A/N Whoop, I missed a while, didn't I? To my credit, it was finals week, and that sucked up a lot of my time.

Thanks to 666BloodyHell666, Suki-chan36, MapleleafCameo, starrysummernights, MarMoo.12, hjohn302, Song of Grey Lemons, Motaku1235, Rain Hamish Holmes, High-Functioning Ginger, and johnsarmylady

Disclaimer I don't own Sherlock or any associated characters, events, etc.

LXXX. Words

"I love you," Sherlock says, and John's heart vanishes.

Perhaps the words are overdue. They've been together for so long now, after all, spent so many nights in the same bed, kissed and yelled more times than the average married couple, and saved each other's lives several times, to boot. But this, this—John's told Sherlock that he loves him, surely he has; there's no way that he hasn't. And yet he's never had it returned. Perhaps he had it in his mind that the detective thought such a thing beneath him, a mundane, clichéd combination of syllables. That he could express things easier through his actions, craft a more subtle conveyance of the clear truth.

But saying them, it's so powerful, and it stabs straight into John's chest, leaves him trembling, so that his grip on Sherlock—one hand on his shoulders, one wrapped around his collar—is the only thing keeping him on his feet. "No you don't," he murmurs, and his voice surprises even himself as he looks up, meets Sherlock's eyes. The detective's head is tilted to the side, his eyebrows drawn down low, and God, he looks beautiful.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Because you're not like that." John sighs and presses his nose into Sherlock's shoulder, his eyes slipping shut, inhaling the crisp scent of his suit—a fairly new one, neatly pressed and absolutely gorgeous on him. "You put up for me, I couldn't ask for anything else…"

"John." There are hands on his shoulders and neck, holding him close, and the concern in Sherlock's voice is vivid. "Don't be ridiculous. You know that you're the most vital aspect of my life."

He supposes that he does know that Sherlock cares about him, when things get down to it. He worries about him, he saves him and takes care of him, even defends him in front of other people, which is far more than John's ever seen him do for any other person. Yet he's never really allowed himself to imagine that an emotion like love might be more than one-sided in their relationship, that Sherlock would even be capable of love. It's too high of a wish.

But the words coming out of his mouth now are impossible to understand, and John holds him tighter, as solidly and firmly as he can. "Yeah, I guess so. Sherlock…?"

"Hm?" The sound is rumbling, rich, and John smiles into the fabric, one of his hands reaching up to wind through Sherlock's dark curls as he lifts his head, breathes the next whisper into the detective's ear.

"I love you, too, you know."