He threw a wad of bills at the driver before jumping out, pulling John with him. The good doctor giggled as he fumbled with his keys, trying to get his trembling hand to function properly to unlock the door. Sherlock sighed in relief, glad to see that he wasn't the only one affected by the thoughts of what may transpire between them tonight. He took pity on his blogger and retrieved the keys from his shaking fingers and letting them inside.

No sooner was the door closed than the genius found himself shoved up against it. Warm, soft lips slotted against his and before he could even process that, John's tongue licked at the seam of his mouth, asking for entrance. He was so desperate for this very thing that he immediately acquiesced. The slide of their tongues together made him weak in the knees and he clutched desperately at John's jacket, attempting to pull him closer. He was hyper aware of a thigh being pressed between his legs, and is rebellious body responded in kind.

After what seemed like both an eternity and mere seconds, the doctor pulled away breathing heavily and staring up at him with lust-blown eyes. He licked his lips, an action that Sherlock's eyes followed intently. A hand reached out to grab his own and he was being gently tugged forward.

"Not here, yeah?" John said, leading him up the stairs to their flat. He quickly unlocked the door to the sitting room and then they were finally amongst their belongings.

Sherlock closed his eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling the wonderful scent of tea, Mrs. Hudson's baking, old books, and John.

"Welcome home," his best friend declared softly.

The genius looked around as he slipped off his Belstaf and hung it up on their coat rack. The space was very clean and tidy, even his desk—which still contained all his papers—was neatly organized and dusted. He didn't remember the last time the flat was this clean… though it was probable before he moved in.

"I also changed your bed linens," John told him casually. "Didn't think you wanted to sleep in a layer of dust."

That statement brought his attention back to the older man. He was oddly touched that his blogger had the foresight to think about such things. To show his appreciation, Sherlock crowded into the doctor's space and gave him a lingering kiss as he helped the other out of his jacket. Just before he could deepen the kiss into something more, he was stopped by a firm hand on his sternum.

"Before we do this, I need to know how much experience you actually have with this," John said gently.

Sherlock blushed a lovely shade of pink, he bit his lip and averted his eyes, feeling immensely out of his depth in this moment and wondered if his admission to his lack of experience would cause the doctor to change his mind.

But without having to say anything, John just instinctively knew what he needed. "It's okay, Sherlock, if you're a virgin. I just want to know so I know how slow to take this. The last thing I want to do is unknowingly hurt you by going too fast."

Still not meeting his blogger's gaze, the consulting detective admitted, "Yours is the only touch I've ever been able to bare. I've never been...intimate… with anyone before."

Understanding the magnitude of the gift that was being handed to him caused John to blink at sudden moisture threatening to dampen his eyes.

"I'm humbled and honored that you've chosen to let me be the one," he murmured as soon as he was able to keep the tremor out of his voice.

He bit the inside of his cheek as he quickly thought through several scenarios before offering what he considers to the best solution.

"Why don't we just sit on the sofa and go from there?" the doctor suggested. "That way, the pressure of the bedroom isn't there and we can go at a pace you're comfortable with."

"But what if I want you in my bed?" Sherlock demanded petulantly.

John's smile reached his eyes, causing the low lighting to set off sparkles in their blue depths as he answered, "Then we go to bed..."

The genius nodded in ascension and allowed himself to be guided to the sofa. He waited just long enough for his blogger the join him, sitting sideways to face him, before Sherlock tentatively leaned forward to press a soft, chaste kiss to the other's mouth.

"You're sure about this..." Sherlock stated, searching his blogger's face for any sign of hesitation or identity crisis. He was slightly surprised by the lack of any evidence that John might not be fully on board with this new-found physical intimacy between them.

"I'm absolutely certain about this—about us," John confirmed, he leaned forward to meet the consulting detective's lips.

