To make up for yesterday's exceptionally angsty drabble, have some fluff! Clearly if they're still together when they're old, whatever they fought about previously sorted itself out, right? :)
The sky is a clear, perfect blue – the sort of blue you never see in London – and the sharp smell of sea air is coming in on the breeze. They've been at the house down here in Sussex for a few years now, starting to settle down and deal with the vagaries of old age. Sherlock is still consulting remotely, offering his insight and opinions on particularly complex cases the Yard sends over, but gone are the days of "legwork," chasing criminals through sewers and across rooftops.
John stares out into the yard, the rows of hives partially obscuring his view of Sherlock. His raven hair's starting to go grey at the temples, but it just makes him look even more startling, emphasising the preternatural hue of his eyes. Smiling fondly, John reaches for the cane that he's been using more frequently and hobbles slowly out into the yard, alerting Sherlock to his presence with a gentle hand on the back of his neck.
With incredible gentleness, Sherlock rises to meet John, his hands cupped together. He opens them slowly, revealing the huge queen, and suddenly they are surrounded by workers, but the doctor holds still, trusting his partner, wanting to share the moment with him. Tenderly, Sherlock places her back into the hive and the swarm follows.
"Fascinating creatures, bees."