"13th February

Yet another mystery solved and things are back to normal. I'm sure that'll change soon though, because things are never normal with Sherlock Holmes. He blew up my favourite tea mug yesterday. I'll try to write up the latest cases as soon as possible."

John hit enter and looked at his flatmate who was sitting opposite him, black curls half covering his face as he leant over some papers on the table. A random thought crossed John's mind.

"It's Valentine's Day tomorrow."

Sherlock looked at him questioningly, one eyebrow raised. "What?" Before John could answer, remembrance flashed in the detective's eyes and he smiled. "Oh, Valentine's Day! I've heard of it."

Something in the man's tone suggested that he expected John to be proud of this. The doctor sighed but nodded. "Great. I still think that knowing the name of the current prime minister wouldn't do any harm but Valentine's Day, that's good too. Any, um, plans? For tomorrow?"

Sherlock looked thoughtful. "Lestrade might need us; it's a minor case, really, but if nothing else turns up..."

"Oh," the disappointment escaped from John's lips before he could help himself. "Work. Alright."

Sherlock looked at him, his sharp grey eyes seeing far too much. "Something's wrong with that?" It wasn't a question – Sherlock knew, of course he knew.

"No," John lied. "Nothing's wrong with that. What's the case about?"

The distraction didn't work. Sherlock ignored John's enquiry and repeated his own. "What is it, John? You don't have to come with me if you don't want to."

"Of course I'll come," John replied quickly, "If you want me to."

"'Course I do," Sherlock huffed. "You know that I do."

"Okay." John managed a small smile and Sherlock seemed to be happy with that as he returned to examining the photographs on the table.

"14th February

The butler did it. I didn't know that actually happened in real life... Sherlock told me not to turn this case into "another romanticised story of our 'adventures'" so I won't. The butler wanted the money so he killed everybody and ran. Sherlock can write his own analysis if he wants to.
Happy Valentine's Day, by the way. Harry, wouldn't this be a good day to make up with Clara? You were cute together."

Sherlock read John's latest blog entry from his mobile phone and frowned. He hadn't meant to sound that harsh – John's blog was annoying at times but to be very honest Sherlock didn't really mind the whole "adventure" thing. If adventures and/or blogging about them made John happy, Sherlock wasn't going to be the one to take them away from the good doctor. True enough, John didn't appreciate the science of deduction as much as would've been advisable, but Moriarty seemed to be the only one on the planet who actually did and Sherlock really preferred having John as his blogger. Sherlock typed a quick comment to John's blog entry – My analysis will be available on my website, .uk – and re-read the rest of John's entry.

Why was John still going on about Valentine's Day? As far as Sherlock was concerned, Valentine's Day was just another useless invention by American advertising agencies – supposedly it did have some historical background but the modern Valentine's Day seemed to be about buying ugly, pink things to your loved one. And since Sarah had left John a couple of months ago, Sherlock couldn't imagine why the doctor wanted to bring up the issue over and over again. John didn't have a lover and neither did Sherlock, so wasn't Valentine's Day something they could happily ignore?

Valentine's Day or not, someone had to buy the groceries and as Sherlock certainly wasn't going to, John headed to the supermarket, trying to ignore the Valentine's Day decorations spread all over the place. Hell, this was a supermarket – why did they have to stick pink hearts to the fruit cartons and advertise perfectly ordinary milk with "Make your loved one happy"? Admittedly, it would've made John very happy if Sherlock had bothered buying milk, instead of muttering something about Molly and dashing off to Barts. John sighed. He didn't mind the mess Sherlock made, he didn't mind the fingers in a margarine tub and he didn't mind the violin but why did it always have to be John who had to struggle with the checkout machine in the grocery shop?

He returned to Baker Street half an hour later, not in the best possible mood. Sherlock was sitting in his armchair, humming quietly, eyes glued to his phone. He muttered something resembling a "hello" when John stepped in and a small smile played in the corners of his mouth. John frowned at him and went to the kitchen, beginning to unpack the shopping bags. Sherlock's low baritone called his name before he'd finished.

