Making Time for Love
Title: Making Time for Love
Author: mistykt
Pairings: Johnlock (pre-slash to slash)
Rating: PG-13
Length: 5,317 words
Summary: John takes Sherlock away from the city for a weekend to finally tell him how he feels. Now if only it were really that simple.
A/N: Second part of an ongoing series. First part can be found here.
“Lestrade.”
“Sherlock? I thought you and John were on holiday this weekend?”
“Entirely John’s idea. I know we’d be of much better use here. Now tell me you’ve got something interesting on.”
“Give me the phone, Sherlock,” John said, holding out his hand impatiently.
“John-“
“Sherlock, you and your bloody work can do without each other for two nights! Now give me the phone.”
Sherlock rolled his eyes and placed the phone into his irritated friend’s hand.
“Greg?”
“All right, John?” Lestrade asked.
“Yeah, all right. He’s just not taking to the idea of leaving his precious London.”
Sherlock scoffed in the background, and John shooed him towards his only half packed luggage. Of course he didn’t want to go on this pointless holiday, but as ever, John's simple mind didn't see that it had little to do with leaving London at all. It had everything to do with the conversation he’d had earlier in the week with Mycroft.
----
“Gregory tells me that you and John are going on holiday this weekend. That’s good, isn’t it?”
“What I do with John is none of your business, Mycroft.”
“Of course, dear brother, what you do with John is entirely your business. I’m just making sure that you are taking care of your business.”
“What are you on about?”
“I’ve just noticed that you’ve been running your business ragged these past few months, and I wondered if you’ve even bothered to tell the poor man why.”
“Piss off, Mycroft. You don’t understand a thing about John and me. Who are you to be giving me advice?”
“All right, Sherlock. I’ll leave it alone for now, but I do hope you’ll try to be a gentleman and not make a fuss about helping out when the movers arrive.”
“Movers? What movers? John hasn’t mentioned any movers.”
“Oh dear. Seems I’ve spoiled something. I’m sure John’s been meaning to tell you himself. Anyway, it seems you’ve had quite enough from me for today. Have a nice holiday.”
Mycroft had left quickly after that and Sherlock was consumed with thoughts of Why would John need movers? Mrs. Hudson hadn't given any indication that there was anything wrong with Baker Street so why would he need to-
"Oh," he breathed as a realization hit him.
They wouldn't be going anywhere. Just John. How could John be thinking of leaving? Doesn't he know that I- John can't leave. I can't let him.
----
He’d done some research (hacking) after that, and found that John had in fact hired movers for that Sunday. John was hiding it. This time it was Sherlock that didn't see and he should have seen. How could he not have seen that John was leaving. He knew that when John had moved back in, he had only agreed to try living with him again, but he hadn’t anticipated that John wouldn’t want to make it permanent. Sherlock forced the thought to the back of his mind, reluctantly continued packing, and for once, actively made it a point not to eavesdrop. He really didn’t want to hear anything else until John got around to telling him himself just so he could - for the very first time in his life - hope that he was wrong.
----
“I didn’t think he’d put up this much of a fuss,” Lestrade remarked over the phone.
“I did. I’d just hoped I was wrong,” John laughed.
There was a brief silence over the line, as Lestrade worried over his words before he said, “So are you still planning to- I mean, you don’t have to tell me, of course, but I was just wondering-“
John laughed, and took pity on his friend, “Yes, Greg. I am still planning on telling him this weekend. He’s been back for months now, and at the rate he’s going he’ll work the both of us into the ground soon. I just need to get it out there.”
“What do you think he’ll say?”
“He already shot me down once the very first day we met,” John said, laughing at the memory, “He’d misunderstood me then, but I can’t imagine it being any worse than that.”
“I’ve seen him with you, John. He never takes his eyes off you.”
“Yeah, well, it’s Sherlock. Who knows why he does any of the things he does?”
“I guess so. Well, good luck, mate”
“Thanks, Greg. Oh, and the movers are scheduled to come down Sunday morning to pick up the armchair.”
“Thanks again for that! I’ve been dying to get something I can feel comfortable in into Mycroft’s apartment. He's sulking, but he’s still making it up to me for lying about Sherlock for all those years so he can't say anything about it. Have a good holiday.”
“Ta,” John said, and hung up the phone with a smile on his face.
Sherlock had finally finished packing his luggage and was sat, looking quite put out, on the sofa with John’s laptop. John walked over, perched himself on the armrest, and handed Sherlock his phone. The taller man looked up then, and raised his eyebrows at the smile still playing at his friend’s lips.
“You’re looking pleased with yourself,” he said.
“We’re going on holiday, Sherlock. Why wouldn’t I? It’ll be good for us to get out of London for a few days.”
“I’ve just been ‘out of London’, John. For 3 years, if you rememb-“ Sherlock stopped short when he realized what he’d been about to say, and who he was about to say it to. He turned his head just in time to see the hurt flash across his friend’s features.
“Of course I bloody remember, Sherlock! Christ,” John replied, lowering his head and pinching the bridge of his nose.
Sherlock’s eyes softened and he mentally chastised himself. He wasn’t supposed to do this to John. He wasn’t supposed to hurt him anymore. Not if he wanted to make sure John didn’t -
“John, I-“ he began, reaching over to place a hand on John’s knee.
“Sherlock, it’s fine.”
“No, John, it is not fine,” Sherlock said, voice soft and honest, “I apologize.”
John raised his head to meet Sherlock’s gaze and saw nothing in those bright blue-grey eyes but genuine regret.
Ever since Sherlock had ‘come back to life’, for lack of a better phrase, he’d been different. Well, who wouldn’t be after - well after what John didn’t know. Sherlock still hadn’t said. He’d just thrown himself back into his work with the Yard, and insisted that John come with him on every case. Not that John had minded too much. All he really needed these days was to spend as much time with Sherlock as possible. He just hadn’t gotten to talk to Sherlock. Not really. Not about anything that mattered.
Everything was going back to being exactly as it was before, but that’s not what John wanted. He regretted letting himself get so caught up in the whirlwind that was his life with Sherlock all those years ago that he hadn’t told him that he loved - loves - him. He wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.
That’s what brought this whole holiday idea on. They needed to get out of London, and the distraction that was their lives and everything in it. They needed to be alone together.
John patted the hand still resting tentatively on his knee, and said, “It’s all right, Sherlock. Now if you’re quite finished with your strop, the car will be round to pick us up in a few minutes.”
