard recited.

John smiled faintly. "Funny thing is, I was married before. She really had the sweetest disposition, she was perfect. But we were not made for each other. I was absolutely amazed by Sherlock. It's not the official certificate that will commit me to him. I'm already bound to him."

"Ah, I forgot, this is about true love. Forgive me," Howard said, smiling ironically at John's remark. "I've been married before, too. Got a divorce five years ago. You know it's not good in my business to stay single. It's all about appearances. In the end I found a wife in Grace who is smart enough to look away when I'm….let me put it this way, when I'm otherwise engaged." Howard turned his head and watched him narrowly. "I'm not trying to talk you out of marriage, you know. I told you I think he's very attractive in his own way. I'm just offering you a different perspective."

"You're offering sex," John replied bluntly.

Howard grinned. "You wouldn't regret it."

"I'm still flattered but I'm also still not interested," John said, polite but determined.

"Pity," Howard replied, not bothering to hide his disappointment. "Well, your performance yesterday certainly looked promising."

John couldn't argue with that, and he definitely would look into the matter when they were home again. All in good time. "I'm never bored with him, I assure you," he said deliberately ambiguous.

"Well, I'm not giving up yet, John. Think about it."

"Don't get your hopes up, Howard," John replied, latching on to the pool edge and getting out of the pool. "See you later."

When John entered the breakfast room he felt like a new man. The early exercise and a long, hot shower did wonders. He spotted Sherlock at their usual table. Ben and Anne had joined him. They sat next to each other neither talking nor looking at each other. Apparently they had had a row. John knew the symptoms only too well. Next to them, Sherlock looked miserable, obviously just keeping himself from sharing his thoughts on the matter with their table neighbours. The detective chewed his croissant unenthusiastically, gazing at the table in abstraction. John smiled fondly at the sight. This was Sherlock's second "masterful self" – severe self-control in socially delicate situations. He swiftly went across the room to their table, greeted Anne and Ben and sat down opposite his friend.

Sherlock's face brightened. "Thank God. You were my last resort," he whispered and rolled his eyes.

John grinned, reached for Sherlock's hand and kissed it very gently. "Good morning, again."

Sherlock didn't flinch but cast an astonished look at John. The moment of confusion on his face wasn't noticeable to anyone who didn't know him very well. But John did and by now, he could read Sherlock's face like a book when he caught him off guard. He had his tells – the slight twitching of his mouth, the quick raising of his eyebrows, the brief frown on his forehead and the brightening of his eyes, burning with curiosity.

He quickly examined John. "I dimly remember you told me about swimming laps. I see that it set you up."

John didn't let go of his hand, but caressed it carefully with his thumb. "Yes, it did. Unfortunately your hated rival had the same brainwave."

"Honestly, John. What am I to do with you?" Sherlock asked, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Keep a weather eye on me?" John replied.

"And you tell me that you have to keep your eyes glued to me all the time," he said in mock indignation.

John grinned. "Apparently you're rubbing off on me."

Sherlock sighed. "I wish I would."

"No, you don't. Not really. You wouldn't be the "only one in the world" any more and I wouldn't be your totally amazed audience," John countered cleverly. "See, lose-lose-situation."

For a moment Sherlock didn't seem to know what to say. Then, the corner of his mouth twitched slightly. "You're developing a certain vein of canny humour, John. I must learn to guard myself against it."

John's grin broadened as a response. "By the way, I've had a conversation with the person in question," he continued in a low voice, leaning across the table.

"Surprise me," Sherlock replied with an eager face.

"Well, we've had the usual chit-chat about me being gorgeous. I shall not bother you with the details," John started.

Sherlock frowned at him.

"Well, I am and you know it," John continued self-confident, his grin never fading. "Important thing is, I've asked him about his travelling habits and he told me that he didn't travel within Britain for the last three years. He only travels internationally. If Mycroft can confirm this, and he was nowhere near the crime scenes at that time, we can delete him from our list of suspects."

The detective shook his head. "You know that I really should give you a good telling-off for sneaking away and investigating on your own account," Sherlock said with a serious face.

John knitted his brows. Not that Sherlock wasn't continuously sneaking away and investigating on his own account, causing his family and friends to worry constantly.

Sherlock looked intently at John. His expression softened after a moment and he squeezed his friend's hand. "But I must confess that this was excellently done. Many people would have done worse. Honour to whom honour is due."

