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John hummed for himself as he puttered around the kitchen at 221B Baker Street, making an old favourite of Sherlock's for dinner. The flat looked much like it normally did. Ever since Sherlock's fall, several years ago now, there was no human bodyparts in the fridge nor any lab equipment loaded onto the kitchen table, just the usual comforting clutter of little odds and bobs around. And, different from during the genius' absence, all those small but dear evidences of him occupying the flat along with John.
Four large books were lying on the rug infront of the fire, where John had left them last night, and the consulting genius was lying in his "thinking pose" on the couch, fingers stapled, apparently lost to the world.
Humming for himself, John pondered yet again if this was the right thing to do. Just a quiet dinner at home. Exactly a year earlier, Sherlock had proposed, out at a cottage on the Holmes' family estate, which was ironically not actually inhibited by any Holmeses, as Mycroft lived in the townhouse and their parents preferred a smaller (and far cozier) country house in another county, except for parties.
Suddenly, as John turned to go open the refrigerator to put the tomatoes back in, Sherlock was stood leaning artfully against the doorpost, watching him with those all-deducing eyes. "Dinner will be done in twenty" John told him, and went back to his cooking, far too used to being deduced by now for being in any sort of distress from the scrutiny.
Unusually, Sherlock helped him to set up the dishes and cutlery, taking every opportunity to brush up against him innocently as he did so.
"You know" John started as they sat down together. "It was a year ago now that..." "Since I proposed" Sherlock cut him off, but gently, not in his usual sharp manner. "Will you marry me, John?" "You asked me that already". John smiled, looking down on the ring he tended to wear whenever he wasn't working in the surgery. "Precisely a year ago, I think we just established".
"I proposed to you, yes" Sherlock corrected him. "Will you marry me?" "What, now?" John's voice climbed a little higher than normal in surprise. "No, I was thinking..." Sherlock continued as if the reaction had passed him by, which it had, of course, not. "Of maybe today's date... in a year's time?" John smiled at this, and nodded happily. "I would be honoured to, Sherlock".
After that conversation, John turned back to his food with a warm, happy smile, watching his ring and his fiance in turns with his plate. He was generally not one to gush about things (they had Mrs Hudson for that) but he was also a man in touch with his emotions, and he was not in the least afraid to admit, to himself or for others, how deeply happy he was to be with Sherlock.
By the time John brought the plates back into the kitchen and loaded them into the dishwasher (another welcome recent development to their homelife) Sherlock had stalked over to get his violin, and they spent the rest of their anniversary evening quietly together, Sherlock playing and John listening - just enjoying the company of each other.