“You hired a car?”
“That’s actually your brother’s doing. He insisted on contributing something. Said it would be good for you to get out of the city, but really I think it’s because he’s still in the doghouse with Greg for- ”
“John, I’ve taken great pains to avoid any and all knowledge of my brother and Lestrade’s personal life. You know the rule.”
“All right, all right. Sorry.”
As if on cue, a car honked out front, and the two picked up the luggage and made their way downstairs.
----
The drive down to Sussex passed by relatively quickly, and they sat in a comfortable silence the entire way. Or at least John had. Sherlock was lost in his own mind. If John really was thinking of leaving, then he had just a day or so to change his mind. He was the brilliant Sherlock Holmes, but he knew after his three years alone that he was nothing without John Watson.
After about an hour and a half or so, the car slowed in front of a small cottage. The two stepped out, collected their luggage, and John let them both inside.
John took a few steps in and paused, letting a wave of nostalgia wash over him. The crème walls, comfortable furniture, and homey décor were all just as he’d remembered.
“Well this is … nice," Sherlock offered as he stepped into the well lit room. "I believe some would even say cozy. Was this my brother’s doing as well?”
“No,” John said, voice quiet, “it was Mary’s.”
Sherlock closed the door behind him, eyes locked on his friend’s slumped shoulders.
“Your late wife?”
John nodded, and said, “This was all farm land before, if you can believe that. The previous owner couldn’t afford the upkeep so he’d taken everything down except this house and sold it to us cheap. We spent most our time together fixing it up, and I couldn't bring myself to sell it after she- died. She’d loved this place. She wanted somewhere away from the city to escape to. It had just felt like there was more time out here.“
Sherlock put his bag down on the floor, and walked over to stand next to John. He let his eyes sweep the room to take everything in and said, “Well, she had lovely taste.”
John looked over at him, a wide grin spreading across his face, and laughed. It didn’t take long for Sherlock to join in, and they giggled until all of the tension in John’s shoulders had faded away. As John’s laughter settled, he realized he’d unconsciously leaned against Sherlock who had in turn put an arm around his back to steady him. The touching had grown more and more frequent since that first day back at 221B, and honestly he was quite pleased with it. He quickly came back to himself, and squeezed Sherlock’s shoulder before he began giving the tour.
“Right. Well, this room’s the living room.”
“Obviously.”
“Yes, all right. Through there is the kitchen, and the bathroom and bedroom are down the hall.”
Sherlock raised his eyebrows and asked, “Just the one bedroom?”
John blushed, and continued, “I’ll sleep there on the sofa, and you can take the bedroom. We’ll have to share the closet and drawer space.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, John. I’m not taking your bedroom. I’m used to sleeping on the sofa as it is.”
“That’s only when you’re on a case, and usually because you’ve collapsed there out of exhaustion.”
Sherlock moved to sprawl himself across the sofa as if to prove his point and said, “I’ll be just fine here, John. It is quite comfortable.”
“All right, you win, but shoes off the furniture,” John said as he walked passed and knocked Sherlock’s feet to the floor.
Sherlock’s mouth twitched into a half smile and he watched John walk into the kitchen and begin going through the fridge and the cabinets.
“I was going to suggest we take a walk into town in a bit for some groceries, but it looks like Mycroft has taken care of that for us,” John called over his shoulder, “tea?”
“I’ll make it,” Sherlock offered, rising from the sofa and moving to take John’s place at the counter.
“Really?”
“Yes. I’ll take care of this, and you can go get the luggage situated in your bedroom.”
“Oh, I see. You just want me to take care of all the unpacking while you stand here at the counter for 5 minutes making tea.”
Sherlock rolled his eyes and said, “I’ll be in with the tea to help you when it’s finished.”
John shook his head, but went along with it as he always did when it came to Sherlock’s plans. He picked up both of their bags and took them to the room down the hall. Sherlock appeared in the doorway a few minutes later with the tea as promised, and soon they had found all of their belongings a place. John had to fight back the smile working its way onto his face at the sight of his jumpers and Sherlock’s designer shirts sharing a closet.
“What now?” Sherlock asked, leaning against the door frame.
“Well since it’s getting late, why don’t we just figure out something for dinner and watch a DVD,” John suggested.
“As long as you’re the one doing the cooking, and it’s not one of those horrible Bond films you love so much.”
“Oh no, we’re doing this together. How does curry sound? And fine, I brought my Doctor Who DVDs along too.”
Sherlock nodded, and John followed him back down the hall to the kitchen. John set Sherlock to the task of chopping the onions and tomatoes while he got the rice started. John then started on the meat, while Sherlock measured the spices. They moved together in the small space. Whenever John reached for something, Sherlock would catch on and readily hand it to him. It shouldn’t have been such a surprise that they worked so well together in the kitchen. They were as much of a team as any two people could be.
They ate their meal across from each other, knees knocking into one another under the dining table.
“See,” John began, “going on holiday with me isn’t all that boring, is it?”
Sherlock paused, fork half way to his mouth, and said, “Nothing about you is boring, John.”
“But just before we left you were practically begging Lestrade for a case so you could avoid being stuck here with me this weekend.”
Sherlock’s eyes narrowed as he caught on to what John was implying. He lowered his fork to his plate and reached over to place his left hand over John’s as he explained, “That’s not what I- I worded it poorly earlier, but what I had been trying to say was that I’ve already been away, John. Away from London, from Baker Street, from you, and now I just want to be… home.”
John turned his hand over to take a hold onto the pale fingers wrapped around his and said, “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have forced you to come out here with me.”
Sherlock shook his head. “Now that we’re here, it’s all right. I hadn’t anticipated that it would feel like home here too.”
“You don’t have to say things like that to make me feel better. I should have listened to you.”
“Don’t be stupid, John. Inane platitude is more your area; I said it because it’s the truth.”
John smiled.
“Well, then that's... good.”
They ate the rest of their meal in a comfortable silence; hands still clasped gently around one another’s, and John watched, delighted, as Sherlock finished every bit of the curry on his plate. John made a mental not that perhaps the trick to getting Sherlock to eat more was having him take part in making it.
Afterward, they cleared the dishes from the table and John washed while Sherlock dried. Their elbows bumped occasionally as they stood just a bit too close, and chatted about anything and nothing at all.
“You’re actually quite good with all this domestic business. Now if only I could get you to take care of this kind of stuff for yourself back at Baker Street.” John teased.