John's heart took a leap at the warmth in Sherlock's voice. It was not often that he praised someone, and therefore, his words were even the more valuable to John. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." Sherlock coughed slightly. "So, he made approaches to you again?" he continued after a moment. "My kissing experience didn't impress him, then?"

"Oh, I think it did impress him. Only with a different effect," John replied.

"You don't seem to be affected," Sherlock said.

"By your kissing experience or by Howard's approaches?" John asked as innocently as possible, but with a deliberately flirtatious tone in his voice .

Sherlock's eyes widened for a moment, but he quickly recovered. John could tell that he had to adjust to John's flirting mode.

"You tell me," Sherlock countered.

Good one!

His friend didn't belie John's expectations in this game of "brainy flirting". It actually was great fun, and John started to cherish the queasy feeling in his stomach, he felt, whenever Sherlock was considered. He hadn't felt like this in a while, and although it happened unexpectedly, it was welcome now.

John smiled. "Ah, but that would spoil the party, wouldn't it?"

Sherlock frowned. "Spoil the party?"

John nodded. "Yes, you like the challenge of figuring things out. Applying your methods."

"Deducing you?" Sherlock asked in bewilderment, because he knew that John didn't like to be deduced – or worse, deduced out loud.

"Whenever you like," John returned.

"You don't like it when I tell you things without being asked," Sherlock said, confused.

"Well, this is different, isn't it? Because we've talked about it in the first place and you could ask me to allow you to deduce this tiny, little thing about me."

Sherlock looked at him with a curious expression. "I cannot possibly deduce the effect by just looking at you. You know that would mean I'd have to observe you in Howard's presence as well as conducting a counter-experiment. You could be affected by either or both events – or none."

In other words, he'd have to kiss him again.

John thought, that it was a smart move from Sherlock to ask his permission to kiss him like that, but John knew him well enough, and he would not let Sherlock trick him into telling him a simple yes or no. "Yes" you may conduct a counter-experiment, so "yes" you may kiss me again.

"You haven't asked me yet if I will let you deduce me, after all. I just said that I might allow you to deduce me if you'd ask me first," John parried.

Sherlock heaved a heavy sigh. Usually, he was far too curious as to blow his chance of getting to know something. "If you don't want me to know how Howard's sexual advances affect you, it's fine," he replied calmly.

Apparently, Sherlock wouldn't give in easily either, in spite of trying to find out, "I want to know what effect my kiss had on you." John didn't expect him to. It seemed they would continue dancing for a while. That was fine with him. His own plans for seducing his friend were going nicely. Although "seduction" didn't really cover it. It was never about the physical seduction that Sherlock was so adept at alone. It was about reaching true intimacy and finding out whether their relationship could develop into what John hoped.

Throughout the entire breakfast, he didn't let go of Sherlock's hand once, and Sherlock didn't try once to pull away either.

As always, Dr. Martin was already impatiently waiting for them to start the next group session. This morning they would be reading their love letters to each other and discussing them. After the events of the night, John had intuitively decided to rewrite his letter utterly in the early hours of the day.

"John, Sherlock, maybe you would like to start today?" Dr. Martin addressed them immediately.

"Why does it has to be us?" John whispered miserably.

Sherlock stood up and pulled John to his feet. "Anne and Ben obviously had a row this morning and are not talking to each other and Dr. Martin has given up her hope for the rest. Rightfully so, as I told you."

John rolled his eyes. "Great, if I had known that, I would have started an argument this morning myself."

"Too late for that and not very convincing. She saw us snogging on the staircase and thinks we had make up sex last night."

"Right. I forgot about that part," John sighed.

Sherlock cast an swift look at John and smiled knowingly. "No, you wouldn't."

Probably not.

"You wouldn't either," John countered.

"I do not doubt it," Sherlock breathed.

Dr. Martin waved them into two chairs, which were standing in the middle of the room, facing each other.

John plucked up the courage to start. Sherlock looked at him, with keen eyes and with a curious expression on his face. He assumed his thinking pose, the "sitting version"- he bent forward, elbows on his knees, and put his fingertips together under his chin, giving John his undivided attention.

John cleared his throat and shot a quick glance at Sherlock who met his look with an eager face, still smiling knowingly. There was this air of haughtiness that John didn't exactly like but did find sexy all the same. He blushed a bit, not as muchas he used to do. He decided that he wasn't doing so badly considering the circumstances.

