6. The Engagement Talk

'John!' came the impatient cry from the kitchen. John sighed and marked the page on the book he was reading, putting it on the coffee table. A few seconds later, Sherlock stormed out of the kitchen, which was once again stuffed with experiments and severed body parts. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and there were a few angry red spots on his forearms.

'What've you done now?' John asked, failing to sound concerned anymore.

'This experiment isn't working with me. Not enough data. No preferable outcomes. It's basically just sitting there and mocking me,' the detective spat.

'And it, ah... hurt you?' John smirked with a cooing voice as he looked at Sherlock with wide puppy eyes. 'Do you need a kiss on that?'

'Please, John,' Sherlock said sarcastically, flopping on the sofa beside his fiancé. 'A kiss hardly helps relieving any sort of pain I might be experiencing right now.' He inspected his arms with a frown, blowing his wild curls out of his eyes. John thought the movement was quite adorable, though he'd never say so to the detective's face directly.

'What's happened, then?' he asked instead, dragging his eyes over the small burns on Sherlock's white skin. As much as John had gotten used to Sherlock's rants about his experiments, he didn't want him to get hurt.

'A combination of heat and a burning substance which apparently should not be disrespected,' Sherlock murmured. He winced when John grabbed his arm to inspect the burns with his trained eye, but he bit his tongue and refused to whimper.

'Oh, Sherlock,' John tutted. 'Do please protect yourself, will you? You can't just play around with burning acid with just your rolled-up shirt sleeves.'

Sherlock sighed angrily and pouted his lips, making him look like a petulant child. 'I'm so bored, John!' he exclaimed. He slid down the backrest of the sofa until his head was on John's lap, and he stared at the ceiling.

John rolled his eyes and ushered Sherlock back up again. At the sight of Sherlock's growing pout, he chuckled and told him he'd only get the first aid kit again to patch up his arms – God, he needed to patch Sherlock up a lot – and he'd be back soon so Sherlock could resume his mocking with his head in his fiancé's lap.

Sherlock nestled his curly head in John's lap again, sighing contently. He felt John's delicate hands poke and prod his arms, but he was well past the point of feeling any pain; throughout his life he'd had more near-death experiences than most people and one had hurt more than the other. That and John's hands were careful not to inflict any more pain on him.

'John,' he said in a pondering voice, 'I think we need to talk about our engagement.'

John smiled. 'Yeah, I think we do. We haven't really discussed it since you asked me last week... So what is it exactly you want to talk about right now?'

'Well,' Sherlock began, 'I think you need to know that I'm not really the marrying type to begin with...'

'Are you backing out?' John asked, keeping his voice light though he was feeling doubt bubble up in his stomach, making him feel slightly sick. His grip on Sherlock's arm faltered a bit and though there was nothing in the doctor's voice, the detective could feel the tremble in his hands and he smiled, soothingly rubbing John's hands with his own.

'Of course I'm not, John. I just wanted you to understand my perspective of things.'

'Right,' John said sheepishly, resuming his treatment of Sherlock's arms. 'You're not the marrying type, I understand – I have to admit that I didn't see it coming, to be honest with you.'

'You said, "I thought you'd never ask".' Sherlock smiled at the memory.

'And I meant it,' John said, finishing up on Sherlock's arms by putting a mild crème and a soft bandage around each of the bigger burns. He then put his first aid kit on the floor beside him and buried his hands in Sherlock's dark curls. 'But why did you propose to me if you're not all that into marrying?'

Sherlock sighed. 'Look, John. I regard marriage as a thoughtless folly. Okay, so you love each other, be happy and move on. Instead, people dwell on the doubts and the questions and they want them answered and confirmed. And in their minds, the right way to verify such things is by marrying. And when they realise that all their problems aren't over yet, things go wrong and the marriage is ended, and therefore the relationship is ended. You see what I mean, John?'

'I don't have any doubts,' John said with a frown, stroking the strands of dark hair on Sherlock's forehead.

Sherlock's expression softened and he seemed to lean into the touch. 'I didn't think you would, John.'

John smiled. 'Okay, so...?'

'So,' Sherlock muttered, 'I decided to re-evaluate my opinion on the matter of marriage.'

'And what came out of that?' John asked, forming a mental picture of a pacing, violin-playing Sherlock thinking about the act of marrying. He grinned.