"But how?" The younger man he insisted, trying to puzzle out the reasoning behind John's calmness about everything. He partly hated himself for pushing the issue and not being able to accept what he wanted so badly but he needed to know that this was real and that the moment he let his guard down that it wouldn't be suddenly yanked away from him.

John reached up and cupped one pale cheek in his hand. Sherlock, without being completely aware of his actions, nuzzled into the touch. The doctor felt a tug at his heart and a wave of fondness wash over him for this impossible man front of him.

The genius didn't miss a single shift in his companion's expression. "You genuinely want this," he breathed in awe.

"I want you," John corrected gently. "I've never thought about being with another man before, but then again, none of them were you. It's not about anatomy for me, it's about the connection we have with each other. I've never been this close to anyone before, so I suppose this is new for both of us."

No sooner had the words left his mouth than it was claimed yet again by that wicked cupid's bow. Sherlock gave out a surprised yelp when he was pulled roughly onto his blogger's lap. He shifted a bit so that he was straddling the older man, his left leg tucked behind him and the right one bend with his foot resting on the floor for leverage.

His train of thought was derailed when those calloused doctor's hands raked down his back then cupped his arse and squeezed, kneading the fleshy globes. That was the catalyst; he was no longer able to keep his hands to himself and decided that they needed to pick up the pace a bit—he had, after all, been waiting months for this very moment.

Sherlock deftly unbuttoned John's shirt and pulled it out from where it was tucked into his trousers. He took a second to enjoy the feel of the silk fabric between his fingers before he pushed the sides away to reveal his doctor's bare chest.

"No vest today," he murmured to himself. John always wore an undershirt, so it was a surprise to find there wasn't one today. He tucked that thought away to examine at length later, when he wasn't attempting to undress John.

Sherlock's fingertips ghosted over the hard plains of the doctor's pectorals before dipping down lower to the well-defined abdominal muscles that outlined a perfect six pack. The genius hummed in appreciation. The good doctor's trim waist was wrapped in layers of hard, lean muscle and to finally—finally! feel them beneath his hands was awe-inspiring. His gaze strayed lower to the v-shaped formation of muscle that dipped down into his trousers, leading to his very proud and prominent erection. The consulting detective's mouth was suddenly dry.

John was so unassuming in his jeans and jumpers, like a fuzzy baby tiger. Sherlock marveled at how confident his best friend was taking charge of the situation, how sure he was of himself and his next move. Three Continents Watson indeed. The silly nickname suddenly made sense to the consulting detective. While he wasn't necessarily thrilled with the vast number of women his best friend would have had to sleep with to earn such a moniker, he was grateful for the experience John had gained in this area, since he himself was woefully lacking any practical knowledge on the subject of sex. He was very eager to change that, though.

He quickly tampered down an unexpected surge of jealousy that bubbled forth—there was no reason for it in this moment, as what he so desperately wanted was being willingly giving to him.

John giggled when his best friend's wandering digits tickled him as they brushed over his left side, just above the waistband of his trousers.

"You've gotten a tattoo," Sherlock breathed as stared transfixed at the art inked into that tanned flesh.

In bold, black font about five centimeters high and seven and a half centimeters long was 221b. Of all the things John could have gotten done, he chose to have their flat number permanently inked onto his skin. It deeply moved the consulting detective more than he could have anticipated. It wasn't just the address, but what it stood for—the life they shared together. Nothing else could have stated something so important in simpler, yet elegant, terms. Sherlock bend over to place a reverent kiss on the ink.

"It was my birthday gift to myself," John informed him as he carded his fingers through the younger man's dark curls.

"You continually surprise me," the consulting detective responded as he straightened. He would come back to that spot later and ask his questions, but right now there was so much of his blogger's glorious flesh available that he couldn't devote the time to it at the present. He would also ask about the gym membership his flat mate had clearly acquired in his absence.

"May I?" Sherlock asked, uncharacteristically polite as he gestured at the knot of scar tissue on the doctor's left shoulder.