"Well, let's see," he started. "Sherlock, First of all, I want to apologise beforehand that my writing is terrible as always. My letter probably ended up being too long and too incoherent. I also might have committed the sin of writing sentimental stuff. It is very likely that you will find it tedious and be bored very much halfway through it." He probably was the only one who announced his letter first.

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. "Go on. I'll try to survive it."

"Meeting you was fate. Necessity brought us together. Thinking about it, the fact that Mike thought we might make a good couple in the first place is definitely very remarkable. On the surface, there have never been two people more different than we are. When I first met you, you were certainly arrogant and quietly rude. You looked about twelve, were clearly a bit public school, and you behaved in an imperious and pompous way that infuriated me more than once."

John paused from time to time and looked from under his eyelids at Sherlock. Sherlock grimaced when it came to the public school bit while John's comment about his behaviour made him smile.

"And, yeah, I was definitely convinced that you were probably mad. But you were also strangely likeable and fascinating. In the early days of our acquaintance I thought you were a strange child who didn't understand social conventions and didn't care about being polite. Your bluntness often caught me off guard, but you didn't mean to be offensive. You just said what you thought. Naturally, I was mesmerized by your keen mind. Your ability to see right through everyone and everything in seconds intrigued me immensely. My interest in you increased and deepened, and before long, I wanted to get to know you better and unravel the enigma that is you."

John cleared his throat. "In short, you were charming and I was hooked. Apparently Mike has a better knowledge of human nature than I gave him credit for. Remind me to thank him for this cranky idea of his properly one day."

Sherlock smiled faintly and nodded affirmatively.

"Although fate already put things on the right track, becoming your friend was my choice. However, it wasn't really a very difficult decision, and was taken quickly. Come to think of it, we actually became inseparable within twenty-four hours and have been ever since. You text and I come running. We didn't always embrace this chemistry between us. Before we knew each other, we were two independent men. After the day we met, we had to learn that we suddenly needed each other in many ways. That wasn't always easy and not necessarily what we wanted. Miraculously, in time, we got the hang of it. Aside from my obvious admiration for your skills and your brilliance, I started to find your personality dazzling. In our early days you found it easy not to care, or so I thought. I had to learn that appearances can be deceiving, though. One day you were compelled by certain events to realize, that you did, despite yourself, care and feel. It was a hard thing for you to accept, but you came to terms with it in the end. You occasionally opened up and gave me insights to what lies behind your cold mask: the best man."

There was a mix of emotions on Sherlock's face. Acknowledgement of what was true, pride in John's continuous admiration for him and, just maybe, hurt. For a moment he looked a bit uncomfortable about John's words, then, his face softened again. Those words brought back memories

John took a deep breath and tried to speak with a firm voice. "Falling in love with you, however, was beyond my control. Time has brought my heart to you." John was glad that his voice didn't tremble.

Sherlock leaned forward, a sign of increasing interest. His expression tensed.

"In the past, people made you believe that you were better off alone, safer. You divorced yourself from feelings. Back then, painful things happened to us. We drifted apart. It took time to figure out that there would be forgiveness between us in the future. We understood that we had to let our history go if we wanted to move forward. It seems that sometimes two people who are meant for each other are the last two to realise it. We never wanted to say it's love, but sometimes what you get is so much better than what you wanted in the first place. We became more than friends at last. In the end it only made us stronger. We didn't break and we didn't burn. You were the one who broke my heart, and you were the one who fixed it again."

Those words brought back even more memories, the most painful ones. An expression of guilt flashed over Sherlock's face, followed by a flash of hurt. As John kept speaking the memories of hours of darkness and pain were replaced by memories of relief and gratitude - a reflection of the emotional side of the Reichenbach case and its aftermath in a nutshell.

John smiled reassuringly at Sherlock, just to be sure. "I know it's hard to let me love you and it takes a lot of courage, but let me say this, there is nothing you could say or do that would drive me away from you. If anything, I know exactly what I am committing myself to. I love everything about you - your mischievous smile, the low baritone sound of your voice, your piercing eyes, so hypnotic and mesmerizing, beautiful to gaze into, and yet never revealing everything to me. I love your gentle touch and the warmth I feel at your side. I love the way you enter a room, walking tall in your perfectly tailored suits, radiating self-confidence, absorbing everyone and everything and automatically attracting people's attention. I also love you when you look about twelve; I love you when you're clearly a bit public school; I love your arrogant and pompous behaviour; I love your rude bluntness; I love the times when boredom drives you mad and makes you edgy … I love all of your bad manners. I love your bad qualities because I also love your "Better Self" – your vulnerability, your insecurities, your best civility. If I don't love you at your worst then I don't deserve you at your best. That is as simple as it gets. You can depend on my love and friendship forever."

