I ship JohnLock so hard it literally hurts. So I thought I'd try my hand at writing one. Hope it's alright! Happy Valentine's Day!

John was disappointed in himself. He wasn't an idiot, though Sherlock would have one think differently. He knew how his boyfriend was, how he got, particularly while on an interesting case. So he shouldn't have expected anything special for Valentine's Day—Sherlock had already made his opinion on that holiday very clear, citing it as archaic and as ridiculous as Santa.

But really, he would have been fine with even so much as a kiss and a 'Happy Valentine's Day', maybe a few extra minutes in bed together. What he had gotten was a lonely wake up, Sherlock's side of the bed freezing cold. He sighed, feeling silly for expecting anything more, and trudged to the kitchen, fixing himself and Sherlock a cup of tea, he headed to his Sociopathic boyfriend's study, wordlessly handing him the tea.

Sherlock grabbed it as he bustled past John, his left hand raised in thought, both eyes closed. "If I could just…" he whispered to himself, sipping the tea absent-mindedly. John knew that Sherlock had a one track mind, which was why he made sure his tea was sufficiently cool before handing it to him. He'd learnt his lesson—after Sherlock had burnt both his tongue and hands sipping scalding hot teeth—blaming it on John's tea-making skills, rather than his tea-sipping skills.

"I'll be in the office till around three. Taking off a bit early, for, mh..." He mumbled, rubbing his arm as Sherlock pushed past him. "Just because, I suppose." Sherlock never picked up what he was saying while he said it, but he said it anyways. Sherlock could retrieve it from his memory bank later. He stood there for a couple more seconds.

"Ok." He announced, after being met with no reply, only more bustling and whispers. "I'll see you...whenever."

Work was uneventful, except for a few unfortunate incidents related to a cupids bow and arrow—Valentine telegrams could be rather dangerous, it turned out.

"There." He said, absentmindedly wrapping the wrist of a patient that had sprained it. She was a young woman. "What a great day to start out Valentine's Day, hm?" She said, smiling. He met her eyes briefly and politely returned the smile, not at all in the mood for conversation.

The room was silent for a bit as he filled out a prescription recommendation form.

"You must have plans for tonight, a handsome doctor such as yourself." She chimed.

"You'd be surprised." He said dryly, signing his name maybe a little too aggressively.

"No?" She sounded surprised, and excited, and John's head snapped up, as he realized where this was going.

"I have a boyfriend…thing." He said. Boyfriend? He didn't even know. They were a thing, but there wasn't a particular label that fit their situation. Well, he considered Sherlock his boyfriend but…

But.

"A boyfriend thing? But no plans?" She queried as he handed her the form.

"That's right." John said curtly. "Make sure you fill that out as soon as possible." That about summarized his life at the moment. A boyfriend thing, but no plans—ever.

During his lunch break he went out for coffee.

He and Sherlock had been…intimate…for a couple of months now. He had technically instigated, if instigated meant confessing to Sherlock after coming home pissed out of his mind. Sherlock had been lecturing him about proper alcohol intake, explaining his tolerance levels in frightening decimal point detail (how the hell did he know that John started to get drunk after exactly 5 shots?). His head had been throbbing and he had wanted nothing more than to just get Sherlock to shut up.

So he had kissed him.

The memory of Sherlock's expression made him smile even now, that absolutely bewildered face of complete shock and confusion that was rarer than a triple rainbow. Even more surprising was the fact that he had kissed back—surprisingly well.

They had spent a fair bit of time kissing, since.

John tried to keep his head straight, avoiding looking at the many, many couples that seemed to ooze out of every single street corner, intersection and pavement crack. They were everywhere, young couples, old couples, gay couples, dog couples. All smiling, laughing, holding big heart balloons and flowers and chocolates. They were so damn happy. By the time he got to the coffee shop his mood was so bad he could probably heat the coffee himself.

The decorations were everywhere, and Valentine's music, and posters, billboards. Everywhere. He checked his phone, because maybe Sherlock had realized he was gone and texted him? No. That made him even more upset. He shoved his phone back into his pocket.

He sat in a corner booth by the window, brooding. So after that kiss they hadn't gone much further. He knew Sherlock had very little sexual experience, and he had never been with anyone before. He had no idea why his brain and body chose to be so damn attracted to the infuriating genius. But they were—he was, terribly so. And sometimes, Sherlock would randomly hold him from behind and kiss his neck and he would die. Sometimes Sherlock would surprise him at work, saying he missed him. One time he had even texted a little heart emoji. Things like that made John's heart swell and forget all the crappy things Sherlock did.