"Be my guest," his blogger murmured.

The genius had seen it before, of course, but never for more than a fleeting moment and never this close. He brushed his fingertips over the white skin, mapping out the uneven lines of the marred flesh.

John's sucked in a breath when his best friend's fingers started to wander over that sensitive spot. He should have known Sherlock would be curious about it and wouldn't pass up the opportunity to examine it in-depth. Silky curls brushed against his jawline and chin as the consulting detective leaned forward to place delicate kisses on the scar. That wicked tongue then laved at the spot his Cupid's bow had just touched. The doctor threw his head back and moaned at the completely foreign contact to the damaged bundle of nerves. It had felt like lightning had shot through his body, crackling down his spine and filling his cock until he throbbed painfully against the fly of his jeans.

"So sensitive right here," Sherlock observed, his breath ghosting over the wet trail of saliva that had painted the doctor's skin. "But no other lover has touched you here... pity, they would have found one of your biggest erogenous zones..."

"All my girlfriends avoided my scar," John panted, confirming what his flatmate had deduced.

"Would you like me to stop?" the genius asked. When he received a brief shake of the head in response, he stated, "I bet you could get you off by just doing this." He continued his ministrations.

The doctor huffed a surprised laugh and replied, "Yeah—you probably could."

When John started to thrust his hips up into Sherlock's, the younger man stopped. He pulled back to look at the wrecked image of his blogger below him. "Mark my words," the genius declared in an octave below his usual tone, "I will do just that—soon—but right now, there are other things I want more…"

John's response to his attention made him bold, so he slipped a hand down between them and cupped the doctor's erection through his trousers. His blogger gasped and dug his fingers into Sherlock's side.

The genius leaned forward and whispered into his ear, "I want you in my bed, John Watson."

"Be careful what you wish for," his companion answered in the same manner. John nipped at his earlobe and sucked on it. Sherlock whimpered and ground down on his blogger's lap, trying to alleviate the unbearable pressure in his groin, desperately seeking friction.

"Let's go to bed, then," John stated, tapping the younger man on his hip in request to have him get up.

Sherlock immediately obliged and nearly stumbled tripping over his feet as he attempted to kick off his shoes on the way to his bedroom. The doctor giggled and caught him around the waist before he almost went headfirst into the wall in the hallway. The genius couldn't help but laugh as well, he helped John yank off the cuffs of his shirt, which was immediately discarded to the floor without a second thought to the delicate fabric.

Having already lost his shoes on the journey from the sitting room to the hall, John unbuttoned his trousers and slid them off while his best friend watched with avid attention.

"Oh God!" Sherlock groaned as he stared openly at his blogger's nearly naked form. His tanned legs were just as muscular as the rest of him. "You've been working out in my absence…"

The doctor approached him slowly, not so unlike a panther stalking his prey. It made the genius shiver in anticipation.

"I was going mad just sitting about the flat with nothing to do—had to occupy my time somehow… Do you approve?"

Sherlock bit his lip to contain the noise that threatened to spill from his mouth. All he could do was nod, and it was in that moment when he realized that John's hands were touching him, pulling at his belt and very slowly and deliberately unzipping the fly of his trousers while fiery indigo eyes stared back into his crystal blue ones. God, how formidable this man must have been on the battlefield!

His slacks hit the floor with nothing but a whisper and a soft metallic tink from the belt buckle. Then strong, sturdy, steady hands released his shirt buttons one by one, the eye contact never wavering. When the front was open, the older man slid his hands up under the fabric on his shoulders and followed it down to his wrists on either arm. Sherlock was at a complete loss to figure out how he was able to get the cuffs undone so deftly.

The consulting detective took a sharp breath, taking in the heady scent of arousal and John's cologne as the man in question crowded further into his space, arms circling his waist and soft lips stretching to his ear with hot words whispered into the shell, "I think you should get on the bed…"

Their bare chests lightly brushed against one another with the statement, turning Sherlock's knees to jelly. He had to grab onto his blogger's shoulders to keep himself upright. The doctor smiled and stretched up again to press his lips to his best friend's.