The expression of surprise lingered on Sherlock's face for a moment. He was looking even more intently at John if possible, showing an obvious interest in what he had to say, and apparently struggling to keep up a pretence of remaining calm, emotionless, and detached. Again, John's trained eyes were able to tell because he knew where to look and only because Sherlock was unprepared for John's words. A second later, his face was unreadable again and any random person in the room would probably have stated that Sherlock's heart wasn't likely to be easily touched.

Except for Anne, maybe, who had started to weep again softly in the background.

"You've, more or less, asked for my hand in marriage and I, sort of, said yes," John continued.

Sherlock smirked smugly at the thought of the proposal.

Despite himself, John started to smile, too. "When you marry, you are telling your partner: this is who I am. I am now your mate for life. I will not give up on us. No matter what. This road will not be an easy one to travel, but I'm prepared to do anything to make this work.

I will feed my brain, to nurture my own continued development as a person. I apologize in advance for my seeing but probably never observing well enough for your taste.

I will not stop following my own way and showing up for my own life. I told you if I did so, I'd lose my independence and you'd start to find me boring and dull. But I will never love my job more than I love you. I will keep supporting you the way I always did. In this autonomy, I am not distancing myself from you or our life. You are the most important person in my life. Nothing will ever change that.

Sometimes I wonder what life would have been like if we had never met. It would have been certainly simpler... maybe easier... but it also would be incomplete – and rather boring.

So if you don't mind, I am planning on having you around for the next one hundred years or so," John ended his letter and looked expectantly at Sherlock. His heart was racing in his chest. His hands, however, were perfectly steady.

"Well, that was heart-melting at times," Dr. Martin said. Judging by the look of her face, it had also been confusing at times. "Sherlock, what do you say?"

All eyes were fixed on the detective who clearly was not taking to it like a duck to water.

"Err… well…" Sherlock was searching for words that wouldn't come to him easily.

"Take heart!" Dr. Martin encouraged him with a hint of impatience in her voice.

"…I wasn't bored," he finally said.

Ten pairs of eyes looked at him in utter disbelief. Anne slightly smiled, knowingly.

Sherlock leaned towards John and added, whispering, "However, that last sentence doesn't make sense, John. It is technically impossible for me to stay with you for the next hundred years. Besides, it is highly likely that I will not die in bed. As for the rest, I am willing to admit that your poetry has slightly improved which was to be expected. I told you I am much more inspiring."

John, on the other hand, could tell that Sherlock wasn't detached at all. He was deeply moved and confused ,and returned to the flirtatious tone in order to regain control of the situation that had slipped slightly out of his control since the early morning hours. John wasn't intimidated. "I know you will find this hideous but I will see to it that you die an utterly boring, and awfully mundane, natural death. Preferably after a very long, healthy life when you are very, very old," John replied. "Besides, death only ends a life. It doesn't end a relationship. As for the rest, you are very inspiring. I think you're quite extraordinary."

"Am I? Well, I vaguely recall that you gave me a pet name this morning," he replied playfully.

"Did I? Must have been the sleep deprivation," John pretended not to remember.

"Could have been the effect of something else," Sherlock countered, smiling.

"Possibly," John answered innocently, looking steadily at Sherlock's eyes.

Their audience looked nervously from one man to the other. The atmosphere of electricity in the room had been continuously rising for several minutes. Howard, in particular, was shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

Sherlock looked at John with the smallest hint of astonishment. His curiosity was definitely increasing.

In fact, John thought that all of this was going quite well indeed.

Then it was Sherlock's turn to read his letter. Meanwhile, the detective seemed to be his masterful self once more. He looked squarely into John's eyes, smiling teasingly. "Well, John. Neither of us is the talkative type when it comes to feelings, which causes the inevitable tensions between us. You told me once that you appreciate it when I make the effort to express myself. Let me try to do so now."

Sherlock stood up, retrieved his letter from one of his trouser pockets and pushed back his chair with one of his feet. He never once averted his gaze from John's face. Then, he took John's hand, ring and all, in his own and knelt down before him.

And John held his breath.