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Chapter Text

John was home.

At least, his two bags were unpacked, the duffels stowed away for now, Sherlock thought to himself. John was physically home; he would make tea for the two of them, sit and pretend to read medical journals while Sherlock burbled through a case at him, and even go to crime scenes with him when his knee didn't ache. But Sherlock knew John was simply going through the motions, and now it was nearing the holidays. It had already snowed twice, they kept a fire going in the evenings; it could have been, should have been their time.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at himself and turned to look at John, head resting on his hand, fast asleep in his chair. He sighed and put his violin down on the desk, then quietly moved to stand in front of his friend.

"John?"

"Hmmm?"

Sherlock bent down and laid a hand on John's shoulder."Love?"

John's dark eyes popped open and Sherlock swore silently. "You don't want to fall asleep in your chair, not good for your -"

"Yeah, right - you -" John closed his mouth and shook his head. "Thank you for playing, it's a lovely piece you're working on. No - I can do it, ta, though." John slowly pushed himself out of his chair, ignoring Sherlock's outstretched hand. "Good night, then, I have an early shift tomorrow, but I'll bring home Thai, or -"

"Could you make the thing with peas? I've, uhm, missed that -"

"Yeah, sure." John's smile briefly lit up his face. "Been a while, but I think I can remember." Then his eyes went dark and he nodded at his friend. "Night."

"Night, John." Sherlock watched as John walked slowly up the stairs to his room, and closed the door behind him.

"Damn."

He picked up the violin and placed his chin on it, thinking back for a split second to when he didn't think he would ever be standing in these rooms again, let alone playing for his best friend. Time, they just needed time.

"Have yourself a merry little Christmas
Let your heart be light
From now on, our troubles will be out of sight..."

He froze for a moment, then put the instrument down carefully and pulled out his phone.

Moll - I need your help - SH

No bodies at the moment - Molly

No - I need help - Christmas, it's for John - SH

Tomorrow? I'll be at the morgue by 8 - Molly

I'll bring coffee - SH

and a scone? - Molly

and a scone - SH

Chapter Text

John tapped his desk impatiently with his pen, as he waited for his last patient who was late as usual.

"...thing with peas...?"

He closed his eyes and tried to replay the evening before. There was a fire in the fireplace, Sherlock playing at the window...'love'...Sherlock had definitely called him that...damn...peas...he needed peas, potatoes, those little onions, garlic, some decent stew beef, red wine. He glared at his phone again. His shift had been over fifteen minutes ago, he sighed and picked it up.

"Mrs. Hudson?"

"John, dear, everything all right?"

"Hmm, I think so, yes. Was wondering, could you run out to the shops for me? I'm cooking the thing with peas for Sherlock tonight -"

He heard her try to keep the squeal of joy from her voice and fail. "Yes, dear, I was just heading out, I remember what was in it, it'll make him so happy, I've been worried about hi - oh, damn, ignore me, love. I know how hard - "

"Yes, quite, ta, Mrs. Hudson, should be home in an hour, depending on how the Tube is running."

The patient finally showed, and John kept his 'doctor face'(Sherlock's words) on, just long enough to get him through the overly detailed description of a rash, which he rather shortly, but still politely wrote a prescription for, then he was free. Free to consider why he was so afraid to let his guard down around his best friend. The best friend who loved him, the best friend he loved in return, and yet. Yet - what?

He decided to walk home, thinking the brisk December wind would help clear his mind.

"Have yourself a merry little Christmas
Make the Yuletide gay
From now on, our troubles will be miles away..."

Damn. Sherlock had played that last night after he had gone upstairs, and he suddenly realised how close it was to Christmas. Christmas...bloody hell. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes, taking in the decorations, the bright red bows, the glittering lights, and he felt guilty. He felt guilty because he wasn't thinking of the little girl he should be missing, but what he should buy for his best friend for Christmas. Hmmm...maybe Molly would know -

Socks. - Molly

Socks? Really? - JW

Mmmm. The odder the better. - Molly

But what about - JW

His index? It will give him a challenge, see if you can make him redesign the bloody thing - Molly

That's - that's perfect, Molly, thank you - JW

Uhm - be kind? He - oh, never mind - Molly

I'm trying, Molly, I just need a bit more time - JW

Chapter Text

Sherlock stood on the table, arms crossed, scowling at his new 'wall of evidence' that he had pinned up since returning home from his meeting with Molly, when John came whistling up the stairs with the groceries Mrs. Hudson had picked up for him.