"You okay?" he asked softly, after the kiss ended. "A bit overwhelmed?"

Sherlock caressed the back of his blogger's neck and answered, "Yes, but in a good way—don't stop now."

Having the reassurance he needed to continue, John pushed the genius onto the bed, which the younger man only discovered was right there when he felt the back of his knees encounter the soft cotton of his quilt. Sherlock laughed as he bounced on the mattress, the weight of his blogger joining him.

After they scooted further up the mattress, the good doctor's wandering hands thoroughly explored the consulting detective's body for what seemed like eternity. The genius was content to let him. John trailed his fingers down the pale, smooth skin of Sherlock's chest.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured before bending over to suck into one dusky, hard pebbled nipple into his hot mouth.

His wet tongue flicked and swirled at it, sending the genius to writhe on the bed beneath his doctor. It seems that everywhere John touched him was the equivalent of being shocked, high voltage coursing through his body, setting his hairs straight on end and causing his toes to curl. His dream-turned-fantasy couldn't hold a candle to the real thing.

John finally stood and stripped off his pants. Sherlock lifted his head to take a peek at his soon-to-be-lover. He sat up suddenly and motioned for his blogger to come closer. The doctor crawled back into the bed and shuffled toward the consulting detective.

Sherlock's mouth was suddenly dry as he got his first good look at his blogger.

"Oh God, John! You are monstrous!" he breathed.

This earned him a surprised bark of laughter which died just as quickly as long pale fingers curled around his shaft and gave a few experimental strokes. John's erection was heavy in his hand and the genius was astonished at his girth.

"No wonder you had so many lady callers," he murmured, still sliding his fingers over and squeezing the column of flesh.

With a sudden realization, Sherlock glanced back at his best friend. "John—you aren't going to fit," he declared, trepidation coloring his voice.

"Ah! Do—don't worry, I promise you I will," the doctor panted. He grabbed Sherlock's wrist to still the motion of those wandering digits.

When he received a look of confused disappointment, John gave a brief shake of his head and told the consulting detective, "If you keep that up, the fun will be over before it's even started."

The genius laughed before he relinquished his hold on his blogger. As soon as the other man was released, he stretched over the side of bed and grabbed something from the nightstand. Sherlock perked up in curiosity and craned his neck to see what John had in his hand. With a smirk and a raised eyebrow, the good doctor held up a little bottle of lube. The consulting detective experienced another crushing wave of lust at the implications, the fact that the bottle had obviously been placed there in his absence, in anticipation of this very moment.

"So sure of yourself, were you?" the younger man murmured.

John had the good graces to at least look a little sheepish. He gave a self-depreciativeshrug and replied, "Wishful thinking—what can I say? Though I did only buy it the other day."

Sherlock hummed in appreciation before he said, "I do appreciate the forethought."

With a grin and the definitive click of a cap, the older man motioned for his best friend to lay back. The request was met with immediate compliance and he slotted himself between Sherlock's pale, muscular legs. The genius expected John to just go for it, so he was completely surprised when the head of his cock was suddenly engulfed in hot, wet heat. He raised his head just enough to watch his flesh disappear between those oh so kissable lips. John glanced up at the same moment and locked onto his stare. He caught a wicked gleam in those blue orbs before he was taken fully into his blogger's mouth, the tip of his erection hitting the back of that tanned throat. The consulting detective moaned and dropped his head back down onto the pillow.

Seconds later, a strong, insistent fingertip circled his entrance. When John pulled back and lightly grazed the head of his penis with teeth, Sherlock gasped as that probing finger slid into him. He didn't have more than a moment to wonder at the strange burning sensation before he was deep-throated once more. His mind short-circuited as that finger crooked inside him and hit his prostate.