Like forgetting Valentine's day.

But he forgot things a lot, and sometimes he would spend days, weeks, wrapped in his world, and he seemed to completely forget he and John were romantically involved because he would treat him like the partner in crime they had originally been. Which was nice…but John wanted…he wanted.

He sighed into his coffee. Sherlock was right, he was a hopeless romantic. And he had gone and fallen in love with the least romantic man in the world. He closed his eyes and remembered the last time they'd kissed which was…almost 2 weeks ago now. Sherlock had finally solved the Wrightchester case and they were sitting in the kitchen grinning about it and he'd just suddenly turned on John, pressed him into the counter and kissed him absolutely senseless. It made John's skin tingle just thinking about it, Sherlock's hands up his shirt, holding him around his waist, holding him everywhere. He loved—loved—to see John moan, blush and squirm, and he seemed to know exactly how to get the reaction he wanted.

'Virgin, my ass.' John thought begrudgingly, remembering Sherlock's tongue against every single bit of his skin that drove him crazy. He'd wanted more; he'd wanted it all actually. He had gotten his hands on Sherlock's waist and had been about to show him that Sherlock wasn't the only one that was orally skillful, when Sherlock had gotten the call about the case he was currently on.

All this reminiscing was souring John's mood even more. He knew he wasn't supposed to care, and most of the time, he didn't. But with everyone around him caring so damn much, he did.

"Excuse me." John looked up to see a tall, striking man, wearing a well-tailored suit. He cleared his throat, trying to not look too bewildered, which Sherlock often accused him of being his go-to expression in pretty much any situations.

"Mh?" he made a sad attempt at smiling. Oh God, he was smooth.

"Is this seat taken?" Mr. Tall and and Striking smiled, and his teeth were ridiculously white and straight. What was up with that?

"Eh…n…ope? I mean, no. It isn't. Taken. Not…you can, you can sit at…it, on it." John looked down into his tea. At least someone was paying attention to him. It made him feel a little less pathetic, and reminded him that even though Sherlock wasn't all over him 100% of the time, he was still fairly attractive-ish?

"Thanks." The man picked the chair up and walked away with it, leaving John chair-less and embarrassed. He scowled at the empty spot, deciding he'd had just about enough tea. As he was leaving the shop, his phone buzzed.

'Where are you?' –SH.

John rolled his eyes and scowled at his mobile.

'On my break. What is it?' He aggressively texted back.

'Where. Are you close to home?' –SH.

'I'm not coming home to get any arms-reach item for you.' John directed his scowl to random passerby's. He shoved his phone back into his coat pocket. Sherlock really had some nerve.

"Balloon, sir? For your lady?" A cheery vendor shoved a brightly-colored balloon into John's face.

"No, I'm…that's quite alright." John mumbled, trying to walk away.

"Chocolates?" The vendor followed closely behind him.

"No, no." John breathed out sharply, before smiling patiently. "I'm-"

"A card then?"

"I'm-"

"Flowers?"

"ALONE." John exploded. "I am. Alone." He gestured to the air around him. "As you can clearly see, I'm not with anyone. So…erm…sod off." He stormed off, huffing and puffing and scowling at anyone that glanced his way. His phone buzzed in his pocket, then again and again. He felt like he was going to explode.

"Screw it all!" He announced to no one in particular. He was going home.

The flat looked as if someone had uprooted it, flipped it upside down and left it like that. The hallway was scattered with bits of paper, the kitchen was piled with dishes and the kettle was on, boiling the quarter-cup of water that hadn't yet been evaporated. John hastily shut it off, tripping over the bundle of power cords on the floor. He scowled at them, not even bothering to give thought to why they were there. There were even more dismembered body parts in the fridge than usual; everything was just a mess.

"Sherlock!" he yelled, slamming the fridge door. They had agreed that Sherlock would keep his body bits n' bobs in the deep freeze. And John had told him more than once about turning appliances off. He stomped down the hall, wading through more balls of paper on the way. "Sherlock." He walked into his studio, only to find it empty. He crossed his arms and stood at the doorway begrudgingly. Sherlock never left the flat very much. Mostly, it was because he had a case.

