"Mary! We need to talk. Right now. Oh hi Trisha, how are you? Look I don't have time to chat I need to talk." John's frazzled entrance took the two women completely off guard, laying in their bed and lightly chatting in the morning light. They both sat up quickly, glad that for once they had their clothes on.
"Oh wow, look who finally came home," Trisha teased to Mary.
"Where were you last night, young man?" Mary asked with a smirk. She knew, as did Trisha, as did Lestrade, as did Molly, as did Mrs. Hudson, as did everyone else in all of bloody London, where John had so scandalously spent the night, after weeks of brooding alone in his room or the bar.
John gave her a stern look as he plopped himself in the arm chair facing their bed. He slung his head in his hands and closed his eyes. What was even going on?
"Early riser I see, what, you didn't wanna stay for breakfast? I didn't take you for a hit-it-and-quit-it type of guy." Mary continued relentlessly.
"Oh come off it. We didn't...I mean, that's not what..." John pursed his lips, too abashed to finish the sentence. Yes they did things, but they mainly talked...talked.
The second John stepped foot into his old flat, the butterflies crowding his stomach were dispersed violently as he found himself immediately shoved into the wall adjacent to the front door. Must Sherlock be so violent?
His lips were promptly met with a hungry pair, all the slowness of their previous kiss in the alleyway seemed to have been replaced with a tyrannical impatience.
"I was beginning to fear you wouldn't come," he heard growled as he gasped for air.
Not that this wasn't exactly what he'd been craving for weeks, but he had intended to talk. They needed to set some guidelines, he needed to say some things, to hear a groveling apology, at least a bloody hello.
"Sherlock, wait, hang on," he tried his best to keep his voice steady against the wave of temptation Sherlock was gnawing into his neck. He knew it'd be hard to keep his thoughts straight seeing Sherlock again, but this was a tad over the top.
Sherlock's only response was a quiet grunt as he continued to let his hands wander over John.
"Look, we need to-"
"Disrobe? I entirely agree," Sherlock said pulling away, suddenly adherent to some unknown agenda, "there's a number of studies I'd like to begin, and it'd be a lot easier undressed and in a bed. Or on a couch I suppose, at this point I'm not picky-"
"Talk. We need to talk, you assuming prick."
"What's that all over your neck? Did you get into a fight, John?" Trisha teased as she walked by him to go into the kitchen for the pack of Chips Ahoy sitting on the kitchen counter. This story would need some snacks.
"Very mature." He grumbled back.
"What do you mean you didn't shag?" Mary asked, "wasn't that the point of going over there?"
"No! What? No, we had to talk. I went over there because I was finally ready to converse with the bastard."
"I'm sure that's all you did," Mary replied with a smirk, then added an 'oo yummy' as Trisha returned carrying the tray of cookies.
"Look, you're as bad as him. I came here cause I wanted to talk, alright? Can we please stay on topic? I have no idea what to do." He was tired, and a little grumpy from a nearly sleepless night.
The girls, on the other hand, were as giddy as a couple of teenagers, lost in clouds of euphoria from being together again. While they agreed Sherlock was a complete ass for what he did, they both knew it was much better to reunite and move on. Forgive and forget.
"Fine. Talk. Go, we'll listen. You'll listen, right, Trish?" Mary asked with a smile. Trisha nodded, allowing her raven hair to slide over her shoulder.
"Alight. I don't know-"
"Wait, do you want a cookie?" She asked impulsively.
"It's nine o'clock in the morning."
"They're chewy!" Trisha whined defensively. John rolled his eyes in defeat.
"Fine, toss a couple over here. But if you two birds are too busy with each other I'll leave." He warned.
"Oh don't be a grump just cause you didn't get laid last night." Mary teased. After he glared at her she back pedaled, "Ok ok, I'm sorry. I'm listening. I'm very curious. Tell me everything."