Sherlock keened as an intense pleasure ripped through him. The doctor chuckled around his mouthful as he continued his ministrations. The genius was lost in a sea of pleasure as his blogger carefully prepared him until he was a sweaty, writhing mess. When John finally removed his fingers, the younger man was trembling and tried to desperately grab at his flatmate to maintain contact.

"Shh, shh. It's alright," the older man assured him with a gentle but firm hand running down his right flank. "It'll be easiest if you're on your hands and knees."

Sherlock shook his head, his black curls glistening in the moonlight. "No—like this," he demanded. "I want to see your face. I've gone so long without seeing you. I don't want to have my back to you for a single second of this."

John's expressed softened as he felt his heart swell at the admission. He gave a nod and said, "Okay, if that's what you want."

The genius held his breath as his blogger crawled up to him, his muscular frame was comforting and grounded him as John settled his weight on him. Warm, soft lips met and they spent several glorious moments kissing. He felt the blunt, insistent tip of John's erection pressing against him.

"I've waited so long for you," the consulting detective whispered. "Please…"

And in the next moment, John slid into him, his body stretching to accommodate his blogger's girth. Sherlock had to give his lover credit, it didn't hurt nearly as much as he had anticipated, the good doctor had thoroughly prepared him. That didn't mean that he wasn't being split in two by that massive cock.

The genius clawed at John's chest, his back arching off the bed.

"Shh, it's okay sweetheart—I've got you. I've got you," his blogger assured him in a soft, soothing tone.

After several tortuous moments of stillness, Sherlock shuttered and gasped as his body finally started to accept the intrusion, allowing John to slip in further.

"Perhaps you were right," the younger man huffed. "Maybe this wasn't the best position to start with."

"Of course I was," the doctor retorted, amusement lacing his voice.

"I just waaaaahhh—! Wanted to see your face!" Sherlock moaned as John took the opportunity to push in the rest of the way.

John carefully lowered himself down into his best friend, effectively bringing them face to face. They held that position for countless minutes as they just stared back at one another.

"Put your hands above your head," his blogger directed.

The consulting detective complied immediately despite the fact that he had no idea what John was on about. He didn't have to wait for long. The doctor shifted positions again to reach up and lace their fingers together.

Then, while maintaining as much skin to skin contact as possible, John started to move is a slow rocking motion. Sherlock gasped as sparks of pleasure burst up his spine.

"Good?" his blogger asked, checking to make sure he wasn't in pain.

Sherlock nodded and licked his abused lips.

"Any pain? Discomfort?"

"No, none," the younger man declared. "This feels so good."

A wicked grin stretched across John's face before he said, "lift your legs—wrap them around my waist." The doctor released his hands in favor of repositioning his arms beneath Sherlock's shoulders, giving him more leverage.

He did as he was told and shouted in pleasure when the change of angles allowed his blogger to hit his prostate head on with the next thrust. He gripped the bed sheets, knuckles white as he tried desperately to cling to the last visages of his sanity.

"How does this compare with your dream?" John asked in a silken purr. "Do I live up to your expectations?"

"No—you exceed them," Sherlock panted. "Just as you do with everything else." He took several deep, ragged breaths and compelled himself to maintain the intense stare that wasn't nothing less than a complete eye fuck. The genius forced himself to speak again, "In my dream, you didn't come." It was almost accusatory.

John chuckled and the consulting detective finally experienced the sensation in reality—it was so much more stimulating than he had anticipated.

"Don't worry, my darling," the doctor huffed. "I'm definitely going to get off... right after you do..."

And he set to his task with wild abandon, like a starved man feasting on a meal he'd so very long been denied.

Sherlock's mind was blessedly silenced by the fervent pace and the sensations, along with an unbearable heat, shooting down his body at lightning speed. His toes curled, fingernails digging into his blogger's upper back, when one well-aimed thrust that sent his orgasm ripping through him with unexpected such force that he bowed completely off the bed, screaming John's name.