“My mind is wasted on such mindless work.”
“It might be mindless, but it also needs to be done, Sherlock. I have a real job too, you know.”
“Yes, John, and I hope you know that you are an invaluable assistant.”
John chuckled and playfully elbowed Sherlock in the side.
With all the dishes put away, they got comfortable on the sofa for a couple of John’s favorite adventures with The Doctor. Sherlock would never admit it, but John knew he secretly enjoyed watching Doctor Who as well. He loved to explain to John in detail how he would’ve handled the same situations just to prove himself cleverest.
After a couple of episodes, they’d both begun to get sleepy. They took turns in the shower and John took out an extra pillow and blanket from the hall closet and handed it to Sherlock. They bid each other good night and John retired to the bedroom and Sherlock to the sofa.
John lay awake for a while and worried a bit over the mission he’d set for himself that weekend. It wasn’t that he was worried that Sherlock would react badly. If anything, he’d probably just write it off as one of those silly things about John that he would have to learn to ignore. He knew he couldn’t put it off any longer, but he also couldn’t shake the voice in the back of his mind that kept repeating something along the lines of ‘Oh god, I’m going to tell Sherlock Holmes that I’m in love with him’.
----
John woke late the next morning to the sound of Sherlock moving about the kitchen. He rolled out of bed and got dressed before heading to the bathroom to brush his teeth.
A few minutes later he followed the sounds he’d been hearing in bed and was treated to the sight of Sherlock in his dressing gown, setting two cups of tea on the coffee table as well as a plate of toast and a bowl of fruit.
“What’s all this then?” John asked with a huge smile plastered on his face.
“I was reliably informed by someone last night that this sort of thing needed to be done, and since that someone took his time waking up this morning, I decided to do it myself,” Sherlock replied, sounding pleased with himself.
“Well done, you,” John applauded, taking a bite of his surprisingly not burnt toast.
“Obviously,” Sherlock said, feigning insult, “I am a genius you know.”
“So I’ve heard.”
Sherlock smiled that smile he reserved only for John and said, “So what have we got on for the day?”
“I thought we could take a walk into town to check out the shops, and maybe have some lunch? It’d be good to finally have some time to talk about things.”
“Is that what you want?” A simple enough question, but John couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something behind those words that he wasn’t catching on to.
“Well, I can’t imagine what you’d be like trapped in a cottage for an entire day so yeah, I’d say going into town is the better option.”
“All right. Sounds fun,” Sherlock said, voice betraying his words.
John was still going through with it. John was still going to leave.
“Does it?” John asked, surprised by Sherlock’s distant tone. He’d just been the closest to ‘chipper’ as John had ever heard from Sherlock only minutes before.
“John, you know how I hate repeating myself.”
“Right,” he said, trying in vain to shake the concern off his face, “Shall we, then?”
After breakfast, John did the dishes while Sherlock got changed for the day. They met back in the living room, grabbed their coats, and headed down the road into town. It was a small town, without much more than a pub or two and a few family owned shops to visit.
It was strange seeing Sherlock out of his element. He was suited for the fast paced city life, as was John, if he were being honest. They wandered through the village, stopping only to pick up a book John had wanted to read, and a bit more of his favorite Earl Grey tea.
Sherlock hadn’t said much of anything since they’d left the cottage, which was worrying. At first John thought he was probably just bored out of his mind, but then he remembered that if he were, he definitely wouldn’t be quiet about it. Thinking then. But thinking about what, John hadn’t the foggiest, and for once, Sherlock wished he did. He wanted John to know all the insecurity and fear swirling around in his head. If John could just read his mind, then he wouldn't have to say any of it.
As lunchtime drew near, they found a pub to stop off at to grab a quick bite to eat. Sherlock ordered a sandwich, and John went with a burger. They ate in silence for a few minutes, when Sherlock’s eyes came alive again, his mind snapping back to the present from wherever it had wandered to.
“Why?” he asked, suddenly.
“Why what? Oh, don’t roll your eyes at me, Sherlock. It’s not my fault I can’t read your mind.”
“Why are we here?”
“Because it’s well passed lunch time and I’m hungry.”
“No. Why are we here in Sussex? Spontaneity isn’t really your style, John.”
“I can be spontaneous.”
Sherlock fixed John with a look that screamed ‘I know you, and this is not an argument you can win’, and John promptly gave up.
“I just wanted to slow down for a bit. And there’s something that I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”
A look of resigned understanding passed over Sherlock’s face, and John grew afraid. This was it. Sherlock knew what John had brought him out here to say. Of course he did; Sherlock knew everything. He knew this whole time and that’s why he’d wanted to get out of coming. But Sherlock was still his best friend above all, and had decided to be on his best behavior and let John see his plan through. He'd wanted to wait until the end of the trip to say anything. He'd wanted to wait until after they'd had fun, and had laughed, but now there really wasn't any point.
John took a deep breath, and said, “Sherlock-“
“Not now, John,” he pleaded.
Neither of them had much of an appetite after that, and decided to have the rest packed up to take with them.
The walk back was uncomfortable and hurried. Sherlock sped ahead with his long strides, and John didn’t even bother trying to keep up. He was at a loss. He couldn’t get the look of dread he’d seen on his friend’s face at the pub out of his mind.
John made it back to the cottage to find Sherlock standing in front of the door, looking smaller than he’d ever seen him. John wanted to call out to him, and to shake him, and ask him what on Earth was going through his mind, but instead just opened the door to let them both inside.
They removed their coats, and John moved to make tea out of habit. He’d probably need the comfort of it by the end of what was coming. He brought the two cups into the living room, placed one in front of Sherlock, and took a seat at the other end of the sofa with his.
“Sherlock,” John tested, turning to meet the detective’s stare.
“John, before you- may I say something?”
‘Here it comes,’ John thought, ‘it’s the married to my work speech all over again.’
He took a deep breath and nodded for Sherlock to continue.
“I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” John asked, noticeably caught off guard.
“I’m sorry for leaving you behind three years ago. I’m sorry for being a selfish, demanding friend to you all this time. I’m sorry for working you so hard. I’m sorry for basically keeping you chained to my side since I got back. I’m sorry, and I want you to know that I can be different. You’ve seen me! I’ll help around the flat more, or at least try to when I haven’t got a case on. You don’t have to come on cases with me anymore if you don’t want to. Just- please,” Sherlock elaborated, his entire body visibly shaking with feeling.