How was he already laying in Sherlock's bed? He had agreed to none of this. He came to talk, goddammit. It's very hard to keep focused when certain parts of him were growing harder by the second. At least they were both fully clothed still. By all means he could not allow him to take off his clothes.
"Sherlock, we need to talk. If you keep acting like this I'm leaving," he warned. Sherlock, who had been straddling him and placing light kisses all over his head and neck, growled and lended up.
"What's there to talk about?" He asked petulantly, completely irked by John's resistance. If he had wanted to yap about his feelings all night he would have pursued a woman. Hadn't he promised John to show him how serious he was? As far as he was concerned actions spoke louder than words.
John wiggled out from under him and stood up affronted. "Uh, how about what the hell is going on? Where you have been? Whatever this," he gestured to the bed, "means. We can't just jump into things again, especially like this. These things carry connotations Sherlock, ones you may not be aware of."
"I'm aware of everything." Sherlock stated, sitting up straight on his bed.
"You think so huh?" John asked, folding his arms.
"Except," Sherlock began, standing up to fill the foot-long space between John and the bed, "why you're being so hesitant. You want me, I want you. There's only one logical answer here."
He placed a suggestive hand on Johns waist, who sighed and rested his head against Sherlock's shoulder.
"Yes, I want you." He said after a lingering silence, "but I don't want you just for a night. And I definitely don't want you to disappear again. You're not just asking for my body, Sherlock, we both know that. And it's dangerous to give away the rest." He chose his words carefully, wanting Sherlock to understand, but also not wanting to scare him away.
"You think I'm going to play dead again? I told you the other night I'm not going anywhere." He answered slowly, not used to speaking directly from his new-found heart.
"Yes," John said, pulling away slightly, "you told me that. But how can I rely on just your words?" he challenged.
A smirk tugged at the end of Sherlock's lips, "you don't have to," and he closed the short gap between them.
"What the fuck do you think you guys are, a rom-com?" Trisha asked, both warmed and disgusted by how cute she found John's story.
"Then you guys did it, right?" Mary asked. John threw up his arms.
"I can't win with you two."
"Why didn't you?" Trisha asked, seriousness befalling her tone. John was silent, unsure how to answer.
A petulant Sherlock sat curled up in annoyance on his chair, not even attempting to hid his glare focused on John's pacing.
"I don't appreciate you cutting things short."
"Yeah, you made that clear." John responded with a humorless laugh, still not looking at Sherlock.
"Look I don't see what you want from me." Sherlock straightened his legs with a huff. John stopped his walking to turn and face him.
"That's just it, you don't have any idea what you're doing-"
"That's not what I said."
"Alright fine!" John raised his voice over Sherlock's.
"Fine." He said again in the silence that followed. "But that's my question for you. What do you want? From any of this?" His eyes were softer when they focused on Sherlock.
"You." he stated as-a-matter-of-factly.
"Yes, I got that part. But for how long?"
"Does it matter?" the banter continued. At least they were finally talking.
John rolled his eyes, "Yes, of course it does?"
"I can't answer that."
"Why?"
"I have no way of definitively predicting how long either of us will live. I can make some educated guesses of course; with your pathological dependency on risk taking and my smoking and drug past. Presuming neither of us get into an accident- which statistically is higher here in London than-"
"Wait. Sherlock- shut up. For a minute." John's face wrinkled with confusion. He ran his hand over his mouth. Sherlock shut up. "What are you saying?"
Now it was Sherlock's turn for confusion, "What do you mean? I'm answering your question."
"So you plan on staying with me, for the rest of your life."
"I assumed that was fairly obvious."
John stared at Sherlock in silent amazement.
"So...what does that mean?" Mary asked in suspense.
John rubbed his tired face and threw up his hands.
"He...asked me to marry him."
He nearly urinated himself in surprise at the high-pitched chorus of screams from the other two. They were immediately out of bed and swarming him.
"Oh my shit!"
"You're getting married?"
"Holy crap we can have a duel wedding!"