John quickly pulled his mobile out, only to see that he had received 4 texts from Sherlock, the most recent reading 'Meet me at the planetarium. Urgently.' He turned on his heels, nearly slipping in the bits of paper scattered by the door, grabbed his coat, and rushed out.

"Sherlock?" John called out cautiously, stepping into the dark viewing room. "I came as quickly as I could." He blinked and looked around, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. Before he had time to make anything out, a cloth had been wrapped around his eyes, and he felt himself being pushed forward. "Hey!" Instinctively, he jabbed his elbow into his perpetrators side, moving away quickly, his heart racing. Tugging the blindfold off, he was mildly surprised to see Sherlock standing there. Well, crouching there, slightly doubled over from being, well…jabbed in the side.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?" John said, moving towards him. "What's going on?" This was doing absolutely nothing for his mood.

"Hello to you too, John." Sherlock gasped, trying to straighten up. No situation could ever prevent him from having a snappy comeback. John decided he wasn't about to apologize for that. "What's the emergency?" he said, crossing his arms.

"I didn't say there was an emergency." Sherlock pointed out, looking at John smugly.

"What's urgent, then." John hissed.

Sherlock looked him over for a while. "It would appear something is bothering you." He finally concluded.

"How did you figure that one out?"

"Well, the crossed arms, furrowed brow, generally sour disposition…"

"Sherlock…"

"Your unwillingness to reply to my text messages, red ears…" Sherlock continued to list.

"Sher. Lock."

"Trembling fingers, elevated heart rate, your eyes are a shade darker than usual…"

"…"

"And that you've neither noticed I'm only teasing you, nor what's behind you." Sherlock finished, looking over the top of John's head.

John turned quickly, and wondered how he had failed to notice the set dinner table in the middle of the room. Maybe he really was as unobservant as Sherlock made him out to be. Anger and frustration melted into amazement, and the switch was so drastic John was quite done with feelings for the day. He walked over to the table, dumb-founded. There were candles, and food, and nice cutlery!

"Here." Sherlock offered him a rose, John was past trying to figure out where he'd gotten it from. He could see Sherlock refraining from saying anything about the archaic origins of the tradition. "Also, here." He handed John a note, and suddenly all the crumbled pieces of paper scattered around the house made sense. John breathed in sharply because a lot of emotions were building up in his stomach all at once.

Roses are red.

Violets are not blue.

Violets are between purple and blue on the color spectrum (any small amount of research would point this out). It is one of the oldest colors used by human beings. Its wavelength is between 380-450 nanometres.

And I love you.

Regards, Sherlock.

John looked up. "Nanometres?"

"One billionth of a metre." Sherlock offered.

"Clearly." John said, finding it impossible to keep from smiling. Sherlock was standing there with his arms behind his back, with that expression John knew meant he was ridiculously nervous.

"Did you make this?" John said, sitting at the table.

"Yes. It's tuna tartar." Sherlock said, his eyes flicking over the table. "John, stand."

"Erm…alright." John said, getting up.

Sherlock pulled his chair out, his eyes flicking between John and the chair, indicating for him to sit down.

"Sherlock…" it was too much for John. He pushed the chair aside, much to Sherlock's disgruntlement, and kissed him hard, wrapping his arms around his neck. "I hate you." He mumbled, looking into Sherlock's eyes, running his fingers over his ridiculous cheeks. "You made me feel like shit all day."

"You made me write about my feelings." Sherlock quipped, looking pretty pleased about the kiss.

"You feel really strongly about…violets."

"That poem is infuriating." Sherlock said, looking quite obviously at John's lips. John knew he was waiting for another kiss, but he had no intention of giving one until he tortured Sherlock a little longer.

"Did you make tuna tartar because it requires no cooking?" He asked.

"I made it because you seem to fancy it." Sherlock replied.

John tried to pretend he wasn't immensely touched by Sherlock's observation. "How many people did it take to remind you it was Valentine's today." John smirked.

"Three." Sherlock said begrudgingly. "However, I did everything on my own. Except book this room, Mycroft did that."

John gasped. "You actually asked him to do something for you?"

Sherlock seemed to be trying to telepathically convince John to kiss him again; the fierceness with which he was staring at him was a little frightening.

"This is incredible, Sherlock." John smiled, feeling his will-power to not kiss Sherlock quickly slipping away. "Especially since I know you're not a fan of the solar system. All day I was bombarded with couples all around me and I kind of felt…unappreciated. I mean…it would have been fine if you didn't do this, but…it's…I'm glad you did." He smiled.