John was nearly panicked at this point. What was the mad man on about? He slid over on the sofa, closing the space between them and grabbed hold of both of Sherlock’s arms, trying to calm him.
“Sherlock, what is all this?” he asked, “You have to know I don’t still hold any of that against you. I know you, and you don’t have to change a thing about yourself for me. I would never ask that of you.”
Sherlock wrenched his body free of John’s hold and stood, eyes wild and full of pain.
“If you really mean that, then why are you moving? Why are you leaving me?!” he cried.
John froze at the sight of him.
“Honestly, John, as if you could hide anything from me,” Sherlock taunted, voice growing colder, ”You bring me out here to a home you owned with your late wife that you obviously still care for. All the talk since we got here of needing things to slow down. And not to mention the movers you have scheduled to arrive tomorrow morning just before we’re supposed to - well I guess really it’s just me who’ll be leaving, isn’t it?”
“Sherlock,” John managed, voice barely a whisper.
“Oh, how rude of me. You brought me all the way out here to tell me this yourself; I should at least have let you say the words you’ve undoubtedly practiced behind my back for weeks. Well come on then, let’s hear it.”
John’s head was spinning, and he reached out to grab onto the cuff of Sherlock’s sleeve to ground himself.
“I love you,” he breathed.
Sherlock’s eyes grew wide and he deflated.
“I love you, Sherlock Holmes. I love you exactly as you are. I love you, and I’m utterly incapable of leaving you, you git.”
Sherlock collapsed to his knees in front of John, stunned in disbelief, and he felt John’s strong arms wrap around his body and hold him tight. John. John who loved him. John who wasn’t leaving. His John who held onto him until all of his fear dissipated.
After a long moment, John sat back a bit so that he could look directly into Sherlock’s face and saw everything that he was feeling reflected back at him. Wonder, contentment, and even love, all of it was there, and his heart soared.
He took Sherlock’s head into his hands, and rubbed his thumb over one of those gorgeous cheekbones, as he’d dreamed of doing for years. Sherlock sighed into the touch, but kept his eyes locked on John and memorized his every expression.
“So all it takes to get your full attention is a bit of intimacy? I should’ve tried this years ago,” John teased, pulling Sherlock’s face even closer to his own.
“Yes, John. You really should have,” Sherlock purred, and closed the distance between them with a bruising kiss.
John whimpered at the contact, and held Sherlock’s face in place so he could return the kiss with everything he had. The kisses grew softer, and less desperate and ended feather light and almost shy and neither would have had it any other way. They were both still too raw with emotion for anything else.
Sherlock pulled away first, reaching a hand up to run along John’s cheek as if he needed confirmation that John was real. John took Sherlock’s free hand into his own and brought it up to his lips, placing a firm kiss on the center of his palm. Sherlock smiled a brilliant smile that John wasn’t sure he’d ever seen before, and made it a personal goal to see it again as often as possible.
Sherlock was happier than he could ever remember being. He cupped a hand at either side of John’s neck, caressing the skin under his fingers with light touches, and said, “This is what I wanted.”
“What is?” John said, too caught up in mapping out Sherlock’s face with his hands to manage anything more.
“While I was away, I realized something. No matter how long I was in one place, it never felt like home. I hated every second I was away from you, and I worked myself to the bone and sometimes down to the very last shred of my sanity to get back to you as quickly as I could.”
John stilled his hands, wrapped his arms around Sherlock, and held him tight in encouragement.
“By some miracle, when I returned, you forgave me and took me back. I thought the best way to make sure you wouldn’t regret your decision was to make you part of everything I did. Not only that, I needed to monopolize you. I needed you in my sight at all times, John,” he continued, voice serious, “Those times you went down to the surgery, or to the pub with Lestrade, or even to your own bedroom to sleep were unacceptable because I wasn’t with you. If you’re going to do this with me, you need to know that this is how I am, John.”
“Do you really think I would be here right now if I wasn’t sure that this is what I want? Do you have any idea how lucky I feel that, by some miracle, I get a second chance with you? I’ve loved you for years; I know you, and I love you more than anything.”
“And your wife?”
“Of course I loved her too, but it almost feels like that was a whole different world. It was a world where you didn’t exist. Mary brought a light back into my life after you’d gone and I’ll always have love for her, but you have all of me, Sherlock.”
Sherlock’s lips quirked into the smallest of smiles, but he quickly hid it away, and continued, “What about the movers?”
“I don’t love the movers,” John laughed.
“John.”
“How do you even know about-? Oh, all right. They’re coming to pick up that armchair. It’s a bit of a house warming present for Greg since he’s just moved in with Mycroft,” John said, daring a glance up at Sherlock. “Don’t give me that look. You said you didn’t want to hear anything about Greg and your brother so I didn’t tell you!”
A wide smile took over Sherlock’s face, and he beamed, “John, you are-“
“An idiot?”
“Amazing,” Sherlock exclaimed, placing a soft kiss on John’s lips.
----
It took a while more before they were able to untangle themselves from one another. Time had gotten away from them, and they realized it was actually passed 8 in the evening and they were starving. Neither felt much like cooking, so they settled for reheating their leftover food from lunch that afternoon.
After they’d eaten and showered, John went out to the living room to find Sherlock sprawled across the sofa. Sherlock immediately noticed John’s presence in the room, made a spectacle of turning on his side, and demanded, “John, do turn out the light and get over here.”
John chuckled, relieved that Sherlock had gone back to his usual self so quickly. He turned out the light, and moved to lie down in front of Sherlock, becoming something of an extremely warm, and impossibly happy little spoon. Sherlock slung his arm over John’s waist and pulled him right up against his chest.
John closed his eyes and felt Sherlock’s steady heartbeat at his back, and let the rhythm begin to lull him to sleep.
“You know, John,” he heard Sherlock say behind him, ”it would be logical to retire here when we get… old.”
“You? Retire to the countryside?” John teased, leaning further into Sherlock’s embrace, “and do what, keep bees?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, John, I’d much sooner-”
“Sherlock,” John warned, “I’m sure it’s a fantastic plan, but now’s not the time. Go to sleep. We need to be up early tomorrow to meet the movers and pack before Mycroft’s car comes to take us home.”
“Sleeping’s boring, John,” Sherlock yawned.
John chuckled at the sound, and took Sherlock’s hand into his own. A few more minutes of welcome silence passed between them and John drifted further and further from the waking world.
“John?” he heard, Sherlock's voice barely a whisper next to his ear.
“Hmm?”