"Awww John I can't believe this."
"So perfect! When's the date?"
"Girls! Slow down. For the love of God, I didn't exactly say yes." He interrupted the chirping of their excited voices.
"What the fuck?" / "Why not?" They said at the same time.
John huffed, "Have you forgotten that he left me? Three years without so much as a phone call?"
"Yes but, love, that's old news," Trisha replied.
"Oh, well in that case," John rolled his eyes.
"So, what did you say?" Mary asked, perching on the edge of her bed, facing him.
"What in the hell is that?" John asked exasperated.
"Isn't it tradition to offer a ring?" Sherlock asked, a little offended. That wasn't necessarily one of the answers he was expecting.
Sherlock stood before John, holding out the little black box, more nervous than he had ever been in his life. Wasn't this the obvious plan of action for them?
"Where did you get that?"
"Egypt."
John's eyes widened. "Tell me that's not authentic."
"I'm fairly certain it's made of real gold, if that's what you mean."
"I mean. Is it really, you know...ancient?" he was almost afraid to ask, torn between feeling silly and mortified.
"It belonged to the first pharaoh of the 18th dynasty. Approximately from 1530 B.C. according to its plaque anyway. I picked it up while traveling. Do you...not want it?"
John was speechless. Not exactly because of the touching offer, but because Sherlock could not have come into possession of this ring legally, and it could be worth thousands of dollars. Wait...a ring?
"Hold up. Are you...Are you asking me to marry you?"
"Um. Yes." Sherlock looked around confused. He wasn't a real professional at these things but he hadn't thought them to be so confusing. It was hard enough with all these emotions, why was John being so difficult.
"Are you out of your mind?"
Sherlock's eyes rolled and his hands fell to his sides, "Well you were gunna marry that lesbian anyway!"
"One, her name is Mary. And two, I can't believe you. Do you honestly-"
John was silenced with yet another kiss. This time the passion and hunger was gone, replaced with a glowing, gentle love. Each other's concerns and fears melted out of their hearts. This feeling, this connection, was the only thing right in all the chaos around them. As Sherlock's lips held John's, he lowered his hand to John's and slowly slid the ring onto his left hand. He pulled away and stepped back.
"John I was never a man of strong emotion. But with you...it's different. It always has been. Not a day went by while I was away that I didn't think of you. I don't believe in fate, or soul-mates, or romance in general, but I believe in you. And I believe in us. I had always intended to spend my life with you."
John closed his eyes. He wanted to be mad, to argue more, to explain everything wrong with this idea. But he couldn't. All he felt, as he watched Sherlock spill out his heart and offer John the ability to break it, was just as much love he heard in Sherlock's voice.
"Sherlock-"
"Shh. John. You don't have to decide now. We can um, just...hang out tonight. We can leave anything intimate for later."
"And then we just, you know, hung out. We drank some wine, ordered take out, watched some TV. It was...surprisingly normal."
"Wow. That's actually adorable." Trisha awed.
"But wait, where's the ring?" Mary asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.
John pulled it out of his pocket and turned it around in his hand. It was smooth, carved with symbols, and shinning with small gems and bright gold.
"Holy shit, is that real?" Trisha asked, quickly taking it from his hands.
"Googled it last night. It's all over the papers, the only piece nicked from the Egyptian National Museum a year ago. Worth close to 5 million pounds."
"And he gave it to you? That's so romantic."
"Yeah a stolen international treasure. If I get caught with that-"
"It's romantic and you know it." Mary teased, looking over Trisha's shoulder.
"So...what are you going to say?" She asked the question on everyone's mind.
John was quiet, sternly staring at the floor. He was scared, infuriated and insanely tired. But for the first time since he could remember, he wasn't hurting anymore and was excited about the future.
A/N: ssssooooooooOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooo sorry for keeping you lovely readers waiting for so long! Thank you for your patience! School is finally over so I will have more time to write. I'm expecting at least one more chapter :)