As the genius came, he tightened all the more around John's throbbing member. Even with his stockier build and extra muscle weight, he was barely able to hold Sherlock down. When he heard his name on his lover's lips, he succumbed to his own orgasm. The doctor gasped and shuttered, calling out his best friend's name.

He still had the wherewithal to not collapse onto the younger man beneath him. He carefully pulled out and lowered himself to rest on Sherlock's heaving chest. The consulting detective kissed him deeply before and gently tapping him on the hip, gently asking him to move.

John groaned as he flopped down on his back next to the genius. He reached out and laced their fingers together as the laid side by side trying to catch their breath.

"We've been through a lot together—you and I…" Sherlock murmured to the ceiling some time later, once his heart rate had finally returned to normal.

John rolled over onto his side to face his lover. As he trailed his fingers down the genius's arm, the doctor replied in the same tone, "That we have."

The consulting detective turned his body to mirror John's position before he added, "It's always just been you and me against the world."

His breath caught in his throat as he gazed back at his blogger. Lifting a trembling hand, he caressed the stubble on John's chin.

"What is this look?" he questioned.

"What look?"

"You're staring at me as if... I don't know..."

"Don't you?" John murmured.

"Like I'm a precious gem and you're the only one who knows it's true value," Sherlock whispered in awe. "Is that truly how you see me?"

John leaned forward and in a soft voice challenged, "Make a deduction."

Sherlock closed his eyes from the onslaught of emotions crashing over him in waves. The tidal force of it all made him feel like he might very truly drown. It was all so new to him. He was in no way prepared for what sex with John was truly like. It had utterly wrecked him, shattered him in thousands of pieces... but then just as soon as he had been broken, his doctor had put him back together again, as he had always done.

Somehow, sweet, adoring, remarkable John sensed all this without words and pulled him closer yet to cuddle him beneath the covers. He murmured soft phrases the genius didn't hear while carding his strong, capable fingers through Sherlock's damp curls. In that very moment, the consulting detective's knowledge that this short, ex-army doctor was his best match in every way was once again reaffirmed.

They were silent for some time, but then Sherlock asked so quietly that John almost missed his question.

"Is it always like this?"

Again, his blogger seemed to know what he was asking without him having to elaborate further. "No, not always. Sex can be a lot of different things: fun, rough, slow and sweet... it all just depends on the moment."

"Is it always that intense?" the genius wondered aloud.

John rested his warm palm against his best friend's cheek, rubbing his thumb over his full lips before he responded. "For you, I imagine it'll always be intense to some degree because that's who you are."

"How does this time with me compare to past experiences?" Sherlock was genuinely interested in the response.

"It doesn't," John softly replied with a shake of head. "Nothing ever has, or will, compare to you. In anything."

Sherlock fought back tears as he leaned in to claim ownership of his blogger's lips. As his blogger's tongue caressed his, he couldn't help but feel the overwhelming surge of feelings for this man in his arms.

They continued like that until sleep gently stole them away in its sweet embrace.

{o0o}

Sherlock cracked his eyes open to see the early, dark grey light of morning filtering through the crack in the curtains. He shifted slightly then smiled as he felt the arm around his waist tighten reflexively, his doctor's calloused fingers splayed against his abdomen in a possessive and protective manor. The genius reveled in the feeling of so much skin to skin contact. He'd never been this close to anyone before, let alone been naked like this.

Behind him, John stirred briefly, murmuring something he couldn't quite make out before an open-mouthed kiss was passed at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. The older man's breathing evened out once more, alerting Sherlock that he'd indeed fallen back to sleep. With the rhythmic lull of John's breath against his neck, the genius succumbed to dreams once more.

It was some hours later when the doctor blinded awake, finding a riot of messy black curls tucked under his chin. When he shifted to flex the strain his left shoulder, Sherlock rolled onto his stomach away from John. He spent several long minutes gazing fondly at his detective undisturbed, thinking about how much his life had changed since he met the genius. John wouldn't have missed it for the world.