“I love you too.”
Author: mistykt
Pairings: Johnlock (pre-slash to slash)
Rating: PG-13
Length: 5,317 words
Summary: John takes Sherlock away from the city for a weekend to finally tell him how he feels. Now if only it were really that simple.
A/N: Second part of an ongoing series. First part can be found here.
“Lestrade.”
“Sherlock? I thought you and John were on holiday this weekend?”
“Entirely John’s idea. I know we’d be of much better use here. Now tell me you’ve got something interesting on.”
“Give me the phone, Sherlock,” John said, holding out his hand impatiently.
“John-“
“Sherlock, you and your bloody work can do without each other for two nights! Now give me the phone.”
Sherlock rolled his eyes and placed the phone into his irritated friend’s hand.
“Greg?”
“All right, John?” Lestrade asked.
“Yeah, all right. He’s just not taking to the idea of leaving his precious London.”
Sherlock scoffed in the background, and John shooed him towards his only half packed luggage. Of course he didn’t want to go on this pointless holiday, but as ever, John's simple mind didn't see that it had little to do with leaving London at all. It had everything to do with the conversation he’d had earlier in the week with Mycroft.
----
“Gregory tells me that you and John are going on holiday this weekend. That’s good, isn’t it?”
“What I do with John is none of your business, Mycroft.”
“Of course, dear brother, what you do with John is entirely your business. I’m just making sure that you are taking care of your business.”
“What are you on about?”
“I’ve just noticed that you’ve been running your business ragged these past few months, and I wondered if you’ve even bothered to tell the poor man why.”
“Piss off, Mycroft. You don’t understand a thing about John and me. Who are you to be giving me advice?”
“All right, Sherlock. I’ll leave it alone for now, but I do hope you’ll try to be a gentleman and not make a fuss about helping out when the movers arrive.”
“Movers? What movers? John hasn’t mentioned any movers.”
“Oh dear. Seems I’ve spoiled something. I’m sure John’s been meaning to tell you himself. Anyway, it seems you’ve had quite enough from me for today. Have a nice holiday.”
Mycroft had left quickly after that and Sherlock was consumed with thoughts of Why would John need movers? Mrs. Hudson hadn't given any indication that there was anything wrong with Baker Street so why would he need to-
"Oh," he breathed as a realization hit him.
They wouldn't be going anywhere. Just John. How could John be thinking of leaving? Doesn't he know that I- John can't leave. I can't let him.
----
He’d done some research (hacking) after that, and found that John had in fact hired movers for that Sunday. John was hiding it. This time it was Sherlock that didn't see and he should have seen. How could he not have seen that John was leaving. He knew that when John had moved back in, he had only agreed to try living with him again, but he hadn’t anticipated that John wouldn’t want to make it permanent. Sherlock forced the thought to the back of his mind, reluctantly continued packing, and for once, actively made it a point not to eavesdrop. He really didn’t want to hear anything else until John got around to telling him himself just so he could - for the very first time in his life - hope that he was wrong.
----
“I didn’t think he’d put up this much of a fuss,” Lestrade remarked over the phone.
“I did. I’d just hoped I was wrong,” John laughed.
There was a brief silence over the line, as Lestrade worried over his words before he said, “So are you still planning to- I mean, you don’t have to tell me, of course, but I was just wondering-“
John laughed, and took pity on his friend, “Yes, Greg. I am still planning on telling him this weekend. He’s been back for months now, and at the rate he’s going he’ll work the both of us into the ground soon. I just need to get it out there.”
“What do you think he’ll say?”
“He already shot me down once the very first day we met,” John said, laughing at the memory, “He’d misunderstood me then, but I can’t imagine it being any worse than that.”
“I’ve seen him with you, John. He never takes his eyes off you.”
“Yeah, well, it’s Sherlock. Who knows why he does any of the things he does?”
“I guess so. Well, good luck, mate”
“Thanks, Greg. Oh, and the movers are scheduled to come down Sunday morning to pick up the armchair.”
“Thanks again for that! I’ve been dying to get something I can feel comfortable in into Mycroft’s apartment. He's sulking, but he’s still making it up to me for lying about Sherlock for all those years so he can't say anything about it. Have a good holiday.”
“Ta,” John said, and hung up the phone with a smile on his face.
Sherlock had finally finished packing his luggage and was sat, looking quite put out, on the sofa with John’s laptop. John walked over, perched himself on the armrest, and handed Sherlock his phone. The taller man looked up then, and raised his eyebrows at the smile still playing at his friend’s lips.
“You’re looking pleased with yourself,” he said.
“We’re going on holiday, Sherlock. Why wouldn’t I? It’ll be good for us to get out of London for a few days.”
“I’ve just been ‘out of London’, John. For 3 years, if you rememb-“ Sherlock stopped short when he realized what he’d been about to say, and who he was about to say it to. He turned his head just in time to see the hurt flash across his friend’s features.
“Of course I bloody remember, Sherlock! Christ,” John replied, lowering his head and pinching the bridge of his nose.
Sherlock’s eyes softened and he mentally chastised himself. He wasn’t supposed to do this to John. He wasn’t supposed to hurt him anymore. Not if he wanted to make sure John didn’t -
“John, I-“ he began, reaching over to place a hand on John’s knee.
“Sherlock, it’s fine.”
“No, John, it is not fine,” Sherlock said, voice soft and honest, “I apologize.”
John raised his head to meet Sherlock’s gaze and saw nothing in those bright blue-grey eyes but genuine regret.
Ever since Sherlock had ‘come back to life’, for lack of a better phrase, he’d been different. Well, who wouldn’t be after - well after what John didn’t know. Sherlock still hadn’t said. He’d just thrown himself back into his work with the Yard, and insisted that John come with him on every case. Not that John had minded too much. All he really needed these days was to spend as much time with Sherlock as possible. He just hadn’t gotten to talk to Sherlock. Not really. Not about anything that mattered.
Everything was going back to being exactly as it was before, but that’s not what John wanted. He regretted letting himself get so caught up in the whirlwind that was his life with Sherlock all those years ago that he hadn’t told him that he loved - loves - him. He wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.
That’s what brought this whole holiday idea on. They needed to get out of London, and the distraction that was their lives and everything in it. They needed to be alone together.
John patted the hand still resting tentatively on his knee, and said, “It’s all right, Sherlock. Now if you’re quite finished with your strop, the car will be round to pick us up in a few minutes.”
“You hired a car?”