"New case?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes, uhm. Just a cold case, nothing to worry about. How was your day? Can I help with the bags?"

John narrowed his eyes at the offer, but remembering Molly's admonition, he nodded and replied, "Normal. Coughs and sniffles, nothing unusual -"

"How would you feel about a tree?"

"A tree?"

"Uhm, a real Christmas tree, I saw a stand not too far from here today - but, if you'd rather not -" Sherlock sighed as he unpacked the shopping.

"No, I'd love a real tree, I've never actually had one before."

Sherlock turned and found John looking at him, in a way he'd only imagined before. He blinked and nodded, "perhaps, after dinner?"

"I'd like that. We'll need fairy lights, white, I think, unless you prefer the coloured ones?" John moved towards him slowly and Sherlock studied a spot on the floor.

"No, white, I've always liked the white lights..." Sherlock swore as his phone pinged.

Got a good one. - GL

Better be. - SH

Interrupting something? - GL

Don't be ridiculous. - SH

Sorry. - GL

"Will you come?" Sherlock asked hopefully, though he knew John was tired after his shift, it hadn't stopped him before, back when -.

"How about if I make dinner while you're gone, give you incentive to hurry back?" John's voice did something odd to Sherlock's internal workings, he hadn't noticed it quite so sharply before. "And we'll get the tree tomorrow?"

"Good. Fine." Sherlock nodded, threw on his coat, grabbed his scarf and flew down the stairs.

Three hours later, John was awakened by voices coming up the stairs.

"I'm fine."

"You're not, you know I didn't take you to A & E only because...damn, that smells good -"

"Thasss my dinner, the one you interrupted for a mere three -" Sherlock held up four fingers, noticed his mistake and adjusted accordingly. "Three."

John jumped up from the couch and opened the door. "Bloody -"

"Don't yell, he's a bit concussed, let me get him to the couch, he's about to fall asleep, been muttering about Christmas all the way back here - singing, got a good bit of video, decent voice, not surprised at that, just surprised he didn't delete every Christmas carol he's ever -"

"I'm right here, can hear you - ahh." Sherlock sighed as John sat him on the couch, and took off his shoes, then helped him settle on the pillow. "John - sorry about dinner." He giggled, then closed his eyes.

John stood up and shook his head. "Nope, don't tell me, don't want to know - stay, I have a nice red wine, and dinner is hot -"

Lestrade threw a blanket over the detective, and shrugged. "Sure, smells great, don't mind if I do."

Sherlock hummed from the couch - "Here we are as in olden days, happy golden days of yore..."

"Got Christmas on the brain, same song he was singing in the cab."

John mused quietly as he dished up the meal, "we were going to get a tree tonight -"

"Really? Always thought he hated that kinda sentimental stuff." Lestrade poured himself a glass of wine and refilled John's glass.

"It's our first since -"

"Ahh, he wants it to be special for you, hmm. Not surprised, considering -"

"Considering?"

"That he loves you -"

John nearly choked on his wine. "What?"

"You didn't know?"

"Uhm, yeah, well, it's - he told you?"

"I'm a decent detective, John. I know the signs; not to mention all he's gone through the last few years for you. Sorry, none of my business. This, uhm, stew?"

"He calls it the 'thing with peas.' John stared into his bowl.

"Ahhh, yes. It's bloody great."

"Only thing I can cook."

"Look, John, I'll leave you to it. I know you are dealing with a lot right now, and he will give you as much time as you need, just, you both deserve to be happy, you do know that, right? Ta fer dinner." He pushed away from the table and nodded at the couch. "Take care of him, yeah?"

"Yeah, thanks for bringing him home, Greg."

"I'll come by in a couple days and get his statement, fer what it's worth. Night."

"Night."

