Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

Sherlock was apparently in one of his incredibly rare but not entirely unheard of 'cuddly' moods.

At least, that's what John always called it, if he had to say it out loud. 'Cuddly' was a nice word for what it was, actually. If he was being honest about it, Sherlock didn't get 'cuddly' once every few months, he got clingy.

Clingy Sherlock followed him to the surgery, watched him make tea in the morning, and followed him to the bathroom. Clingy Sherlock would pet him randomly, refuse to eat except off of John's plate, and insisted upon holding his hand in public, which was uncomfortable for everyone. Clingy Sherlock had to be in physical contact every moment from the instant he woke up in this mood until the moment he finally passed out. Sometimes it went on for as long as three days.

John often told Harry that if he didn't love Sherlock so much, he would absolutely hate the man because this wasn't even the worst thing he ever did. He often phoned her just to rant about the man.

"John..."

He wasn't sure why Sherlock had to call his name when he was sitting right behind him— practically sitting on his back— on their sofa. He was reading a book about enzymes, Sherlock supposedly reading over his shoulder but so much faster that John knew it was dull for him to wait for the pages to be turned. On another occasion, the older man would consider accommodating the detective, but he'd had a Sherlock molecularly bonded to him for 41 hours, now, and he wasn't feeling accommodating.

"Yes, Sherlock?"

John felt the man's nose being buried in his neck, and he knew that Sherlock was sniffing him. He did it a lot even when he wasn't imitating a remora and even more when he was. It was like he needed to detect John in every way allowed by his five senses.

It was kind of endearing.

But also really, really annoying.

"I love you."

John's breath caught a little in his throat as all the reasons he didn't hate Sherlock came flooding back to him, the way they always did when this man said those words. He usually didn't even say them in his clingy periods, seeming to reserve the phrase for moments when they were alone together in the deep parts of the night, intertwined, gazing at each other in a particular, soft way. For being asexual (seriously, John was dying, it was brutal to go from a steady stream of girls who put out to nothing at all ever but it was more than worth it, so much more than worth it) and possibly a sociopath, Sherlock could be quite romantic, occasionally, and he seemed to have a decent understanding of what moments were special and deserved his rare 'I love yous.'

Which was why this one came as even more of a surprise. A really wonderful, pleasant, giddy, butterfly-inducing surprise aaand John was definitely turning into a woman. He blamed the lack of sex.

He reached back with one hand and tenderly ran his fingers through Sherlock's meticulously-maintained curls. "I love you too, Sherlock," he said kindly.

The other man didn't say anything for a long time, but John could tell he was trying to. His mouth kept opening, then closing, then opening. He kept taking a breath as if he wanted to speak, then letting it out slowly. His mouth moved some more, and then, with great weight, he finally managed to say, slowly, "I will... love you for the foreseeable future."

...John didn't want to overreact to that. He really didn't. He was a bigger person than that, far above the clench in his heart and the twist of his stomach and the spike of anger that statement raised in him. It was still true that Sherlock could be romantic at times, but this wasn't the first occasion in which he had said the wrong thing at an intimate moment, and it always felt the same, even though John knew Sherlock had no idea what he was doing. The man just damned himself by occasionally doing it so well.

And yeah, that wasn't a really nice thing to say to someone. It was... clinical, but a lot of Sherlock was so that didn't hurt so badly. It was just so... hedging. A disclaimer. 'I'll love you until I don't anymore, and no fair getting mad later.'

John didn't require a marriage proposal. He didn't need it to be permanent, didn't need promises of forever in order to love someone. At the same time, he didn't exactly want a countdown, thanks, a timer ticking away to what would be the most painful experience of his life. Because while he didn't require forever with this man, he wanted it so bad. Wanted to go grocery shopping with him and be domestic with him and solve crimes with him and be clung to by him and infuriated by him and be old with him, if either of them lived that long. He just... wanted Sherlock, because there could never be anyone after him and now, comparatively, there had never been anyone before him, not really.

With great care, John swallowed it all down. Maybe he'd bring it up when Sherlock wasn't in this obviously vulnerable state. He'd wait to pick this fight until Sherlock was back to his sharp, strong self.

It came out a little colder than he meant it to, but it couldn't be helped and there was a chance Sherlock wouldn't perceive such a small, emotion-related stimulus. "Fine," John said, clipped. "Can't ask for more than the foreseeable future."

"John," Sherlock insisted softly. Oops, no such luck with. He was getting better at figuring John out, apparently. "That was supposed to be a good thing," he struggled.

"I guess I just don't like the idea of this," he leaned his head back to rest on Sherlock's shoulder, "being temporary from the start."

Sherlock hesitated for a long moment.

"...I can foresee quite far."

Sighing, John tucked his face more into Sherlock's shoulder, closing his eyes. "How far is that, Sherlock?"

"Decades," the man offered immediately. Then he paused, contorting so that his colorless eyes locked on John's, trying to read him. He added, softer, "Lifetimes."

"Oh. Well. Okay." John nodded, sharp. "Good. That's good. Me too," he added.

John wasn't sure what was supposed to happen after that, and obviously Sherlock wasn't, either. For a moment or two, they just looked at each other.

"Well, I'm going to go back to my reading, now," John eventually said.

"Very well." Sherlock rested his chin on John's shoulder contentedly and wrapped his arms around him. "But do try to turn the pages faster, would you?"

John sighed. He'd have to make another one of those calls to Harry.