'I still believe it is utter nonsense,' Sherlock said boldly, wiping John's grin off his face. 'Listen. It is still the confirmation of love to both parties. I already know you love me, and you already know that I love you. At least, I hope so...?' he muttered questioningly, tilting his head as he opened his eyes to look at his lover.

'I do,' John said as he took Sherlock's hand and kissed his knuckles one by one.

'Good,' Sherlock said, not able to keep a goofy smile off his face as he closed his eyes again. 'Then what is the point of putting it black on white, with our signature underneath it, saying we're legally together? Nothing would actually change when I say "I do", not in our daily lives.'

John disagreed but stayed silent nevertheless.

'All that fuss with rings and a ceremony and guests and wedding vows...' Sherlock went on, a definite scowl on his face. 'What's it supposed to do with me loving you? Or you loving me? When I kiss you every day, tell you I love you every day, drink your tea every day, sleep in your arms every day, hold you when you have a nightmare, clean up the kitchen or eat properly for a day, wouldn't that be enough?'

'Then why did you propose to me?' John said suddenly, still feeling as if Sherlock wasn't very keen on marrying him after all.

'Because I care,' Sherlock said, opening one eye to look up at John. He smirked when he saw the disconcerted face of his fiancé. 'John, I thought a long time. And even though I think marriage is unwise in most occasions, I believe that ours won't be a mistake.'

John smiled, a wide, mind-blowing smile that had Sherlock curl his arms around his waist and nuzzling in his woollen jumper, trying to hide his blush.

After a while, John spoke again. 'I do need some clearance on this,' he said with a laugh. 'Why are you so sure that our relationship won't break? Why are you so willing to let go of your opinions, which you've had your entire life, just to please me? Relationships are not only about giving, Sherlock, it's a combination of giving and taking, and respecting.'

'I know that, John. But you've already given so much, you had to accommodate to my lifestyle, even before we were in a proper relationship. And I don't think I mind all that much.'

'But we're happy like this, aren't we? We love each other, and you believe that that is enough.'

'And why not go one step further?' Sherlock said softly, sitting up to whisper in John's ear; 'I know you believe that marriage isn't pointless.'

'I don't,' John said, shivering at Sherlock's warm breath brushing past his ear. 'I think it's an act of love, not of insecurity. Sure, there are problems in relationships, no marriage is perfect – we certainly aren't perfect – but when you asked me to marry you, I felt so incredibly happy. To you it's a common act to avoid any problems between a couple, but to me it felt like you opened up to me, as you never do with others.' John gave Sherlock a small peck on the mouth, which was still close to his ear, and put an arm around him, drawing him close. Sherlock, being, once emotionally opened up, a more dependent person than John had anticipated, snuggled against his side, throwing a possessive arm around John's waist. He pressed his lips to John's neck before smiling and muttering, 'I felt like that, too. I felt quite vulnerable, as I am not really used to.'

'You sort of put yourself into my hands,' John mused, resting his chin on Sherlock's dark curls. 'And I'm grateful that you were willing.'

'What if you said "no"?' Sherlock questioned to himself. 'What would I have done? Surely I wouldn't be able to go back to how it was before, to our relationship before I put it in such danger. I would never be able to delete this from my hard-drive, I wouldn't stop questioning why you wouldn't do the thing with me which is in your opinion so obviously an act of affection and love.'

'Sherlock, I reckon you're over-thinking this,' John said, rubbing his fiancé's shoulder.

'I'm always over-thinking everything!' Sherlock said. 'Every possible consequence of every possible scenario is directly open to my mind and I can never stop thinking about the "what if"s. It's just how my brain works, John.' He said it with a tone of finality but John knew they were not done talking just yet. He wriggled beneath Sherlock, trying to find a more comfortable position. Sherlock backed off uncertainly but John pulled him down instantly so they were half-lying, half-sitting on the settee, John stroking Sherlock's curls absently.

'I know how your brain works,' he said softly. 'And I know how you as a person work, I know you, Sherlock. And that is why I love you, because you are you.'

'Does this have anything to do with our engagement?' Sherlock asked, looking at John from the corners of his eyes, snaking his arms around his lover's neck.

'Oh, yes,' John whispered. 'We got engaged because we love each other, you see. And I, Sherlock Holmes, love you.'

