It was a hot day of middle July and John's resignations had just been officialised. Now he was a professor no more and he had already had the interview with Doctor Parker for the new job. The aforementioned, a blonde middle-aged man with dark penetrative eyes, had been more than happy to hire John, since his qualifications were exceeding his expectations. John would have started to work in September, after the August closure of the place.

Sherlock, to John's happiness, had sat all the three exams he had planned to do and had passed them with the highest marks (not that John had really doubted that). And now he was already preparing for the next ones. One could surely not have said that Sherlock wasn't putting all his efforts in that: the flat was literally full of books about every single subject he was going to have an exam about. Once, coming back from the shopping, John had found Sherlock amid four open books that weren't even considered in the modules for the exam.

"Sherlock!", he had said, fighting back the urge to laugh "You're reading unnecessary books!"

"Unnecessary?", Sherlock had raised an eyebrow.

"Yes. The module doesn't consider this, not in the slightest."

"But what if professor Maycomb asks it?"

"He won't."

"What if, John? What if I don't pass the exam because of this?"

"Are you serious about that?", had furrowed John.

"More than serious. I want to avoid failure."

"Oh, god. You won't fail. You're Sherlock! You're the cleverest man I've ever met!"

"You say so, but the others don't. I'm still a 'freak'."

"Whoever says that to you will suffer. I promise.", John had threatened.

He loathed the fact that there were still people out there who considered Sherlock a 'freak'.

"Still, I want to avoid every single opportunity that Maycomb could have to flunk me. It would mean one exams to prepare all over again. It would mean that we will marry later! And I don't want this to happen!"

John had placed a kiss on Sherlock's forehead.

"Ok then, love."

That conversation had happened three days before. Now John was in the same flat quarrelling about the same thing. It was ten o' clock, outside there were 25 degrees and the sun was shining up in the sky. They had just had breakfast and Sherlock hadn't looked away from his books for one second.

"Sherlock, you've been reading those texts for one week now. And you've been on them since five this morning! Stop, seriously!", John snorted.

"Can't, John. Don't you remember your bloody condition?"

"I do.", John sighed "But you really don't need to study 24/24!"

"I am just trying to…"

"…avoid possible failure! Yes, I fucking bloody know that, Sherlock! But it's July, you've got the greatest brain I've ever known and you aren't going to fucking fail whatever exam you're going to take!"

Sherlock lifted his head up to finally look at John in the eyes.

"I don't understand. You said that you wanted me to graduate…"

"For the heaven's sake, yes, I said that! And I've almost reached the point of eating those damn words back weren't it for the fact that I actually want you to graduate! But you can't spend all your time studying! You barely keep your eyes off books!", John grunted.

Sherlock's eyes showed a glimpse of sadness and vulnerability.

"Are you angry with me, John?"

John approached to Sherlock and hugged him from behind, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's shoulders and resting his head on them.

"No, Sherlock.", he whispered, kissing Sherlock's shoulder "I'm not angry with you. I know you're doing all this for us, but it's July and I want to spend my time with you. I want us to go to the park, walk together, eat at the restaurant…even go to the cinema! I don't want you to sit there all the summer…I want to spend it with you…"

Sherlock turned his head to meet John's lips and raised his hands to cup John's head. The kiss was slow, soft and tender and John lost himself into it. He had learnt in almost two months of living together that Sherlock could be quite romantic and sentimental, but other times he returned frigid and distant, only to apologise one day later with a mortified face. In those days John had to reassure him that everything was fine and that he loved him nevertheless. Sometimes it wasn't an easy task to live with him, but John was really up for a challenge. He spent every day showing Sherlock how wonderful he was, because he had eventually understood that what Sherlock feared the most was to be left alone, to be considered an unworthy person. And John couldn't accept it. Yet the cohabitation was getting better and better and Sherlock was slowly learning to understand and to go along with his sentiments. 'Thanks to you, John.', he had said once, tenderly.

When they separated from the kiss, Sherlock was smiling.

"I think I'll take a break from these books.", he said.

"I think it's a very good decision. And I think we're going to Regent's Park. You need to get some sunshine too, you're so pale!"

"You love my paleness!", remarked Sherlock in a grin.

"Oh, yes, I do.", answered John, sinking his head into Sherlock's neck to kiss it.