"What did I do wrong then?" Sherlock asked.

"Nothing. What do you mean?" John said, looking up.

"Usually when I do the right thing, you kiss me." Sherlock said.

"I did."

"More." Sherlock offered.

"You can kiss me too, you know." John was thoroughly enjoying himself.

"Yes of course I know." Sherlock said in annoyance. He hated when his knowledge base was questioned.

John leaned against the table, smiling. "Well, it's good that you know."

"I'd rather…based on previous encounters, you have been the one to initiate." Sherlock sniffed.

"Well based on previous encounters, you've been the one to not plan a surprise Valentine's dinner for me."

Sherlock's expression didn't change, save for the slightest tick of his brow, and John knew he'd actually made a good point.

"Very well then." Sherlock said, stepping forward. He stopped right in front of John, who smiled. "Sherlock, if I didn't know you, I would say you were nervous." His stomach was tying and untying knots with itself, and his heart was erratically thumping all about in his chest, but that was beside the point. Sherlock was never nervous.

'Ha ha ha.' He thought smugly.

Sherlock said nothing, only leaned in and pressed his lips against John's. John resisted kissing back, waiting to see how Sherlock would react. He simply stood there, hands at his side.

"John, stop this." Sherlock pulled back to whisper in annoyance. John only smirked. "If you want it, come and get it." This was exhilarating.

Sherlock sighed, lifting both hands to awkwardly hold John's upper arms, deepening the kiss. John melted a little, and Sherlock wrapped his arms around John, one against his lower back, the other at the nape of his neck. John rewarded him, parting his lips. He could feel them tingling. The fact that Sherlock was being so initiatingly intimate did so many things to his heart—he could hardly handle it.

Sherlock pulled back and John grinned, knowing his cheeks were red and his lips were probably the same. "That was…fantastic." He whispered. He finally looked up, watching fantastic star constellations and clusters drift by. "Do you have any idea what we're looking at?" He mused, craning his neck.

Sherlock said nothing, and John quickly looked at him because that was very out of the ordinary. When Sherlock was asked a question, he usua—

"Mh…" John was more than surprised to feel Sherlock's lips crash against his, opening his mouth without question or hesitation. Sherlock gripped his jaw in a way that made John's knees weak. His eyes shut and he felt Sherlock pull him forward till he could feel his heartbeat. It was pounding so fast. He lifted his hands and ran his fingers through Sherlock's curls, fisting it. He had no clue when he would get a chance like this again. Sherlock moved until he was sitting in one of the chairs, and he brought John down on top of him.

"Sherlock…what—" John really couldn't manage any more than that, as Sherlock kissed and bit along his neck, his hands pushing John's coat off. John clung to him for life. He hadn't known he was sensitive there and oh, that felt spectacular.

"Umg…" he whispered incoherently, feeling Sherlock's tongue against his ear, and something jumped in his pants. "These insufferable jumpers." Sherlock growled in his sexy baritone, sliding both hands down to grasp John's arse.

"Ah, tha-that's not my jumper." John blushed. His cheeks were on fire. He found Sherlock attractive while he was being a git, so now, with his eyes flaming with a hunger he'd never seen, and his voice thick with lust, lust for John—well John didn't know how much longer he could take of this.

"John, I fear I've fallen in love with you." Sherlock suddenly mumbled, his lips against John's shoulder.

John's mind blanked for a moment, and he felt Sherlock's eyes flicker up to meet his. "With…hm?" he finally managed. Oh god, his stomach churned. He felt positively sick, in the best way.

Sherlock breathed out in annoyance. "I said, I love you." He said. "You…well, you put up with my particulars and you…I suppose you make me rather content."

"Sherlock, stop." John squeezed his eyes shut, because they felt suspiciously hot. He was not prepared for this, he wasn't. Sherlock quieted, and John could feel how warm and alive and vulnerable he was.

"I love you too, of course." He said, opening his eyes and blinking quickly. They were wet, Sherlock could see that. "Of course." Sherlock repeated; his smile was genuine. John grinned like an idiot. His hands were shaking and he was smiling and crying at the same time. Sherlock looked slightly confused, but, as they kissed again John knew that, for once, Sherlock wasn't analyzing anything.

They both had everything they needed.