'That's new,' Sherlock muttered with a smirk and he closed his eyes, feeling the tip of John's nose touch his own. He tilted his head to the right slightly and met John's lips in a slow kiss. He felt John's hands on his waist and the parting of his lips. He drew in a small gasp when John's tongue met his own and let his hands roam around John's shoulders and neck, caressing his cheeks with the lightest of touches. They kissed languidly and slowly, somehow more lovingly and with more respect now they were engaged and soon-to-be husbands.

Sherlock smiled. 'I didn't think I could be content with the idea of marriage,' he whispered, his lips brushing against John's as he spoke. 'But I suppose I don't really care what happens to us as long as I'm staying with you.'

'We keep talking about marrying,' John said. 'Believe me, I want to...' he kissed Sherlock again. 'But I don't believe it's entirely legal... I'm sorry if I'm wrong, but I don't see you as the type to elope to wherever it is legal.'

Sherlock grinned, showing a bit of his characteristic arrogance and mischief through all the cuddliness and the clinginess that he only showed around John. 'You forget that I have a brother who practically is the British Government. I'm sure I can get him to right some bells for us.'

'That would take years, if not decades, Sherlock,' John said, trying to be rational through the brilliant smile that clouded his face.

'Would that be such a problem? There's no hurry,' Sherlock said in a soft whisper and he pressed his lips to the corner of John's mouth. 'I don't know about you, but I feel perfectly content with how things are right now.'

'I have to agree,' John said, burying his nose in the crook of Sherlock's neck. 'Getting Mycroft to legalise our situation would mean telling him, though.'

'You don't want to,' Sherlock stated, turning his head to press a kiss to John's head, lacing their fingers together.

'Not yet,' John breathed. 'I kind of have to get used to it.'

Sherlock disentangled himself from John, this time assuring him that he'd only be a minute fetch the small blanket they kept next to the sofa at times the heating went out. He lay back down next to his fiancé and threw the blanket over them, their feet sticking out the end as they dragged it up to cover their shoulders. 'And how do you suggest to get used to it?' Sherlock asked once their faces were once again separated by half an inch.

'Exactly like we're doing now,' John said as he took Sherlock's face in his hands to close the small gap between their lips. They kissed again in that slow, wonderful pace; there was no rush, no hurry, just the two of them, lying on the sofa with a warm blanket and each other, their lips moving around one another passionately. John could feel Sherlock's searching hands underneath the blanket and gasped when he felt them slip underneath his striped jumper to run a delicate finger along his spine, flattening his hands out on his waist, his long fingers splaying out on his tanned flesh. Sherlock's thumb continued to rub circles on John's abdomen and the doctor inched closer, his own hands roaming Sherlock's body lovingly. He passed the detective's waist and buttocks, tickling over the back of his thigh, reaching the sensitive spot behind the knee. Sherlock shuddered in delight and parted his lips at John's gentle but eager probing. He smiled slightly at the feel of John's tongue on his lower lip; John was so predictable.

'What?' John asked, keeping his eyes closed as he kissed his way up to Sherlock's jaw to his earlobe and down his neck.

'I'm just happy,' Sherlock murmured. 'With you, and me. And our soon-to-be best man.' He glanced at the mantelpiece, on top of which his skull was grinning at them. John followed his gaze and chuckled.

'You're not serious?' he asked, never sure whether Sherlock was joking or not.

'Well,' Sherlock said with a smirk, shrugging his shoulders. 'We might –'

'No,' John said sternly, pointing a fingers at his fiancé, poking him in the chest a number of times. 'I'm not having the skull at our wedding.'

'Have it your way,' Sherlock grinned. 'Who do you want your best man to be, then?'

'I think that the closest friend I have aside from you is Greg; I think I might want him there.'

'Same goes for me,' Sherlock chuckled. 'About the friend thing,' he added when John shot him a weird look.

'And what about you?' John asked him.

'I think I owe Mycroft some favour.'

'Mycroft?' John scoffed. 'You can barely refrain from arguing when you're in the same room. We might need your mother there.'

'Despite our differences in opinion, we do have a history, John. As much as I sometimes want for us not to be related, he is still my brother and our relationship is not as bad as it seems, nor has it ever been.'

'Oh, right,' John said, feeling a bit sheepish. 'Should've known.

