Well- this is it! This is the last chapter of Frustration. There will be a sequel to this story at a later date, though :)

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Sherlock munched enthusiastically on another chunk of pineapple, adjusting himself on their bed and shifting John's computer on his lap. It was just over an hour after their last sexual bout and he and John reclined on the scrunched sheets, eating pineapple and reading his blog. Sherlock fingered John's laptop intently, bringing up the webpage and popping another piece of pineapple into his mouth. A single sugary trail of juice ran down his chin and John, giggled, eyeing it hungrily.

Sherlock huffed as John playfully licked at his chin, tossing his head to avoid any more contact. "Busy." He murmured, scrolling to the appropriate entries. Sherlock winced in fond annoyance as John, not deterred, nibbled at his throat instead, before tugging his hand away from the keyboard of the laptop and licking his pineapple juice covered fingertips.

"Jo...Jo-ohn," Sherlock gnawed on his bottom lip to prevent a chuckle. It tickled. "I thought you'd be more worried...about the photo I put up."

At the reminder, John froze, his eyes going shuttered and he pulled away from Sherlock. "I'd forgotten about that." He sighed resignedly, sitting back on the bed and staring unhappily at the laptop. "All right. Show it to me, Sherlock."

"Are you worried?" Sherlock mumbled in his deepest baritone, exhibiting his most winning, innocent grin at the same time, just as he lay back on the bed, sighing dreamily, extravagantly, and exaggeratedly.

"Shouldn't I be?" John took the computer from Sherlock and scrolled through the entries. "I don't much care for all of London knowing what I look like when you suck my...Where's the picture?"

"Hmm?" Sherlock asked innocently, eyes wide.

"Where's the picture you said you posted, Sherlock? The one of my...face?"

Sherlock sniggered. "You're so gullible, John. You believe everything I say."

John gave Sherlock a dumbfounded look before his eyes narrowed, his face splitting into a delighted grin. "You never posted that picture. You just said you did to make me fuck you." He shook his head in disbelief. "You utter cock."

"Of course I didn't post the photo." Sherlock scoffed. "No one else gets to know what your face looks like when you orgasm. No one." He said, scowling forbiddingly. "It's just for me...and I'm more than willing to see it again," Sherlock added, smirking, ruffling his hair with a hand which had gone slightly numb after leaning on it too long.

John snorted, ignoring Sherlock's provocative comment. There was no way he would be able to come again so soon, much less get it up. He wasn't twenty any more. Going twice in one day was enough to entirely drain him.

Instead, he opened the entry containing the picture he'd taken of Sherlock and himself- the selfie in bed- and ran a happy eye over it. It was a sweet picture and was already the most popular post on his blog. John wasn't sure whether to be flattered by the attention or creeped out. At the moment, he felt an odd mixture of both.

Sherlock clambered inelegantly over his doctor to flop heavily at John's left side, and snuggled, cat-like, against John's damaged shoulder, placing a lengthy, wet smooch on the keloid scar there. "What are they saying?" he asked, his hand smoothing possessively over John's pectorals, fingertips twitching unconsciously against every fine hair and subcutaneous hard muscle.

"Mm...a few people telling us we're disgusting. Bad example to the kids. Swearing they're going to stop following my blog, etc. Stupid things." John said lightly, snuggling closer to Sherlock, not letting the comments bother him. He'd been expecting it, honestly, when he posted the picture. "Overwhelmingly people are...happy. At least, I think they are. Is that what it means when they type in all CAPS?"

"I think that means they're technologically incompetent," Sherlock said, reading every message as John scrolled down the page. Most of them were like John said- ridiculous and narrow-minded. People shouting things about how disgusting they were to have publicly came out as homosexuals. Sherlock easily dismissed them all.

He grinned at seeing Mrs. Hudson's and Molly's messages among the filth. Mrs. Hudson's was the in vein of "I knew it all along" coupled with "finally you're out in the open and I can tell " and a healthy, misplaced dose of pride that she had somehow got them together. Molly's message was...rather too cheerful. It read as very forced. She hadn't known John and Sherlock were together before (even if she'd suspected) and they'd obviously shocked her. Her message was full of forced cheerfulness, too much happiness for them, and smiley faces at the end of every sentence.

Sherlock reached for the dish on the bedside table, munching on another chunk of pineapple. Between juicy mouthfuls, he managed a few words. "Anyone else of interest?"

"Lestrade. He already knew, though. Just congratulations. A few others from down at the Yard. Oh...oh, here's something..." John chuckled, turning the screen so Sherlock could see it. "Read that one."

