It was close to midnight when Sherlock re-joined John who was in the living room with his face turned towards the fire, thinking.
"He didn't drag you off to his hideaway then." He commented with a smile as he heard Sherlock cross the floor and slump down tiredly in the armchair opposite him.
"It was a close run thing."
"And he was happy with our plan of attack?"
Sherlock chuckled. "Mycroft is never happy, however he really couldn't find fault with your tactics."
A comfortable silence settled around them as they both considered what needed to be done the following morning.
"John?" Clearing his throat Sherlock waited for the older man to turn his face towards him. "What now?"
John frowned.
"Well, you said you didn't want me to go, and we've convince Mycroft to leave me here, so what now?"
"That very much depends on you." John held out his hand.
Sherlock allowed himself to be pulled towards the other man, finally ending up on his knees between John's legs, his hands resting on John's thighs.
Closing his eyes John cupped Sherlock's face in his hands, running his thumbs over the sharply etched cheekbones, leaning in to softly capture his lips in as tender a kiss as Sherlock had ever experienced.
Lifting his head finally, John whispered "You are beautiful."