'It's nothing to worry about, my dear doctor,' Sherlock said with a small, genuine smile. 'Anyone who's ever seen us together would have jumped to that conclusion. But when we are being childish and resentful, it actually is a sign that everything is alright.'

'How is that alright?' John asked, looking up at his fiancé with a frown.

'John, the only time that Mycroft and I show any kind of emotion towards each other than cold bitterness is when very serious things occur. Like when our father died; like when I was going through my rehabilitation process. The difficult times in our lives are the only times me and my brother are... connected,' he tried to describe.

'You've never talked about your dad or your drug problem with me,' John said, brushing Sherlock's cheek with his hand.

'And if you don't mind I'd rather not today,' Sherlock whispered harshly. 'But I suppose that the point is, Mycroft is there for me when I need him, and I am for him in return.'

'Well, that's good, isn't it?' John said softly, stealing a quick kiss from him and curling up neck to him, feeling Sherlock's wiry arms around him within seconds. 'Anyway,' John said tiredly, 'Mycroft will be your best man. Any other thoughts on how our wedding should be? You have the most objections, I'm letting you decide. No chance in organising our wedding without you and having you scowl at everyone and everything.'

Sherlock chuckled and kissed the top of John's head. 'You know me so well, John. I must congratulate you.'

'Are there objections, then?'

'Certainly.'

'Do tell me.'

John heard Sherlock snicker and he rolled his eyes, knowing Sherlock couldn't see him doing it. 'Okay; even though I do want for us to be lawfully wedded, I loathe exaggerated weddings; no flowers, no church, no big ceremony, no vows, with only the people closest to us in our lives and I will not be attending any sort of reception party.'

John laughed as Sherlock drew a lungful of breath. 'That's quite a long list. Why no vows?' he asked.

'John, I won't need to tell you the depths of my love for you in front of everyone we meet daily when I will tell you that very night.'

John blushed and was beyond the point of caring whether Sherlock noticed or not. 'I think I can live with that,' he whispered. 'Are you okay with kissing in front of everyone, then?'

Sherlock hesitated. 'I am. We already did it once, anyway.'

'Christmas dinner,' John nodded.

'Indeed,' Sherlock confirmed.

'And, erm... Would you mind a small dinner before the humble ceremony?' John asked, making sure Sherlock wouldn't jump to the conclusion of an "exaggerated" one.

'I think I can sit through that,' Sherlock said ponderingly. 'As long as I don't have to sit next to Mummy or someone like Anderson...'

'Anderson is not invited,' John muttered with a grin.

Sherlock looked at him with a gleam in his eyes that John could only describe as pride and adoration. 'God, I love you,' he said, hugging John tightly to him.

John laughed again, hugging his lover back. 'You'll have to wear a tie, though.'

Sherlock groaned audibly. 'Do I have to? Ties are pointless.'

'My request,' John whispered in his ear. 'Never seen you in a tie before; should be... interesting. And besides, if you're so keen on taking it off, perhaps I can do that for you... that very night you'll tell me the depths of your love for me...'

Sherlock's cheekbones coloured a light, adorable shade of pink. 'In that case, I should be glad to wear one, Doctor Watson.' He leaned forward, but before he could press his lips to John's, he heard another whisper.

'Oh, but, Sherlock? I do want a wedding ring.'

John loved this; walking in a leisurely pace beside his fiancé, holding his hand as they strolled through the busy streets of London in the evening. The air was cold around them, as it was February, and there was just the tiniest trace of a possible snowy night.

'I proposed to you, so it should be me who pays for them,' Sherlock said, pulling his coat tight around him.

'And you're not going for anything less than the real thing? Real silver?'

'Unless you want a little diamond in it,' Sherlock chuckled.

John slapped him on his backside. The thud was dulled by his coat, but Sherlock could still feel it. 'You idiot,' John muttered fondly.

'You were the one who wanted them in the first place,' Sherlock told him, curling an arm around John, drawing him close. John did the same and shook his head.

'Do I detect an objection?' he teased.

'Consider this your wedding present,' Sherlock danced around the question.

John scoffed. 'Alright, then. But I expect you to wear yours properly. Are we going to tell people soon, though?'

'If you wish,' Sherlock said, ignoring the obligation. 'We can talk to Mrs Hudson tonight, and to Lestrade and Mycroft tomorrow.'