Sherlock's eyes sped across the message. He chuckled heartily before reading some of the message aloud, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I always said Anderson was an idiot. '...Sort of had an idea...but wow out in the open?! Congratulations, you two, and John, be aware that if you hurt Sherlock Holmes, there are certain members of our club who would very happily destroy you'."

"Well, that's comforting." John snorted. "Guess they don't need to know what I do to you behind closed doors." He winked cheekily at Sherlock, leering, and Sherlock rolled his eyes, feeling his face heat up.

"Please. You never actually hurt me, John. You get a bit…zealous and forceful at times but we both enjoy that. Hardly what Anderson was referring to."

John grinned, snapping down the lid on his laptop and shoving it to the side. He rolled on top of his beautiful lover, thrilled at feeling Sherlock's prominent arousal digging into his thigh.

"You're incorrigible." He teased, nibbling at Sherlock's jawline. "Never satisfied, are you?"

"You satisfy me." Sherlock protested, squirming beneath John. "I'm not-"

"Don't tell me you're not hard because I can feel that for myself, Sherlock." John said, rolling his hips against the hard ridge of flesh. Sherlock moaned appropriately but went still.

"But you're...not hard." Sherlock tried to point out the obvious as delicately as he could. He wasn't sure if doing so would hurt John's feelings and that was the last thing he wanted to do.

John playfully bumped his hips against Sherlock, who let out a puppy-like yelp as John's body came into delicious contact with his crotch.

"Nope. I'm not." John agreed dismissively. "I'm not as insatiable as some people are." He wriggled his eyebrows at Sherlock, chuckling at the way he blushed. "Doesn't mean I still can't satisfy you. If that's what you want?"

"I..." There was a distinctive and notable pause as Sherlock gritted his teeth, squirming entirely unintentionally as the carnal undertones of John's voice made him shudder.

"You don't have to..." John said, easing off Sherlock carefully. "It was just a suggestion, love-"

"No!" Sherlock wrapped his arms around John and clung to him, tugging him back down. "No...I...I want you to…"

John smiled as he settled back atop him. "Ok. What is it you want? Anything, Sherlock. I'll give it to you."

Sherlock took a deep breath, hesitating. He knew what he really wanted, if he couldn't have John, but...he didn't think he could say it.

John, though, was already ahead of him, his eyes sparkling wickedly. "Where are the rest of your toys, Sherlock?"

Sherlock's breath caught in his throat. Oh. Oh, John...

"In...in the wardrobe." He managed to get out, his voice grating and low in sudden arousal.

John grinned and eased off the bed, going to the expensive wardrobe and carefully sifting aside designer shirts, shoes, and various disguises as he looked for the illicit stock of sex toys which were housed somewhere within. His hand finally bumped into a crumpled and well-worn carrier-bag and his grin widened.

John brought it back to the bed and handed the bag to Sherlock. "Pick something. Anything. Your favourite toy and I'll use it on you."

Sherlock gulped and his hands shook as he reached for the bag, already knowing what he would pick and wondering what John would think when he did so. He withdrew the item from the bag and held it up for John's perusal. John grinned wickedly.

"Good choice." John inspected the transparent flesh jack, turning the pliable rubber over and over in his hands, curiously sticking his finger inside the opening to feel the rubberized bumps and grooves lining it.

Sherlock averted his eyes from the sight, his cheekbones reddening sharply, as if some invisible phantom had abruptly slapped him twice across the face. He attempted his 'I'm-in-control-no-matter-whether-I'm-laying-here-naked-and-desperate-for-you-or-not' voice. "I keep my things clean, John. I always wash the after using them." Saying those words to John made his cheeks flame further, especially when John glanced at him, quirking an eyebrow.

"Use this one a lot, do you?" He smiled. "I was just looking, love. I've never seen one like this before." He tugged Sherlock up and into a kiss, plunging his tongue inside Sherlock's mouth and sweeping along the length of Sherlock's tongue. When John pulled away, Sherlock hard, achingly hard, and panting, his thoughts hazy.

"Get on your back." John instructed and Sherlock scrambled to obey.

"Tell me what your plans are." The detective demanded, adjusting himself on the bed and giving himself a few pleasurable rubs. "I trust you" He murmured, out of the blue.

John paused, obviously surprised, but gave Sherlock an open, pleased smile. "Good. I hope I never do anything to break that." He cleared his throat and looked away, eyes dropping to the toy he still held. He gave Sherlock a wicked grin, plucking up the lube and poured it into the opening of the toy.