When he could no longer ignore the call of nature, he slipped quietly out of bed and into the bathroom. When the doctor popped his head back into the bedroom, his best friend was still asleep, so he decided to put on the kettle.

While wandering about the kitchen, John noticed a stack of post sitting on the table and realized that Mrs. Hudson must have brought it up early. He thumbed through the envelopes and saw there was a letter from France. He thought that Sherlock had mentioned something about a final letter that he had yet to receive—this must be it.

Curious to see what this last missive said, the doctor tore open the envelope eagerly. His hands started trembling and his heart started to pound in his chest the further into the letter he read. He could scarcely believe the words written so elegantly before him.

He had barely finished reading it before he raced back into his flatmate's—now lover's—bedroom.

Sherlock stirred and blinked sleepily at him, a warm smile dawning on his handsome face. "Good morning," he murmured.

John was beyond the point of pleasantries; he held up the letter and demanded, "Did you mean what you said in this?"

The genius was suddenly wide awake and sat up fully, regarding John cautiously and with a little hint of optimism before responding, "Every word."

They just stared at one another for what seemed like an eternity before John launched himself onto the bed and wrapped his arms around his best friend, burying his face in the consulting detective's neck. Sherlock sighed in relief and slid them down to lay in a more comfortable position.

John raised his head to gaze into crystal blue eyes and declared, "I love you, too—so much. God! I can't even begin to tell you."

"I know," Sherlock replied with a smirk right before his blogger claimed his lips in a sweet, adoring kiss.

They didn't have a need for words for a long time after.

Rue de la Pise

F-06360 Eze Village

France

12 September, 201-

My Dearest John,

God, I don't know what's happening to me; I hardly recognize myself at this point. I have tried my best to express my thoughts and feelings to you regarding this obvious shift in our relationship; it is hard for me to say this, but I have no idea whether I've hit the mark or fallen short of my intentions. In case of the latter, I am hoping to clear this up as best I can.

As I lie awake at night, I can't help but wonder what it would be like to be in your arms, to have you touch me... I know that you've done so before—God knows I've injured myself a few times and needed your expertise, but to have your hands on me in a different capacity... to feel your touch not in a professional capacity, but as a lover. I've never shared my body with another, I always thought the idea was abhorrent, yet the thought of being with you sets me on fire. Is it always like this?

The truth of the matter is that you have become indispensable to me, John. You've integrated yourself into my work and are one of the most important facets of my life. Love is a chemical defect found on the losing side, and yet... I can't seem to help myself. I've tried to remain above it, but I have failed in this one thing. How often have I said to you that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth? The only viable conclusion I can draw at this point is that I am in love with you.

I know that there are things you had hoped for in life: a home, marriage, possibly children. I cannot say that those were things I had wished for or even considered, that is until quite recently. They never had any appeal—until you. Perhaps the children part I am not very fond of, but I'm open to a heated debate on the subject if you absolutely insist upon it.

I know that we have discussed a possible shift in our relationship to include being physically intimate with one another, it can be a… "friends with privileges" scenario if you want. I am not expecting you to return the sentiment which I am expressing here within and if you wish to continue our partnership as is has been, I respect your choice—I may not like it, but I will respect it.

Just as I am the world's only consulting detective, there is only one Doctor John Watson. There has never been and will never be anyone like you—believe me when I say this to you.

I cannot promise you that things with me will be any easier; I will continue to annoy you endlessly, there will be body parts in the fridge, I'll probably insult your intelligence more than I should... but as you are loyal to me, I give you my fidelity in return—that is, if you'll have me. I am yours—for better or worse.

Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
Having some business, do entreat her eyes
To twinkle in their spheres till they return.

Love,

Sherlock

PS. Could be dangerous. ;)