'And Molly?' John asked. 'Harry would like to know as well. And Mike.'

'All tomorrow,' Sherlock said with a smile. 'Or would you like to bring them all together for another "Christmas dinner"?'

'I would if someone else was my fiancé, but I know you would want to make a big fuss about it. We'll call and visit them, then.'

'How do I deserve you?' Sherlock muttered as he kissed John's cheek, drawing attention from a few people around them.

'You need to call your mother, though,' John continued, a light blush creeping up his face.

'John,' Sherlock said with a big sigh. 'You don't know my mother and weddings; she takes them over. If I tell her, we'll end up with all the things we didn't want.'

'Then I'll tell her that we're planning our own wedding,' John calmed him, rubbing his side soothingly. 'She'll understand.'

Sherlock just huffed, but didn't disagree. He just hugged John tighter. 'You decided on silver, then?' he asked once they stopped outside an expensive jewellery shop.

'Well,' John said, 'I like silver better than gold. Reminds me of the moon instead of the sun. Sun just reminds me of Afghanistan and the moon... makes me think of you,' he decided rather sheepishly, almost wishing he hadn't said that out loud.

Sherlock's expression softened. 'Quite right,' he whispered as he took John's hand again. He opened the shop door and pulled John inside with him.

'Can I help you, gentlemen?' the posh-looking man behind the counter asked greedily.

'We are looking for men's wedding rings,' Sherlock said calmly. 'Silver ones, not too flashy. Custom made, please.'

The man's eyes flashed to their joined hands and he smiled brightly. 'Congratulations, gentlemen. Always a wise decision, picking a ring together; less chance of disappointment.'

'Actually, he just forgot,' John said happily. 'Nice one, I've got.'

'No, sir; that just means he is carefree,' the man said with a small wink. 'You'll get somewhere with him. Over here, gentlemen.'

John gave Sherlock a wide smile and stepped forward, following the man to a small corner of the room. He showed them a small variety of silver bands and they picked the simplest – though not necessarily the cheapest – and had their orders placed.

'Could you get our initials engraved on the inside?' Sherlock requested.

'Certainly, sir, certainly. That will cost extra, though.'

'Not a problem. SH and JW,' he told the man when he asked for it.

The salesman chuckled. 'That's funny, these two blokes keep popping up in the news. One of them keeps a blog...' His voice trailed off when he realised, but Sherlock's coat had just vanished around the door when he looked up.

'Our initials?' John repeated with a smile as Sherlock snaked an arm around his shoulders.

Sherlock shrugged. 'Thought I might want to add a little something of my own. As a real gift.'

'Suppose I have to get you a gift as well,' John mused, snuggling his head on Sherlock's upper arm, resting his hand on the small of the detective's back.

'You really don't have to,' said Sherlock quickly.

'No,' John contradicted. 'You already bought me that pistol and now the rings. Besides, I already thought of something.'

'Oh?' Sherlock voiced his surprised thoughts. 'And what might that be?'

'You'll see,' John said mysteriously.

Unusually happy when they got back to their flat, they decided to go by Mrs Hudson's one floor down. The old, energetic woman greeted them with delight as they came into her flat, hugging them to her small, but surprisingly strong body.

'Sherlock, John,' she said fondly. 'Sit down, I'll make you a nice cuppa.' And she shuffled to her kitchen while Sherlock and John sat next to each other on the small settee, looking at each other with an excited blush (Sherlock noticed how John's nose always had an adorable red colour when they came out of the cold) and Sherlock rested his hand on his knee, palm open for John.

When Mrs Hudson came back with a tray full of tea in her porcelain teapot and a bowl of biscuits, her two tenants were holding hands and looking extremely gleeful.

'I sense that you have something to tell me,' she said with a faint smile creeping on her face as he put down the tray on the coffee table.

'In fact, we do,' Sherlock said. After a millisecond of hesitation, he said, his voice steady but his face trembling with happiness and nervousness, 'I proposed to John last week.'

Their landlady's face lit up as he spoke the words, and John could almost hear the squeal that she desperately tried to hold in. 'Oh, that's lovely, dears,' she exclaimed, standing up and sweeping them both in a big hug again. She didn't need to ask whether John had said "yes"; she was a smart and perceptive woman. No couple of which one party had proposed and the other declined would sit next to each other, holding hands and so obviously happy.