Sherlock let out a moan and pulled John closer, as though he wanted to make him a part of his body, as though he wanted the two bodies to merge in a single one. John purred at the touch of Sherlock's fingers on his nape, shivers down his spine. John softly bit Sherlock on his neck tendon, gaining another moan from his mouth, then started to place soft kisses on it.

"Regent's…", he purred amid the kisses "…Park. We'll…"

Kiss.

"…do…"

Kiss.

"…this…"

Kiss.

"…after."

Lick.

Sherlock whined at the sudden loss of John's lips.

"After?", he raised an eyebrow.

"Yes.", smiled John "After I've taken you out to Regent's Park, after I've walked with you the whole afternoon, holding hands and making you laugh, after I've passed some time kissing you senseless on a bench, after I've invited you out for dinner at Angelo's. After. It's been ages since we had a proper date…"

And it was the truth. Since John moved in, the dates out had disappeared. Mostly because they were too happy to be in the same house together to mind, but now John was feeling the need to show to the entire planet how much they were in love.

Sherlock nodded and smirked wickedly.

"I think I like this 'after'."

"You'd better do.", teased John.

"So? Regent's?"

"Let's get dressed.", smiled John one more time.

They went out thirty minutes later, aimed to Regent's Park. They both loved it not because it was literally one minute's walk away from the flat, but because of its quietness despite the great mass of people that strolled into it. Sherlock had once remarked that Regent's was the quietest park in London because of the flowers. John hadn't quite understood what that meant, but had agreed with a nod.

It was a very wonderful day to walk through it. The roses of Queen Mary's garden were blooming in all their brightness. Red, white, pale pink, yellow, peach orange, the red-green of the leaves and of the thorns: a kaleidoscopic mix of colours intertwined in the crystal clear light of July A light, soft breeze caressed the tip of roses' petals making them tremble slightly, drops of dew falling down now and then on the ground, a drizzle of water on the grass's mantle.

Sherlock and John slowly walked through them, stopping here and there do admire this or that variety, holding hands and smiling like two schoolboys in love. John didn't mind at all.

They moved to the Boating Lake and stopped over Longbridge, both leaning their forearms on the banister, observing the quiet, tranquil waves of the water below. The bright blue sky mirrored in the water and small clouds seemed to swim just over the surface, now and then destroyed by the touch of swans that landed on it, creating concentric circles that became wider and wider, thinner and thinner until they disappeared, swallowed by the lake.

Sherlock was fixing them, absorbed in that contemplation, and John was fixing him, quite lost in the blue of his eyes and in the white of his skin.

"I was thinking…", said Sherlock, suddenly breaking the silence "…that I've never appreciated London this much."

"What do you mean?", asked John, coming back to Earth.

"I mean that I liked London before. I liked the city and its noise and everything it has to offer. But now, with you it takes a whole new meaning. Now it's not just London, it's London with you. And it gets a thousand times better. You make this city better, John. You make me, as a part of the city, better."

John stared at Sherlock, speechless and unable to form a coherent thought for some second. That had probably been the best compliment, even if a bit odd, that he had ever received in his whole life, let alone by Sherlock himself. He leaned forward and placed a sweet, tender kiss on Sherlock's lips.

"Sherlock…that was…amazing.", he said swallowing, a small tear of joy at the corner of his eye.

"It's the truth, John. I've never felt this way. It's like being born anew and it's…wonderful."

They looked at each other in the eyes for a while, unable to turn away. John smiled brighter and brighter. Sherlock made an amused face.

"What's that?", he asked.

"I think we should go on holiday."

"Aren't we already on holiday?"

"Sherlock, for a genius you're quite obtuse sometimes."

Sherlock opened his mouth to reply, but John went on.

"I mean…somewhere, far from London. Me and you. A holiday. A proper one."

Sherlock furrowed, as if he was thinking about the meaning of the word 'holiday', then set to speak.

"A proper holiday, mmm?"

"Yes, a proper holiday."

"What about Scilly Isles?"

John gawked, astonished.

"Scilly? Aren't they a bit…ahem…I mean, it would be wonderful but…"

"But?", Sherlock urged.

"Well, I didn't think they were your style."

"You're right. But it's yours."

John nodded. Yes, he loved the scenery. He had been there once when he was studying at the university with some friends and he loved them.

"And I happen to own a cottage there."

"What?", John goggled, incredulous.

"Well, it's an inheritance and I share it with my brother, but I guess it would not bother him if we'll go there for a week in August."

"Sherlock…that would be…I have no words…"

"John, I'm sure your vocabulary isn't that poor.", smirked Sherlock wryly.