“That’s actually your brother’s doing. He insisted on contributing something. Said it would be good for you to get out of the city, but really I think it’s because he’s still in the doghouse with Greg for- ”
“John, I’ve taken great pains to avoid any and all knowledge of my brother and Lestrade’s personal life. You know the rule.”
“All right, all right. Sorry.”
As if on cue, a car honked out front, and the two picked up the luggage and made their way downstairs.
----
The drive down to Sussex passed by relatively quickly, and they sat in a comfortable silence the entire way. Or at least John had. Sherlock was lost in his own mind. If John really was thinking of leaving, then he had just a day or so to change his mind. He was the brilliant Sherlock Holmes, but he knew after his three years alone that he was nothing without John Watson.
After about an hour and a half or so, the car slowed in front of a small cottage. The two stepped out, collected their luggage, and John let them both inside.
John took a few steps in and paused, letting a wave of nostalgia wash over him. The crème walls, comfortable furniture, and homey décor were all just as he’d remembered.
“Well this is … nice," Sherlock offered as he stepped into the well lit room. "I believe some would even say cozy. Was this my brother’s doing as well?”
“No,” John said, voice quiet, “it was Mary’s.”
Sherlock closed the door behind him, eyes locked on his friend’s slumped shoulders.
“Your late wife?”
John nodded, and said, “This was all farm land before, if you can believe that. The previous owner couldn’t afford the upkeep so he’d taken everything down except this house and sold it to us cheap. We spent most our time together fixing it up, and I couldn't bring myself to sell it after she- died. She’d loved this place. She wanted somewhere away from the city to escape to. It had just felt like there was more time out here.“
Sherlock put his bag down on the floor, and walked over to stand next to John. He let his eyes sweep the room to take everything in and said, “Well, she had lovely taste.”
John looked over at him, a wide grin spreading across his face, and laughed. It didn’t take long for Sherlock to join in, and they giggled until all of the tension in John’s shoulders had faded away. As John’s laughter settled, he realized he’d unconsciously leaned against Sherlock who had in turn put an arm around his back to steady him. The touching had grown more and more frequent since that first day back at 221B, and honestly he was quite pleased with it. He quickly came back to himself, and squeezed Sherlock’s shoulder before he began giving the tour.
“Right. Well, this room’s the living room.”
“Obviously.”
“Yes, all right. Through there is the kitchen, and the bathroom and bedroom are down the hall.”
Sherlock raised his eyebrows and asked, “Just the one bedroom?”
John blushed, and continued, “I’ll sleep there on the sofa, and you can take the bedroom. We’ll have to share the closet and drawer space.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, John. I’m not taking your bedroom. I’m used to sleeping on the sofa as it is.”
“That’s only when you’re on a case, and usually because you’ve collapsed there out of exhaustion.”
Sherlock moved to sprawl himself across the sofa as if to prove his point and said, “I’ll be just fine here, John. It is quite comfortable.”
“All right, you win, but shoes off the furniture,” John said as he walked passed and knocked Sherlock’s feet to the floor.
Sherlock’s mouth twitched into a half smile and he watched John walk into the kitchen and begin going through the fridge and the cabinets.
“I was going to suggest we take a walk into town in a bit for some groceries, but it looks like Mycroft has taken care of that for us,” John called over his shoulder, “tea?”
“I’ll make it,” Sherlock offered, rising from the sofa and moving to take John’s place at the counter.
“Really?”
“Yes. I’ll take care of this, and you can go get the luggage situated in your bedroom.”
“Oh, I see. You just want me to take care of all the unpacking while you stand here at the counter for 5 minutes making tea.”
Sherlock rolled his eyes and said, “I’ll be in with the tea to help you when it’s finished.”
John shook his head, but went along with it as he always did when it came to Sherlock’s plans. He picked up both of their bags and took them to the room down the hall. Sherlock appeared in the doorway a few minutes later with the tea as promised, and soon they had found all of their belongings a place. John had to fight back the smile working its way onto his face at the sight of his jumpers and Sherlock’s designer shirts sharing a closet.
“What now?” Sherlock asked, leaning against the door frame.
“Well since it’s getting late, why don’t we just figure out something for dinner and watch a DVD,” John suggested.
“As long as you’re the one doing the cooking, and it’s not one of those horrible Bond films you love so much.”
“Oh no, we’re doing this together. How does curry sound? And fine, I brought my Doctor Who DVDs along too.”
Sherlock nodded, and John followed him back down the hall to the kitchen. John set Sherlock to the task of chopping the onions and tomatoes while he got the rice started. John then started on the meat, while Sherlock measured the spices. They moved together in the small space. Whenever John reached for something, Sherlock would catch on and readily hand it to him. It shouldn’t have been such a surprise that they worked so well together in the kitchen. They were as much of a team as any two people could be.
They ate their meal across from each other, knees knocking into one another under the dining table.
“See,” John began, “going on holiday with me isn’t all that boring, is it?”
Sherlock paused, fork half way to his mouth, and said, “Nothing about you is boring, John.”
“But just before we left you were practically begging Lestrade for a case so you could avoid being stuck here with me this weekend.”
Sherlock’s eyes narrowed as he caught on to what John was implying. He lowered his fork to his plate and reached over to place his left hand over John’s as he explained, “That’s not what I- I worded it poorly earlier, but what I had been trying to say was that I’ve already been away, John. Away from London, from Baker Street, from you, and now I just want to be… home.”
John turned his hand over to take a hold onto the pale fingers wrapped around his and said, “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have forced you to come out here with me.”
Sherlock shook his head. “Now that we’re here, it’s all right. I hadn’t anticipated that it would feel like home here too.”
“You don’t have to say things like that to make me feel better. I should have listened to you.”
“Don’t be stupid, John. Inane platitude is more your area; I said it because it’s the truth.”
John smiled.
“Well, then that's... good.”
They ate the rest of their meal in a comfortable silence; hands still clasped gently around one another’s, and John watched, delighted, as Sherlock finished every bit of the curry on his plate. John made a mental not that perhaps the trick to getting Sherlock to eat more was having him take part in making it.
Afterward, they cleared the dishes from the table and John washed while Sherlock dried. Their elbows bumped occasionally as they stood just a bit too close, and chatted about anything and nothing at all.
“You’re actually quite good with all this domestic business. Now if only I could get you to take care of this kind of stuff for yourself back at Baker Street.” John teased.
“My mind is wasted on such mindless work.”