John got up and put the leftovers away, noting with a shake of his head at the absence of odd body parts in the fridge. He poured himself a glass of wine and quietly moved to the couch. He put his glass down on the table and examined the restless, sleeping man in front of him. Sleep changed him. John could imagine him as a child, soft and yet questioning - suddenly, Sherlock reached out a hand, and grabbed John's.

"John. John? Where -?" His fingers tightened around John's and he sighed. "There. There you are. Safe. Right where I left you." His grip relaxed and his hand fell against the side of the couch. John blinked back tears that he didn't understand, and gently moved Sherlock so he could sit on the couch next to him. He wrapped his arms around his friend as Sherlock's mop of curls rested in his lap.

"I do love you too, you know," John muttered to the night. "Always have."

Chapter Text

"Sherlock?" John whispered.

"Huh? Wha - oh, I'm home, right -" Sherlock sat up too fast, then realised where he was. "Concussion. Wall, there was a wall, I don't feel so good -" John helped him off the couch and to the loo.

"Are you -" John began, then nodded and started to leave him in peace.

"Please, mmm - stay?" Sherlock sat down hard and leaned against the wall.

"Of course." John sat down next to his friend and sighed as he wrapped his arm around Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock leaned against him and took a deep breath.

"Not how I wanted this evening to go," he mumbled.

"No?" John pushed a stray curl from Sherlock's eyes.

"I had planned on being at the very least awake the first time we snuggled on the couch, not out cold."

"Then I should probably wait to kiss you when you will remember, hmmm?"

Sherlock sat up and their eyes met. "Yes, please, John?"

John nodded and he held him in silence for a few minutes. "Do you want to try going to sleep in your bed? It will be more comfortable."

Sherlock shrugged and John helped him to his feet. "Nice and slow. I have you, love."

John felt Sherlock relax against him as they moved to the bedroom together. "I'm not going anywhere, you know that, right?"

"Wasn't sure." Sherlock muttered into his shoulder, then blew out the breath he was holding as John sat him on the edge of the bed. "I had hoped, but I - I didn't want to presume." He opened his eyes to see John kneeling in front of him. He bit his lip and whispered, "Can you help me undress? I understand if -"

"Please, allow me?" John helped him out of his trousers, and gently slid his pajamas on him, but felt Sherlock flinch as he touched his shirt.

"Uhm, there are reminders of my 'time away,' if you want to turn away for a minute -"

"No, I want to know. I should've known, Sherlock, I'm sorry -" They took a deep breath together as John unbuttoned his shirt carefully. The scars were now less raw, not as angry as they had been, a bit faded, but John suddenly recalled his reaction to his friend's return, and stopped. "I am so sorry, Sherlock." He turned away, but Sherlock grabbed his hand and placed it on his chest.

"Don't be. Please? Do you feel that? I'm still alive only because of you. Getting back to you, back here, to our rooms was what kept me going, kept me fighting. Only you, John." He wiped tears from John's face then took off his shirt and gingerly pulled a t shirt over his head. "Stay? Sleep here next to me? You'll have to wake me up in a couple of hours anyway -"

John nodded, and helped Sherlock under the covers. He slipped out of his trousers and jumper, then hesitated before pulling off his shirt. He opened his eyes to find Sherlock staring at him, not at his scars, but at his face.

"You are beautiful, John. I've always thought so."

"No." John shook his head. "I'm not."

"Please?" Sherlock patted the pillow next to him, and after a moment, John climbed into bed. He laid on his back and reached out for Sherlock, settling him against his shoulder.

"Sleep, now. I'll be right here."

"Faithful friends who are dear to us
Gather near to us once more
Through the years we all will be together..."

"You got that song stuck in my head, you know." John muttered into Sherlock's hair.

"There are worse songs -" Sherlock yawned and fell asleep.

"Yes, love, there are." John dozed off humming the tune, holding tightly to the man in his arms.

Chapter Text

Sherlock hesitated before opening his eyes. John was curled around him, his arm draped over his hip, their fingers were entwined, as if they had always slept together; they fit like two pieces of a puzzle...