"Brilliant, amazing, fantastic, magnificent, marvellous, astonishing, stunning, great, wonderful. Enough?", he smirked back.

"Enough.", Sherlock smiled before leaning forward and kissing John one more time.

In the first week of August they arrived on St. Mary by plane. They arrived at dusk and the sight below as they landed was magnificent. The turquoise water was softly lit by the reddish light of the sun disappearing in the horizon, making it glitter of a vivid lilac colour, the sand and the rocks spotted with shadows blazed like flames amid the green of the fields. John's heart filled with joy and happiness. He was in heaven.

He couldn't still believe that he was going to spend one week holiday in that paradise with Sherlock. He blinked for a while facing the sun as if he wanted to be sure that he wasn't dreaming. They had to spend the night in a small inn in St. Mary, since Sherlock's cottage was on Bryher and the ferries to the other isles of the archipelago worked only until six p.m. and it was already eight. They spent the evening eating in a lovely seafood restaurant and then wandering around the village, welcomed by the scent of the evening sea breeze.

The next day they took the ferry to Bryher and arrived at Sherlock's cottage at 10 a.m.. John found the place stunning.

The cottage was at the end of a road which gave direct access to the sea. It was made of grey stones which were mostly vine-covered with green ivy, the windows showed white cotton curtains and the door was painted of a soft blue. Around the house there was a small garden with lavender flowers filling the air with their scent, a bohemian table under an iron patio with lanterns suspended over it and a palm tree swinging its leaves in the wind. Mainly: there was a white beach and crystal clear sea just ten metres away from it. And John had really no words to express how dream-alike that place was. It seemed to have directly sprung up from a fairy-tale. He stared at it in complete amazement.

"Do you like it?", asked Sherlock unlocking the front door.

As usual, John didn't answer, but grabbed Sherlock's waist, making him turn, and kissed him. It was a sufficient answer.

The interior was decorated in pastel colours, armchairs, sofas were of a pale greyish-white and the furniture was made of sessile oak. There was a big fireplace in the living room and the air smelt of sweet vanilla and of sea. Never in his life John would have thought that someday he would have eventually come to like the scent of vanilla. The ground floor had also a rather big country-furnished kitchen, with pale white cupboards and black marble shelves, and a dining room with a big French-window facing partly the garden, partly the sea. It had a big wooden table with wooden chairs and three lanterns over it.

Upstairs there were three bedrooms and a bathroom. The biggest bedroom, the double bed one, faced west and the sea. It had parquet and two white wool rugs and a big bed with a snowy duvet on it.

John blinked once again.

"Are you sure I'm not dreaming?", he said to Sherlock, while opening his bag.

"Quite sure of it.", the young man smiled.

"And you said you didn't like this place! How can you say something like that? It's a dream!"

"Maybe…", Sherlock grinned, leaning forward to reach John's ear "…I hadn't got the right company."

"Maybe.", laughed John at the tickle of Sherlock's breath on his ear.

They spent their day on the beach, having found a parasol and two beach chairs in the garden's closet.

At three in the afternoon, John was standing only with boxer shorts on the foreshore, water caressing his bare feet, inhaling the fresh marine breeze. Sherlock, instead, was under the parasol with creamy shorts and a white-linen short-sleeved shirt, reading a book on the chair. John turned to him.

"Sherlock! Stop reading for a while and come here!", he shouted.

"I don't like water!", he answered, not glancing up from the book.

John smiled wickedly and cupped his hands, taking a handful of sea water. Oh, he was so going to make Sherlock hate the water more. He ran to him and threw it on a completely unaware Sherlock. Sherlock's eyes darted with mischief.

"John…you're so going to regret it!"

And he sprang from the chair, dropping the book on the sand and throwing himself onto John. They battled for a while, rolling on the beach.

"I told you that I hate water!", growled Sherlock.

"I'm going to make you like it!", laughed John, managing to turn Sherlock on his back.

"Never!"

"Never say never!"

John grabbed Sherlock's shoulders fiercely and managed to make the two of them roll on the beach until they reached the water's edge. The cool waves hit John's and Sherlock's bodies, slightly damping Sherlock's hair. The black curls glittered in the sunlight like silk and John, pushing Sherlock completely in the shallow water below, kissed him deeply. Sherlock tried to keep an annoyed face, but John sensed clearly his smile before he abandoned himself into the kiss, waves rolling on them.