“It might be mindless, but it also needs to be done, Sherlock. I have a real job too, you know.”
“Yes, John, and I hope you know that you are an invaluable assistant.”
John chuckled and playfully elbowed Sherlock in the side.
With all the dishes put away, they got comfortable on the sofa for a couple of John’s favorite adventures with The Doctor. Sherlock would never admit it, but John knew he secretly enjoyed watching Doctor Who as well. He loved to explain to John in detail how he would’ve handled the same situations just to prove himself cleverest.
After a couple of episodes, they’d both begun to get sleepy. They took turns in the shower and John took out an extra pillow and blanket from the hall closet and handed it to Sherlock. They bid each other good night and John retired to the bedroom and Sherlock to the sofa.
John lay awake for a while and worried a bit over the mission he’d set for himself that weekend. It wasn’t that he was worried that Sherlock would react badly. If anything, he’d probably just write it off as one of those silly things about John that he would have to learn to ignore. He knew he couldn’t put it off any longer, but he also couldn’t shake the voice in the back of his mind that kept repeating something along the lines of ‘Oh god, I’m going to tell Sherlock Holmes that I’m in love with him’.
----
John woke late the next morning to the sound of Sherlock moving about the kitchen. He rolled out of bed and got dressed before heading to the bathroom to brush his teeth.
A few minutes later he followed the sounds he’d been hearing in bed and was treated to the sight of Sherlock in his dressing gown, setting two cups of tea on the coffee table as well as a plate of toast and a bowl of fruit.
“What’s all this then?” John asked with a huge smile plastered on his face.
“I was reliably informed by someone last night that this sort of thing needed to be done, and since that someone took his time waking up this morning, I decided to do it myself,” Sherlock replied, sounding pleased with himself.
“Well done, you,” John applauded, taking a bite of his surprisingly not burnt toast.
“Obviously,” Sherlock said, feigning insult, “I am a genius you know.”
“So I’ve heard.”
Sherlock smiled that smile he reserved only for John and said, “So what have we got on for the day?”
“I thought we could take a walk into town to check out the shops, and maybe have some lunch? It’d be good to finally have some time to talk about things.”
“Is that what you want?” A simple enough question, but John couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something behind those words that he wasn’t catching on to.
“Well, I can’t imagine what you’d be like trapped in a cottage for an entire day so yeah, I’d say going into town is the better option.”
“All right. Sounds fun,” Sherlock said, voice betraying his words.
John was still going through with it. John was still going to leave.
“Does it?” John asked, surprised by Sherlock’s distant tone. He’d just been the closest to ‘chipper’ as John had ever heard from Sherlock only minutes before.
“John, you know how I hate repeating myself.”
“Right,” he said, trying in vain to shake the concern off his face, “Shall we, then?”
After breakfast, John did the dishes while Sherlock got changed for the day. They met back in the living room, grabbed their coats, and headed down the road into town. It was a small town, without much more than a pub or two and a few family owned shops to visit.
It was strange seeing Sherlock out of his element. He was suited for the fast paced city life, as was John, if he were being honest. They wandered through the village, stopping only to pick up a book John had wanted to read, and a bit more of his favorite Earl Grey tea.
Sherlock hadn’t said much of anything since they’d left the cottage, which was worrying. At first John thought he was probably just bored out of his mind, but then he remembered that if he were, he definitely wouldn’t be quiet about it. Thinking then. But thinking about what, John hadn’t the foggiest, and for once, Sherlock wished he did. He wanted John to know all the insecurity and fear swirling around in his head. If John could just read his mind, then he wouldn't have to say any of it.
As lunchtime drew near, they found a pub to stop off at to grab a quick bite to eat. Sherlock ordered a sandwich, and John went with a burger. They ate in silence for a few minutes, when Sherlock’s eyes came alive again, his mind snapping back to the present from wherever it had wandered to.
“Why?” he asked, suddenly.
“Why what? Oh, don’t roll your eyes at me, Sherlock. It’s not my fault I can’t read your mind.”
“Why are we here?”
“Because it’s well passed lunch time and I’m hungry.”
“No. Why are we here in Sussex? Spontaneity isn’t really your style, John.”
“I can be spontaneous.”
Sherlock fixed John with a look that screamed ‘I know you, and this is not an argument you can win’, and John promptly gave up.
“I just wanted to slow down for a bit. And there’s something that I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”
A look of resigned understanding passed over Sherlock’s face, and John grew afraid. This was it. Sherlock knew what John had brought him out here to say. Of course he did; Sherlock knew everything. He knew this whole time and that’s why he’d wanted to get out of coming. But Sherlock was still his best friend above all, and had decided to be on his best behavior and let John see his plan through. He'd wanted to wait until the end of the trip to say anything. He'd wanted to wait until after they'd had fun, and had laughed, but now there really wasn't any point.
John took a deep breath, and said, “Sherlock-“
“Not now, John,” he pleaded.
Neither of them had much of an appetite after that, and decided to have the rest packed up to take with them.
The walk back was uncomfortable and hurried. Sherlock sped ahead with his long strides, and John didn’t even bother trying to keep up. He was at a loss. He couldn’t get the look of dread he’d seen on his friend’s face at the pub out of his mind.
John made it back to the cottage to find Sherlock standing in front of the door, looking smaller than he’d ever seen him. John wanted to call out to him, and to shake him, and ask him what on Earth was going through his mind, but instead just opened the door to let them both inside.
They removed their coats, and John moved to make tea out of habit. He’d probably need the comfort of it by the end of what was coming. He brought the two cups into the living room, placed one in front of Sherlock, and took a seat at the other end of the sofa with his.
“Sherlock,” John tested, turning to meet the detective’s stare.
“John, before you- may I say something?”
‘Here it comes,’ John thought, ‘it’s the married to my work speech all over again.’
He took a deep breath and nodded for Sherlock to continue.
“I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” John asked, noticeably caught off guard.
“I’m sorry for leaving you behind three years ago. I’m sorry for being a selfish, demanding friend to you all this time. I’m sorry for working you so hard. I’m sorry for basically keeping you chained to my side since I got back. I’m sorry, and I want you to know that I can be different. You’ve seen me! I’ll help around the flat more, or at least try to when I haven’t got a case on. You don’t have to come on cases with me anymore if you don’t want to. Just- please,” Sherlock elaborated, his entire body visibly shaking with feeling.