Sherlock watched with morbid fascination, his mouth going dry and his cock flexed in eagerness. "Can I...have you in my mouth?" He asked hesitantly and as John inhaled to expound the details of his (reluctant) delayed potency, Sherlock spoke again. "I know you're not…I just want part of you in me. I want you close."

John was torn. He'd never had that done before. Once he was done, he was done and he didn't know if he'd like Sherlock sucking his flaccid, and still sensitive, cock. There was no way he'd get hard again and the idea sounded…uncomfortable. But Sherlock would stop if he told him to, so John nodded, reluctant nevertheless.

"Can I have your fingers first." Sherlock murmured, not even bothering to make the sentence a question. John grinned, accepting he'd have to do all the work, and let his "of course" go unspoken. He slicked his fingers up and teased at the entrance to Sherlock's body, wincing at the red, slightly puffy way his entrance looked. He kept his movements to a bare minimum.

"Sherlock…I don't think we should do this. You're going to be really sore-"

"S'okay...carry on," Sherlock uttered in a consoling, if distant, tone, back arching as the tip of John's finger slipped into his body, wincing. He writhed, body burning at the intrusion, trying to relax.

Frowning, John thought he knew what this was about- Sherlock actually wanted John to make him sore so he would have a physical reminder for the next few days of what they'd done. John usually indulged him with his kink but this...he didn't want to actually hurt Sherlock. And he thought if he continued, and gave Sherlock what he wanted, he would.

John removed his finger from Sherlock's arse, giving him a stern look when Sherlock raised his head, annoyed. "No, Sherlock. I'm not hurting you." John teased the tip of Sherlock's cock with the wet entrance of the flesh jack, easing it down over his cock, and Sherlock's head fell back against the pillow.

He licked his lips, moaning. "S'good...really good...wish it was you…Oh…John, kiss me. With tongues, please," came the shuddery order.

John awkwardly crawled to the side, keeping the fleshjack firmly in place, and leaned forward to give Sherlock the kiss he wanted, licking into his mouth and groaning in surprise when Sherlock sucked eagerly on his tongue. Sherlock growled into the kiss before pulling away with a sweet smack of lips. He grinned up at John.

"Now you may carry on."

John snorted, rolling his eyes, and turned his attention to lowering the fleshjack onto Sherlock's cock. It was a bit of a sticky slide down, the lube not having worked its way all throughout, and there were still places that Sherlock's cock didn't glide past, that offered resistance. After a few strokes, though, moving the toy over his cock, the glide was smooth, and apparently, judging by the way Sherlock hissed and threw his head back, very, very pleasurable.

"...John...tell me it's you." Sherlock demanded as he pumped slowly but forcibly into the toy, frowning in carnal concentration, hair starting to wilt into a pretty, dark mess.

John hummed, still moving the toy at a slow, measured pace. "I know how much you love fucking me, Sherlock. I don't often let you...but when I do...oh, Christ, it feels amazing." John stopped with the toy pressed flush against Sherlock's skin, his cock held immobile in the tight, wet grip of it. "I'd love to ride you." He whispered, and Sherlock gasped, his hips bucking upwards. "I'd start slow." John demonstrated with the toy, easing it ever so slowly up and down at an almost glacial pace. "Give myself time to get used to it. You know how...tight I always am."

Sherlock released a sharp, visibly-restrained exhale, his body flushing hot with arousal at John's words. "I want that. Want you to ride me...weigh me down." He said, his long fingers caressing John's throat. Traversing his nape knowledgably, Sherlock carded his fingers through John's fine, ash-brown hair in a shaky amalgam of gratitude and a wordless request for more.

John leaned into the touch, closing his eyes. "And I would." He slid the toy at an unhurried, leisurely pace over Sherlock's cock and Sherlock's hips began to gently thrust upwards into the toy.

"None of that." John reprimanded lightly. "If I were riding you, I would set the pace. Not you." Sherlock subsided, breath whooshing out shakily. "God...your cock would feel amazing inside me, Sherlock." John whispered, faking a moan and, even knowing it was fake, the sound of it made Sherlock's eyes slam closed and a stifled whimper ripped from his throat.

"C-Can you turn around?" Sherlock asked suddenly, his eyes still tightly closed in aroused concentration. "Want to taste you...please. Want…to have a part of you in me."