'Well, I really am happy for you,' she said as he sat back down. 'Did he even have a ring?' she whispered with a smile, looking at John.

John shook his head, and laced his fingers through Sherlock's. 'D'you know what he said? "Knew there was something missing".'

Mrs Hudson laughed and even Sherlock cracked a smile. John and Mrs Hudson chatted for a while and Sherlock watched in silence, feeling happier than he ever had before in his life. But then, Mrs Hudson, being a woman after all, asked the inevitable question; 'How do you want your wedding to be?'

John looked at Sherlock. 'We... have only decided on the big lines.'

'You haven't picked a location yet?' Mrs Hudson asked.

'We've picked where we don't want it to be,' Sherlock gave a helping hand. 'I detest churches. And I don't want too much fuss. No silly decorations, no vows –'

'Because he'll tell me in private,' John added, kissing Sherlock's cheek.

'John!' Sherlock hissed.

'Oh, I understand,' Mrs Hudson said. 'Inside or outside?' she continued as if she hadn't heard anything.

'I thought perhaps on the spot I proposed to John,' Sherlock said quietly. John's jaw dropped in wonder and admiration. 'Oh, Sherlock...' he whispered, barely audible for anyone else but his fiancé.

'And where is that?' Mrs Hudson asked curiously.

'My mother's garden,' Sherlock said. 'It's in this area surrounded by high hedges and a fountain in the middle.'

'That's very romantic,' Mrs Hudson said dreamily. 'Well, off you go, have a nice night in,' she said, shooing them off with a big smile when their cups were empty.

'Thanks, Mrs H,' John said, directing his fiancé upstairs with a hand between his shoulder blades. He blushed heavily when she called after them, 'Do I need my earplugs tonight?'

Sherlock chuckled and called back casually, 'Wouldn't take the risk, Mrs Hudson!'

'SHERLOCK!' John yelled, bounding after the detective. Mrs Hudson retreated to her rooms again, chuckling to herself.

Sherlock hurried up the stairs, laughing with mirth as he heard John come after him. A bit too late he realised that John had grabbed the back of his coat and he turned around, pressing his back against the door to their flat. John pulled his face closer by his blue scarf and whispered in his ear, 'You shouldn't have said that, Sherlock. I can get very, very... dangerous.' He breathed the last word, pressing a tiny kiss to Sherlock's earlobe as he wound the scarf around his hand.

Sherlock's breath hitched audibly, his hand automatically clutching to John's side. His other hand searched for the doorknob, and, finding it, he opened the door, stumbled in backwards and used his now free hands to yank John's face closer by the collar of his jacket.

'We both know that dangerous isn't a problem in this relationship,' he whispered. 'Now shut up and kiss me.'

John did as he was told, seizing every opportunity to be the one to kiss Sherlock first instead of the other way around; it was usually Sherlock who leaned down to wind his arms around John's neck and drag him into a passionate kiss, but John didn't have that advantage with his height. He could occasionally grab Sherlock's coat collar or his scarf and pull him down, but only when Sherlock let him. Or, in this case, when he offered himself to John completely. And John wasn't going to let a moment of dominance pass him; he kissed Sherlock slowly, not that desperately as he knew Sherlock felt. He knew the detective often wanted heat and passion in a situation like this, and by dragging it out he only heightened his attention and need. Sherlock knew this, of course, but he didn't do anything about it; secretly he loved John's strong arms around him, his lips and tongue circling around his agonisingly but wonderfully slowly, the soft caresses on his cheeks.

It felt weird to be able to give himself up to one single person for once, to put himself entirely in John's care. He knew that he would have hated himself for it before succumbing to these feelings for his flatmate, his colleague, his friend. But he couldn't help himself for wanting more, and more was what John gave him.

'Kiss me, John,' Sherlock repeated hoarsely, after John's lips had roamed around his jaw and neck for long enough. 'I need you to kiss me.'

A simple enough request; though John knew there was so much more behind that one sentence. If John knew anyone, he knew Sherlock. Sherlock did not let his guard down for just anyone, he didn't trust someone just because they'd done him more than a few favours.