"John?"

The doctor huffed, dropping the plastic bag on the floor. "What now?"

"There's a yellow piece of paper on the living room table, can you get it for me?"

"I'm in the kitchen, trying to fill the fridge with something else than your disgusting experiments. You could do something yourself, you know."

"Fetch it for me, thank you John."

John rolled his eyes and walked across the room. There were no yellow papers on the table; it was actually surprisingly tidy at the moment. But there was something on that table that caught John's attention...

"Sherlock," John said. "What. Is. This?" He knew what it was, of course. It was a heart – an actual human heart – packed in a transparent plastic box. But he kind of hoped it'd turn into something less horrifyingly inappropriate if he simply refused to believe it.

"It's a heart," Sherlock replied, giving the man his best poker face.

"I know it's a bloody heart. But what is it doing here and – " John stepped closer, certainly deciding not to believe his eyes. "Why in the bloody hell does the box have my name on it?"

Sherlock shrugged, his gaze flickering from his mobile phone to John's face and then back to the phone. "Valentine's Day. Heart related things are what people tend to give each other."

John quivered. "Well, a heart-shaped box of chocolates would be more traditional and certainly much nicer..." he muttered, staring confusedly at the organ and then at his flatmate.

Sherlock rolled his eyes sighing dramatically and got up, producing a pink, heart-shaped box from behind his back. "I know that. You should have a little more faith in me, you know." A smile made its way to his face as he walked to John who was gaping at him with a wide range of emotions flickering over his features. Sherlock gave the box to him. "Happy Valentine's Day, John," he said quietly. "I, um, I hope I'm doing this right."

John made a strange little noise, dumped the box of chocolates on the table behind him and wrapped his arms around Sherlock, pulling the man into a rib-bruising hug. Sherlock was surprised to observe John's eyes looked a bit wet before the man pressed his face against Sherlock's shoulder. Was something wrong?

"John – " he started, but was suddenly stopped by a pair of soft, warm lips pressing against his own. Sherlock made the quick deduction that nothing was wrong and kissed back, hugging John tightly and half pushing, half lifting the man on the living room table. John mumbled something, as if trying to protest, but Sherlock's teeth biting his lower lip turned the words into a small moan and John's fingers got tangled in Sherlock's curly hair. Reluctant to leave John's mouth but at the same time eager to explore further, Sherlock pressed kisses along the doctor's jaw line, up to his ear and then down the throat where John's pulse was throbbing quicker than Sherlock had ever felt it throb before. The sucked tentatively, then tried using his teeth on the soft skin. John moaned again, losing his balance and stumbling backwards. His hand left Sherlock's hair and there was a crash as something thin and plastic broke. Then John's "Oh, hell" and the man broke away from Sherlock who glanced up, disappointed. John was staring disgustedly at the remains of the plastic box and the squishy organ that was now lying on the table in a small pool of clear liquid. Apparently, John had tried to balance himself and had accidentally shattered the box.

"That's gross," John managed, but Sherlock decided it wasn't really that gross and kissed him again, sweeping the shattered plastic box, the heart and the chocolates off the table. He pushed John down and climbed on top of him, making a quick calculation in his head to make sure the table wouldn't collapse under them. John's body was warm and it trembled slightly as Sherlock lowered himself to rest on top of him.

"Any last words?" Sherlock murmured, propping himself up so that he could look at John's face.

John gave him a slightly dazzled smile, raised his head and kissed the detective. "Thanks for the chocolates," he whispered.

Sherlock grinned. "That's not the only thing you'll get."

The Personal Blog of Dr. John Watson.

"15th February

Hello, Sherlock Holmes here. John and I will go away for a few days because London is boring and we want some time alone. I stole his mobile phone so you people won't be able to contact him, sorry about that.

He's mine."