John obligingly straddled Sherlock's head, positioning himself in the classic "69" position. He and Sherlock had done this position a few times and it'd always gone well, but that still didn't make it a bit awkward at first. He hissed when he felt Sherlock swallow his flaccid cock into his mouth. He was still sensitive from earlier, from coming twice in one day. Sherlock swirled his tongue around John's cock and John couldn't stop the convulsive, shivery twitch of his hips in reaction.

Sherlock, his mouth full, tapped a few words in Morse Code on John's hip. 'are you okay?'

John shuddered. "Yeah. I'm fine. Just..." He shuddered again, unable to stop it. "Sensitive. Fine, though."

Whooshing out a breath, he focused back on Sherlock's cock, flushed and hard, surrounded by transparent silicone. He began to work the toy faster and Sherlock jolted, his hips thrusting up. He reflexively sucked hard on the soft, warm flesh in his mouth, the remaining tang of John's previously expelled semen a familiar and delightful treat on his tongue.

John writhed as Sherlock sucked his cock, panting from overstimulation. It was an odd feeling. There was no way he would be able to get hard again and it was just sensation, pleasurable sensation, with nowhere to go. He didn't know if he hated it or loved it, if he wanted Sherlock to stop or keep going.

"…Oh...fuck. I'd eventually start to pick up the pace." John latched on to the fantasy he'd been spinning, shivering as Sherlock gave another enthusiastic suck. "I'd make sure you lay still while I…fucking used your cock to make myself come." John released a short, pained noise as the fingernails of Sherlock's hand scraped across the flesh encapsulating his left kidney. For a brief second, John's mind was inundated with factoids about the damage which could possibly be inflicted on the renal system from various physical assaults and wondered vaguely when Sherlock had managed to parasitise his way of thinking in the most beautiful of ways possible into John's mind.

"I'd...b-brace myself on your chest-" John placed his free hand on Sherlock's chest to demonstrate and felt Sherlock's breathing pick up. "-and fucking ride you into the mattress. It'd feel so good. I'd be...oh…I'd be getting so close. You'd be able to feel it, Sherlock. You'd be able to see it on my face and body...but you'd feel it around your cock right before I came." John worked the toy faster and faster over Sherlock's cock, his own twitching weakly in response to the sucking of Sherlock's mouth.

Sherlock let out a choked, high-pitched grunt and the fingertips of his right hand tapped a frantic message on John's hip, just as his other hand clawed its way urgently into the softer flesh under John's ribcage.

'nearly'

John picked up the pace of the toy, moving it faster over the slick length of Sherlock's cock, thrusting lightly into Sherlock's mouth, his cock tingling with the pressure. "Oh! Yes, Sherlock. I'd be getting so close...using you. Using your cock to make myself come."

Sherlock's hips began bucking up into the toy repeatedly and John slapped his thigh. "No. You aren't allowed to move yet, remember? I'm using you for my pleasure."

The whine Sherlock emitted was music to John's ears.

"Jesus." John moaned, humping at Sherlock's face before he could stop himself and groaning as his cock slipped over Sherlock's tongue. Sherlock released the faintest, asphyxiated little sobs of need. "Oh, fuck. Come, love." John was shaking with exertion, his body contorted awkwardly. The shivery, 'too much' stimulation of his cock was making him antsy and he couldn't wait for it to end.

There was a faint noise from Sherlock that John, even without seeing his lover's face, knew constituted a giggle - even with his mouth full.

'yes ' came the eager reply, smeared haphazardly against John's hip…before Sherlock began to climax. John watched Sherlock's cock dribble out semen inside the flesh jack, fascinated by the unfamiliar sight.

Urgent, smothered groans from Sherlock's throat vibrated unbearably against his shaft. After the doctor had forced his weight down against the singularly vicious bucks of the younger man's damp hips, and the shivers had worked their way out of Sherlock's body, John immediately raised up, his cock slipping free of Sherlock's mouth with a wet pop. John shuddered, his cock still soft but twitching, and shook his head.

"Yeah, we're not doing that again." He said.

The detective frowned tiredly, wheezing, his forehead crinkled and his pale eyes tightly shut. He suffered a few, full-body shudders as a couple of unexpected aftershocks from his orgasm tremored through him. Chest heaving, he licked the remaining particles comprising John's taste from his heart-shaped mouth, before endeavouring to make use of his vocal chords. "What?" he uttered breathlessly.

John eased the flesh jack off Sherlock's cock, mindful he'd be extremely sensitive, and laid it to the side. "You. Sucking my cock like that. It was..." He cleared his throat, searching for the right words. "Yeah, just really too much."