John was nearly panicked at this point. What was the mad man on about? He slid over on the sofa, closing the space between them and grabbed hold of both of Sherlock’s arms, trying to calm him.
“Sherlock, what is all this?” he asked, “You have to know I don’t still hold any of that against you. I know you, and you don’t have to change a thing about yourself for me. I would never ask that of you.”
Sherlock wrenched his body free of John’s hold and stood, eyes wild and full of pain.
“If you really mean that, then why are you moving? Why are you leaving me?!” he cried.
John froze at the sight of him.
“Honestly, John, as if you could hide anything from me,” Sherlock taunted, voice growing colder, ”You bring me out here to a home you owned with your late wife that you obviously still care for. All the talk since we got here of needing things to slow down. And not to mention the movers you have scheduled to arrive tomorrow morning just before we’re supposed to - well I guess really it’s just me who’ll be leaving, isn’t it?”
“Sherlock,” John managed, voice barely a whisper.
“Oh, how rude of me. You brought me all the way out here to tell me this yourself; I should at least have let you say the words you’ve undoubtedly practiced behind my back for weeks. Well come on then, let’s hear it.”
John’s head was spinning, and he reached out to grab onto the cuff of Sherlock’s sleeve to ground himself.
“I love you,” he breathed.
Sherlock’s eyes grew wide and he deflated.
“I love you, Sherlock Holmes. I love you exactly as you are. I love you, and I’m utterly incapable of leaving you, you git.”
Sherlock collapsed to his knees in front of John, stunned in disbelief, and he felt John’s strong arms wrap around his body and hold him tight. John. John who loved him. John who wasn’t leaving. His John who held onto him until all of his fear dissipated.
After a long moment, John sat back a bit so that he could look directly into Sherlock’s face and saw everything that he was feeling reflected back at him. Wonder, contentment, and even love, all of it was there, and his heart soared.
He took Sherlock’s head into his hands, and rubbed his thumb over one of those gorgeous cheekbones, as he’d dreamed of doing for years. Sherlock sighed into the touch, but kept his eyes locked on John and memorized his every expression.
“So all it takes to get your full attention is a bit of intimacy? I should’ve tried this years ago,” John teased, pulling Sherlock’s face even closer to his own.
“Yes, John. You really should have,” Sherlock purred, and closed the distance between them with a bruising kiss.
John whimpered at the contact, and held Sherlock’s face in place so he could return the kiss with everything he had. The kisses grew softer, and less desperate and ended feather light and almost shy and neither would have had it any other way. They were both still too raw with emotion for anything else.
Sherlock pulled away first, reaching a hand up to run along John’s cheek as if he needed confirmation that John was real. John took Sherlock’s free hand into his own and brought it up to his lips, placing a firm kiss on the center of his palm. Sherlock smiled a brilliant smile that John wasn’t sure he’d ever seen before, and made it a personal goal to see it again as often as possible.
Sherlock was happier than he could ever remember being. He cupped a hand at either side of John’s neck, caressing the skin under his fingers with light touches, and said, “This is what I wanted.”
“What is?” John said, too caught up in mapping out Sherlock’s face with his hands to manage anything more.
“While I was away, I realized something. No matter how long I was in one place, it never felt like home. I hated every second I was away from you, and I worked myself to the bone and sometimes down to the very last shred of my sanity to get back to you as quickly as I could.”
John stilled his hands, wrapped his arms around Sherlock, and held him tight in encouragement.
“By some miracle, when I returned, you forgave me and took me back. I thought the best way to make sure you wouldn’t regret your decision was to make you part of everything I did. Not only that, I needed to monopolize you. I needed you in my sight at all times, John,” he continued, voice serious, “Those times you went down to the surgery, or to the pub with Lestrade, or even to your own bedroom to sleep were unacceptable because I wasn’t with you. If you’re going to do this with me, you need to know that this is how I am, John.”
“Do you really think I would be here right now if I wasn’t sure that this is what I want? Do you have any idea how lucky I feel that, by some miracle, I get a second chance with you? I’ve loved you for years; I know you, and I love you more than anything.”
“And your wife?”
“Of course I loved her too, but it almost feels like that was a whole different world. It was a world where you didn’t exist. Mary brought a light back into my life after you’d gone and I’ll always have love for her, but you have all of me, Sherlock.”
Sherlock’s lips quirked into the smallest of smiles, but he quickly hid it away, and continued, “What about the movers?”
“I don’t love the movers,” John laughed.
“John.”
“How do you even know about-? Oh, all right. They’re coming to pick up that armchair. It’s a bit of a house warming present for Greg since he’s just moved in with Mycroft,” John said, daring a glance up at Sherlock. “Don’t give me that look. You said you didn’t want to hear anything about Greg and your brother so I didn’t tell you!”
A wide smile took over Sherlock’s face, and he beamed, “John, you are-“
“An idiot?”
“Amazing,” Sherlock exclaimed, placing a soft kiss on John’s lips.
----
It took a while more before they were able to untangle themselves from one another. Time had gotten away from them, and they realized it was actually passed 8 in the evening and they were starving. Neither felt much like cooking, so they settled for reheating their leftover food from lunch that afternoon.
After they’d eaten and showered, John went out to the living room to find Sherlock sprawled across the sofa. Sherlock immediately noticed John’s presence in the room, made a spectacle of turning on his side, and demanded, “John, do turn out the light and get over here.”
John chuckled, relieved that Sherlock had gone back to his usual self so quickly. He turned out the light, and moved to lie down in front of Sherlock, becoming something of an extremely warm, and impossibly happy little spoon. Sherlock slung his arm over John’s waist and pulled him right up against his chest.
John closed his eyes and felt Sherlock’s steady heartbeat at his back, and let the rhythm begin to lull him to sleep.
“You know, John,” he heard Sherlock say behind him, ”it would be logical to retire here when we get… old.”
“You? Retire to the countryside?” John teased, leaning further into Sherlock’s embrace, “and do what, keep bees?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, John, I’d much sooner-”
“Sherlock,” John warned, “I’m sure it’s a fantastic plan, but now’s not the time. Go to sleep. We need to be up early tomorrow to meet the movers and pack before Mycroft’s car comes to take us home.”
“Sleeping’s boring, John,” Sherlock yawned.
John chuckled at the sound, and took Sherlock’s hand into his own. A few more minutes of welcome silence passed between them and John drifted further and further from the waking world.
“John?” he heard, Sherlock's voice barely a whisper next to his ear.
“Hmm?”
“I love you too.”