It was a quiet evening in 221B Baker Street. Evenings like this were rare-usually Sherlock was conducting a loud and possibly dangerous experiment, or he and John were off pursuing the latest criminal to terrorize the streets of London. It was hardly ever that they could spend the whole evening together in just companionable silence. However, they had both taken a break from work to celebrate their engagement. Sherlock was sitting on the couch, absent-mindedly reading a book, with his feet tucked under the doctor's thigh, while the doctor himself was sketching the genius with utter concentration. It had come as a surprise to Sherlock that the army doctor could draw and enjoyed it. It just didn't seem like something he would bother himself with. Still, he was bloody brilliant at it, and Sherlock always loved to watch him work. Sherlock was distracted from his book due to the ever-growing excitement he could read in John's posture.

"Are you almost done love?" The detective asked eventually. John looked critically at his work, and then smiled and nodded. He bit his lip as he handed his beloved book to Sherlock, wondering if he would like the drawing. Ridiculous, as the detective always loved anything he drew.

Sherlock merely rolled his eyes with a smile to calm the doctor, gently plucked the book from John's lap despite his nerves, and turned it over to see the portrait of him. His breath was utterly taken away when he saw it. The doctor had managed to portray the self-claimed sociopath in a way that made him look beautiful. His eyes were bright with laughter, and he was wearing a smile that he recognized as the one that was For-John-Only. His hair was ruffled in a way that the genius was used to seeing after John was finished playing with it on lazy afternoons, and he was wearing John's favourite purple shirt of his. Sherlock was speechless as he looked over the drawing, and John was growing more worried by the second. He was embarrassed by the lump he could feel in his throat, and the tears pricking the corners of his eyes.

"Sherlock? Do you like it?" Sherlock lifted his head to look at John. He closed his eyes briefly to regain some semblance of control. He was still somewhat shocked as he looked up at John.

The tears in his eyes were even more obvious when he was finally able to answer his lover. "You made me beautiful John."

The doctors face was surprised when he took the sketchbook to put in the table, and gathered his fiancé into his arms. "Sherlock love, is that what you really believe? That I only made you beautiful in my drawing?" Sherlock nodded in John's shirt. He could feel the doctor shaking his head above him.

"Okay Sherlock, how do you see yourself? Describe yourself to me."

The genius sighed and sat up. "I'm too pale, I look like I don't belong with you and your tan. My hair is unruly. My face is angular and odd, I'm too tall and skinny, and my legs are all gangly." One tear leaked out from the corner of his eye as he spoke. John's face was even more sad and disbelieving now.

"Okay, that was physical. Describe your personality."

Sherlock sighed again. "I'm antisocial, and intolerant. I'm rude to everyone, and though I am vastly superior, I am frequently reminded that I go about it the wrong way. I am difficult to get along with. People genuinely like you, they merely tolerate me. I'm surprised daily that you continue to love me. They are all right. I'm a freak." He looked down as he spoke, as though he didn't want John to see him. John shook his head, and gently brought Sherlock's mouth to his own.

"No darling, you've got it all wrong. So wrong. I can't even begin to tell you how beautiful you are to me- inside and out." He looked helpless for a minute, and then stood up abruptly, kissing Sherlock's forehead before retrieving a washable marker from the kitchen. He stuck it in his pocket, and walked into the living room.

"Sherlock, I want you to undress and wait for me upstairs in our bed, okay? I want to show you how I see you." Sherlock nodded confused, and left, slowly making his way upstairs. A minute later, John joined him. He saw Sherlock waiting in the bed, undressed down to his pants, and smiled at him.

"Okay, lie back and close your eyes." He ordered, joining him on the bed. Sherlock obeyed immediately.

John took the marker from his pocket, and began to write all over Sherlock's body. The detective lay there, not knowing what was going on, until finally, John was done. He leaned down to sweetly kiss Sherlock's mouth, and then said-

"Okay love, this is what I see when I look at you." Sherlock looked down, and started to cry silently when he read the words on his skin.

Brilliant. Sexy. Funny. Beautiful. Talented. Unique. Stubborn. Charming. Loving. Protecting. Witty. Family.

Mine.

When Sherlock was done reading, tears were streaming down his face as John spoke again, and Sherlock noticed he had the sketchbook in his hand, open to the page of the drawing.

"And you were right. This doesn't do you justice. Like- the eyes here don't look anything like yours really do-yours are even more beautiful. They say things your mouth doesn't to me. Your hair is always so perfectly managed, but you let me run my hands through them, because you only like it when I do. You think you don't have a good side, but I see every day how beautiful you are on the inside as well as the out. It doesn't show that here. And I can't get that across. And...and just, as a whole. I absolutely can't do you any justice." When he was finished, he lay his forehead against Sherlock's. "You, my darling, are everything to me."

And finally, Sherlock believed him. He also had made sure that the drawing was carefully sealed in a ziplock bag, so it wouldn't deteriorate. He kept it in his bedside drawer, safe and an anchor for him whenever John was gone.