Sherlock tapped out another message on John's cheek, smiling weakly. 'you should have said .'

John gave him a brief kiss before pulling away and starting the clean-up. "You were enjoying it. And it wasn't...bad. But...it was just...too much." Even now, his cock was still prickling in a very distracting way. Cerebrally, he knew it was because there was blood trapped in the vessels making him feel twitchy and unsatisfied. He'd already came twice that day but the uncomfortable feeling of being unfulfilled lingered.

His discomfort didn't go unnoticed. Sherlock sat up as abruptly as he could, given the residual trembling of his muscles. "John? John, what's wrong?"

John laughed, cupping Sherlock's cheek reassuringly. "I'm fine, love. It'll pass. Trust me, there's no way I could get hard again and once this goes away, I'll be fine." He gave Sherlock a soft kiss. "Promise. But we're still never doing it again." He grinned.

"If we did it again...you know...'seventy-nine'...if you were...up for it?" Sherlock queried, looking tentative. "I know we've done it before but I hate to think this has put you off…"

"It's 'sixty-nine,' Sherlock and yeah, I'd be up for it if I were...'up' for it. It's just...I was soft and...All that stimulation...with nowhere for it to go...got me a bit wound up is all. It'll go away, though."

"What do you need?" Sherlock asked hesitantly, his eyes betraying his self-consciousness, wanting to making John feel better but not knowing how.

John smiled fondly. "Lay down you ridiculous man." He pushed Sherlock down on the bed and wrapped his arms around him, slinging a leg over Sherlock and making sure they were as close as possible. "This. This is what I need right now... Ok?"

"You require snuggling," Sherlock smiled, wiping a wilted curl from his eyes, before hugging John closer.

"Mm...yeah." John agreed lazily, sighing contentedly. He could still disconcertingly feel his heartbeat in his cock but his body gradually relaxed the longer he laid against Sherlock.

"So..." He finally sighed. "What date did you have in mind? Hmm? Any favourites?"

"A date? A favourite date?...I quite like the fourteenth of May. It was a very bright, sunny Spring day, remember? Which, in accordance with most British people's opinions, is an enjoyable thing. For ridiculous reasons, though. Too few people are aware that sunlight is an excellent source of Vitamin D and there was exceptional exposure that day. We solved the blue-ringed octopus venom double murder on that day…" Sherlock sighed happily, reminiscing. "Not to mention that the first smallpox vaccination was administered by Edward Jenner that day in 1796…and in 2012 Stanford University scientists developed a prototype bionic eye…So yes. May fourteenth. A good date."

"Ok. Fourteenth of May." John agreed "Kind of far away but I guess that just gives us more time to plan things out."

"Things? What things? Is this something Mycroft's put you up to?" Sherlock asked, brow wrinkling suspiciously, his mouth set in a firm line.

"What?" John laughed. "No, Sherlock- I'm talking about our wedding. I thought we might just go down to the registrar's office but-"

John stopped talking when Sherlock suddenly went rigid, his body tensing against John's. He pulled away and stared at Sherlock, his stomach dropping at the stunned look on his face.

"You didn't propose earlier did you?" John asked, a creeping tide of embarrassment washing over him as he saw how sincerely dumbfounded Sherlock was.

Sherlock blinked and found himself stumbling barefoot over a painful, awkward, and overly-colourful stack of Lego Bricks in his Mind Palace. He frantically tried to remember what John was talking about, running over everything they'd said in the past few hours, all the while feeling John pulling away from him.

"I- I don't-" Sherlock stammered, shaking his head, floundering.

"It's fine, Sherlock." John said, faking a smile which didn't nearly reach his eyes. "It's fine, I was confused about earlier."

"When? When- earlier?" Sherlock was still desperately trying to remember what he'd said.

"When you said...when you said you wanted to spend your life with me," John shrugged. "I misunderstood...sorry," he murmured, face flushed a vivid red.

Behind Sherlock's open eyes, flashing in distracting, vibrant visualisations in his Mind Palace, the occupants (some uninvited, but residing as stubborn as junkie squatters nonetheless), spoke up.

Molly stepped forward first, clearing her throat nervously. 'He loves you more than anything, Sherlock. I can't ever be yours… but he deserves to be.'

'Finally going to make it official?' Lestrade asked, smirking. And behind him, Mycroft loomed, rolling his eyes. 'You're losing him while you're waffling about in here, Sherlock. You may want to focus.'