Hearing those words come from Sherlock's mouth in a husky tone that said more to John about his love for him than the actual words themselves, he swept Sherlock in his arms, practically lifting him from the floor as he decked his fiancé's face in tiny little kisses. Sherlock clung to John as if his life depended on it and kissed back with a deep-throated moan as John finally reached his mouth.

'John – I need... I need –'

'I know,' John breathed, shrugging off his jacket.

They stumbled to the bedroom together, knocking a few things over in their hurry, though neither of them actually cared or even noticed. All that mattered to them at that moment was each other and how they needed to be with each other that night.

Already half-naked before they entered the bedroom, they fell down on the bed together, still in a tight embrace, their lips dancing around the other's. The kiss became more heated, deeper and needier, and Sherlock made more noises than he usually would and John loved it. He loved Sherlock's voice, and he loved the way his grunts were deep, animalistic growls, and his moans were the sexiest things he'd ever heard in his life and he was ready for Sherlock's body intertwined with his by just hearing him cry out.

John could barely contain himself when Sherlock was sprawled out on the bed below him, and it could be heard in his voice. 'You gave me permission,' he grunted, pinning Sherlock's arms over his head. 'Don't move.'

Sherlock obliged with difficulty, visibly straining against all the impulses his brain sent to his body. 'Yes, John,' he said in a husky voice, not helping John try to calm down.

John made quick work of the detective's trousers, shoving them down Sherlock's legs and ankles, eventually ending up as a rumpled pile of fabric in the corner of the room. Sherlock's toes curled around the edge of the bed as John's fingers were a feather-light touch on his inner thighs and he breathed heavily. He lifted his arms to curl one hand around John's neck to steady himself, but he felt a hot hand on his wrist and he was reminded of his order. 'Yes, John,' he said again, knowing exactly what his obliging voice did to John.

'Oh, Sherlock,' John breathed, seeing his fiancé so vulnerable yet still so in control. 'I love you.'

'If there were multiple ways to say "I love you", John, I would have said them all a million times by now,' Sherlock muttered, his voice a tad higher than usual.

'You have,' John said, his fingers a lingering caress on Sherlock's torso. 'Just not by words.' The whisper was close to Sherlock's ear and, restraint or not, Sherlock wrapped his arms around the warm bulk of muscles that was his fiancé, pressing kisses to his neck and the old, fading scar of the war wound on John's left shoulder. He wrapped his entire body around John's, noticing that neither of them were wearing any underwear anymore. He lay on his back, his arms tightly around John's shoulders, his legs wound around the ex-army doctor's torso. He breathed heavily into John's shoulder as their bodies came together and he exhaled into a blissful sigh, gently biting the skin of John's neck as his body tensed.

John groaned and pulled back slightly to kiss his fiancé. 'You're so beautiful,' he whispered. 'There really is no other word to describe you right now. You're just perfect.'

'As are you, John,' Sherlock gasped when John moved again. He pulled John closer with the heels of his feet, now pressed against the small of John's back. John was in too much pleasure to question how Sherlock was so lenient though and he continued to kiss him, slowly and gently, like the rhythms of their bodies; there was no need to hurry.

The pressure kept building up and ended blissfully for both of them, groaning into one another's neck. They lay in a panting heap for a few minutes, their hands ghosting over the bones and the muscles of the other man, before John got up reluctantly, cleaned them up and snuggled under the covers, next to Sherlock.

'Big day tomorrow,' he murmured against Sherlock's neck, pressing a kiss to that spot he knew was sensitive.

'Hmm,' Sherlock sighed. 'I wonder how they'll take it.'

'I'm sure they understand,' John said dreamily. 'And regardless of what they think, I wouldn't break up with you for the world...'

'Quite right,' Sherlock whispered, kissing John's hand and lulling in a peaceful sleep.

Ah! So I know, I said I wouldn't upload in a while. Well, sometimes life just throws some luck in your direction! I got some free time and that left me to get on with this. I dunno where it came from, really. I just love the idea of the domesticity between Sherlock and John, and I think this chapter represents that well, and I love writing their dialogues so this came out.

Do please tell me what you think (and if it should be rated "M" because of the last bit, because I am not sure) and certainly don't expect any other updates any time soon. They might be there, but don't expect them. At least not the upcoming week. School 'n stuff.

Okay, so I really really really hope you like it (especially the end scene because too sexy sexytimes aren't my thing) and thanks for reading!