"I hate you.", the young man growled in a laughter, breaking the kiss to catch some breath.

"I know, I know. And you're going to hate me more and more.", John replied in a smirk, clenching his fists around Sherlock's shirt and managing to rip it open.

"It was my favourite!", Sherlock roared, hands travelling down John's spine and grabbing John's arse.

"You're my favourite!", John smiled, licking Sherlock's stomach "And you taste divinely!"

The young man grumbled with satisfaction at the touch and moved his hands back to John's face, cupping it and making their gazes meet.

"You're mad!", Sherlock said, eyes fixed into John's, glittering aquamarine in the sunlight, drops of water on the face, black hair floating freely in the sea.

That wasn't just beautiful, thought John, that was a beauty that defied any description. He leaned on Sherlock's lips and kissed him harshly, urging him to open his mouth, sliding his tongue in, devouring the salty flavour of the sea on the other man's lips. That everything tasted of heaven. And John was abruptly sure that 'heaven' rhymed with Sherlock Holmes. His whole heart, body and soul belonged to that young man under him.

"Yes,", he answered, breaking apart "I'm mad. Madly in love."

Sherlock smiled, the damp rose of his lips shining white as the sun gleamed on them.

"I love you too.", Sherlock answered, caressing John's hair tenderly "I love your way of seeing things, I love your way of smiling, I love your way of walking, I love your way of laughing. And I love the water under me because you brought me here. And I love the house I hated because there's you in it. And I love the life I didn't want to live because you're here beside me. John…I love you. I love you more than you can imagine. I belong to you fully. You complete me. And you're the most extraordinarily amazing human being I've ever known and will always be. And these things I'm saying are not even remotely near what I feel. I love you."

John stayed still for some seconds, almost unconscious of what was going on. He only heard those words dancing around his heart, engulfing it with tenderness, care, sweetness. Everything around turned out to be irrelevant. The sun, the water, the sand, the house: everything disappeared. There were only Sherlock and him, and that was all.

"Sherlock…", he eventually said, trembling a bit "that was…god…that was the most beautiful thing I've ever heard in my life."

And he caressed Sherlock's curls.

"And,", he went on "Sherlock, I'm sure I couldn't even make a speech that compares to what you've just said. But know that I love you more and more each day and that I will always be by your side, because you're my other half and I'm complete only beside you."

"John, there was no need to say that.", Sherlock huffed, but smiled "I can see every single second how much love there's in you for this insufferable git below."

"My favourite insufferable git.", and John kissed him once more.

In the evening they went to the village to eat, then went back to the house and stargazed for hours sitting on the beach.

The following days went on pretty much the same. They enjoyed small walks around the island, they spent the afternoons on the beach, sometimes bathing, they ate fresh bread with butter in the mornings, they admired the sunset, they ate in the patio, they lit the fireplace one evening when it rained, they made love for a whole night, they joked, they laughed, they melted into each other's soul. That communion of souls that John had wanted when he had heard Sherlock playing the violin for the first time, had, during that week, become the truth.

During their last night on Bryher, they set up a bonfire on the small beach and they sat around it.

"Happiness.", had muttered John at some point.

"What?", Sherlock raised an inquiring eyebrow.

"I'm sure that, from now on, if someone asks me what 'happiness' means, I'll describe this place."

Sherlock smiled in the flickering orange light of the fire.

"But…", John continued "if one asks me what 'heaven' is, I'll describe you."

Sherlock goggled, stunned.

"I think that the word 'hell' would better fit that description.", he grinned.

"And I think that you need an overhaul of your vocabulary.", John smirked.

"I don't think so. My vocabulary is perfectly fine as it is, because the definition of 'heaven' describes you."

John smiled brighter, but teased:

"Then you should see my definition of 'perfection'. It says 'Sherlock Holmes'."

"My favourite one is the definition of love.", Sherlock smiled.

And he grabbed John's shirt on the back, making him fall on the sand. He leaned on him.

"There's written 'John Watson' on it."

And they kissed their thousandth kiss of a million thousand kisses yet to come.

AN:

The long part about Scilly Isles.
I have fallen in love with them since I saw/read an article about them in an Italian magazine, so much that I ordered the guide they offer for free from their site. They are spectacularly beautiful and I wish to go there one day!

So, I'm going to advertise them a bit: The Isles of Scilly (really, take a look and don't tell me they aren't astonishing!)

By the way: thank you for reading this chapter. Only one more chapter to go. *feels rather sad*