After a long day of working a case, Sherlock and John can finally go home to their cozy flat: bullet holes and all. While flagging down a taxi Sherlock said to John, "I have a surprise for you." John wondered what on earth Sherlock could be doing but before he could ask Sherlock said, "And no I am not going to give you any hints."
When they reached 221B they hopped out of the car and paid the driver, thankful that they weren't another being paid to kill passengers. Sherlock led John to the flat's door. "Close your eyes" he said and reached for the door knob. When John walked in he smelled something delicious. "Open them" Sherlock said, and once John did he saw what he couldn't believe. Sherlock cooked. Sherlock cooked. The man whom hardly ever ate could cook. Mind you it was only enough for two people but it was still impressive enough.
"How did you-" "learn to do this? I was away for quite some time John; I had to keep myself occupied. It was either this or read an entire library or two and if I had started that I wouldn't be here, I would be still reading."
"In that case I'm glad you didn't choose the books for once…shall we?" And with that they had dinner, John still awing at Sherlock's newfound talent, wondering if he will do this more often. "Not likely" Sherlock said as if he were reading John's mind.
Soon after the two put the dishes in the sink hoping something would magically wash them by morning and sat on the couch. Sherlock tuned his violin while John sat and watched just happy that everything was right again.
"What" Sherlock said but all he got was a smile and a shake of the head from John. Confused once again by the same man, he knew there was a reason he kept him around. "I'm off to bed, Sherlock. Thank you for tonight. Really, it means a lot." John gave him a sincere but bashful look and went off to his room. After John disappeared Sherlock sighed, he still wasn't sure what to do with his discovered feelings for John. He got up and went to his old room; I should just call it room now since I'm not gone anymore he thought. A bit dusty, I guess he didn't have the heart to come in let alone clean it or change anything. My shirt is still hung over the bed. I'll have to clean it tomorrow. Maybe this is a good excuse to go to John.
"John" "Sherlock?" John answered continuing to pull back the sheets of his bed, "I was wondering if I could sleep in your room tonight. Mine is dusty." John smirked and said "Of course. You can have the right side."
Five minutes later Sherlock was in sweatpants and John the same. It always amused John how he was the only one who saw Sherlock that way, when he wasn't in his button down shirts. He turned off the light and climbed into bed next to him.
"John?" "Yeah?" "Thank you. I um… I… love you...Goodnight." "You too Sherlock." And with that the two drifted off into sleep.