"Losing him?" Sherlock asked out loud, blinking, looking a little dazed, his hand gripping John's wrist with an increasing, unconscious tightness.

'He's already pulling away, brother dear. You may want to hurry and correct your mistake before this gets out of hand.'

Sherlock's eyes widened, and he gasped, staring at John, looking for guidance.

John used both of his hands to encompass Sherlock's face. "Sherl...sweetheart, stop thinking. Just for a second. I don't care who..." he tapped a gentle finger pointedly against Sherlock's temple, "...'in there' is telling you that you're losing me. Don't listen to them."

Sherlock's face dropped into a disbelieving visage which would have been funny if it weren't for the gravity of the situation. John knew him so well- always did…and he was losing him- wasn't he?

"We're fine, ok?" John said, staring at Sherlock sternly. "We just had a misunderstanding. I had a misunderstanding. And yes, I'm disappointed, ok? But that isn't your fault. Just...calm down."

"Do you want to?" Sherlock queried unexpectedly, and he ignored Mycroft's comment ('Since when do you care what other people want ?').

"Uh...that's not really the point of this, Sherlock." John smiled and this time it reached his eyes. "Look...I obviously surprised you thinking you meant to propose...and this isn't really the way I would have wanted this to happen...So let's...just step back. All right? Give ourselves time to think about it. Then...we can decide. If it's what you want."

"How would you have wanted it to happen?"

John chuckled. "Not like this. Not as a misunderstanding." He tugged Sherlock back until they were laying on the bed again. "Something romantic, I guess. Something that means something. To both of us." He shrugged. "Doesn't matter, really."

Sherlock refused to be soothed. He leaned over John on his hands and gave him a penetrating stare. "I believe it matters a great deal to you, ergo it holds an even greater importance for me. Please...bluntness, I have learned, can be a very useful tool. Tell me. Do you want to be legally bound with me?"

John stared up at Sherlock's suddenly fierce, determined face. "Um…Yeah. Of course I do."

"I will mentally delete my mishap and try and ask again properly, if that is the case."

"No – Sherlock! That's not needed." John tugged Sherlock back down and cuddled the agitated man to him. "All this about me wanting to…Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Want to be legally bound to me?"

Sherlock paused for a split-second, considering. "It would be financially beneficial for both of us. And certain relevant laws and clauses are only applicable to legally-partnered couples."

John fought back a chuckle. Only Sherlock could make an official, life-long commitment sound so clinical.

"There are many different reasons that are advantageous. We would be able to visit each other in hospital if we're injured, the chances of that of course are very high." Sherlock went on. "We would be able to adopt a child, if we were so inclined. I know you've thought about it more than once."

John's hand, which had been affectionately kneading Sherlock's bare bicep, stilled. "...You...you can't know that. Why do you think that's a fact?"

"You've always wanted children." Sherlock said. "It's always been part of your dream of what you would have in a few years. I've seen the way you interact with the children at your work...your eyes light up and you're always so happy...and you look at them with such...longing. You've researched adoption services two different times in the years you've lived here...the most recent of which was three months ago. I know you've thought of it. And us being married would mean we could adopt."

John didn't know why he had assumed Sherlock wouldn't observe his desire to raise a child. Since they had been together, obviously the dynamics of such a realism had changed. John's breath hitched before he let out a sigh that he had let out a thousand times - signifying, wordlessly, 'Okay Sherlock, you beat me. You figured everything out.'

"Ok." John admitted, nodding his head. "Ok. You're right. You're always right. But...what else?"

Sherlock frowned. "What do you mean- what else?"

"All that- what you said, why we should get married- that's all great. And yes, you're right. But...the real reason I want to marry you...is because I can't ever see myself being apart from you. I don't want to ever be apart from you. I'm...I love you...and that means that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Until we're old and grey and senile. And that means I want to marry you and make it official."

Sherlock seized John's face, giving him a deep kiss, his tongue exploring a part of John which he had already committed to memory down to the last millimetre, and which he now just indulged in for simple pleasure and gratitude.

Pulling back after a frankly dizzying snog, Sherlock licked his lips, breathing hard, and cupped John's cheek. "How do you want it to be? When I ask you? Tell me,"

"You know what?" John asked, kissing Sherlock on the tip of his nose and settling back against the bed, crossing his arms beneath his head and grinning up at him. "I'm not telling you. And" He interrupted when Sherlock opened his mouth to argue with him. "I may just beat you to asking." John laughed at Sherlock's outraged expression.

"The game is on, love." He said, lips twitching in a smile. "The game is on."