Little bit of angst/fluff for today, and thank you to everyone who suggested this particular b-word.
John's sitting at his desk reading the paper when Sherlock barges in, back something at NSY.
"John, what do you see in me?"
John looks up at Sherlock, startled at the forwardness and arbitrariness of the question. The taller man looks uncharacteristically shaken.
"What's brought that on, then?" John pulls his lower lip in between his teeth, looking concernedly at Sherlock.
"You're a kind, gentle, brave, wonderful man. I'm a bitter, antisocial freak. You could do so much better."
At this point John rises and closes the space between them in a few short steps. He wraps his arms around Sherlock's narrow torso.
"Did you run into Anderson while you were down there?"
Sherlock smiles slightly, despite himself. He loves it when John figures things out like this. "Possibly. He's right though. There's a reason I've chosen to remain alone – I'm rubbish at this… caring about people, long-term involvement. I've never been motivated to bother before."
"And that, love, is the key word. Before. You are now. Lord knows why you chose me of all people – short, defective man that I am. But there you have it. Anderson doesn't understand basic maths, let alone the complexities of the human heart."
John gazes into Sherlock's impossible moonstone eyes and presses their foreheads together, murmuring gently to his lover as if in benediction.