"How are you feeling?" John murmured against his back, his lips caressing the most damaged part of his shoulder. Sherlock shuddered and pulled away before he could stop himself. "I'm sorry, Sherlock - I - I'll go make tea, if you -"

"No. I'm sorry, it's just, no one has ever touched me like that. No one ever wanted me before I went away, and I never expected that anyone, least of all, you, would want me after I returned. Too broken, I thought. That's why I -"

John kissed the center of the deepest scar, the one that nearly killed him, and Sherlock lost his train of thought completely. John spent the next hour tracing their missing years, as if by touching him, he could heal everything, make him whole again. He didn't know when the tears started, all he could feel was John's love wrapping around him, softening his hard edges.

"Sherlock?" He finally opened his eyes to find John looking down at him, wiping his face with a cool, damp flannel. "I - was it too much?"

He shook his head and grimaced. "No." He put his hand to his head and tried to sit up. "Head still a bit woozy." He bit his lip then, and looked back at John, searching the face he knew so well. "I - uhm. Not sure what the procedure is now."

"Procedure?" John smiled at him. "I was thinking a warm bath, followed by tea, a bit of toast, a snuggle on the couch with crap telly, and later..."

"Later?" Sherlock whispered as John kissed the tip of his nose.

"Later, we'll find the most beautiful tree in London, buy some lights, and I believe Mrs. Hudson has some of those glass balls..."

Sherlock blinked and rubbed his eyes. All he could do was nod, and give John his hand.

"Through the years we will be together
If the fates allow..."

"I love you." Sherlock whispered, just barely loud enough for John to hear.

"I know."

Chapter Text

Without a word, John helped Sherlock into his robe, then sat him in the chair. John knelt in front of him and gently laid his hand against Sherlock's cheek. Their eyes met and Sherlock nodded.

"I'll be right back."

John turned on the taps and leaned against the wall. He closed his eyes and thought back, all of the moments, all of the years they had lost through misadventure and misunderstanding...no. Not that, it was, on his part, a general lack of courage to simply acknowledge what was in his heart from the moment he had seen Sherlock standing over the microscope -

"John?" Sherlock entered the steaming up room, looked at John's face, shook his head and let the robe fall from his shoulders. "Don't. There is no point in regretting the choices we both made. I am as much at fault, if not more so -"

"I could have, should have, I don't know. I was afraid." John spoke the words quietly to the ancient tiled floor, that was in need of refurbishing.

"Look at me? Please." Sherlock murmured, reaching out for John's hand. "I am here, now. You are here, standing in front of me thinking over what could have been, instead of kissing me, then turning off the taps before the tub overflows."

"Bloody hell!" John quickly shut off the water, then turned to face his friend. He hesitated before meeting Sherlock's eyes, not knowing exactly why. When he finally did, he let out a gasp. John thought he had understood Sherlock's depth of feeling for him, but the light in his eyes at that moment spoke so much more than words could ever dream of accomplishing.

They stood silently, as if letting it all finally sink in, caught in the other's gaze, until Sherlock blinked and snorted, breaking the spell. "I believe you promised me a warm bath?" He kissed John shyly, then slipped carefully in the water.

John laughed then joined him, wrapping his strong, sturdily built legs around Sherlock's narrow hips, then breathed a sigh of relief as Sherlock melted into him. "So, I did, love."

Chapter Text

Sherlock felt the water move when John sat behind him, then sighed as John seemed to wrap himself around him. He somehow knew he had finally found his safe place. He surrendered to the feeling of John's strong, yet gentle hands caressing and washing him. If he had been a man who had ever had a religious thought cross his mind, he could claim the simple act of being bathed was a religious experience; as it was, he understood the love he was being offered, which seemed to him a miracle in itself.

"Okay?" John whispered in his ear.

"Mmmmmhmmm...."

"I'm going to wash your hair now, yeah?"

Sherlock nodded, then sat up so John could deal with the matted mess of curls. Again, he marveled at the careful, almost reverent way John touched and cared for him, he drew in a sharp breath as John massaged the shampoo into his hair.

John froze. "Too rough?"

"No. Not at all, it's uhm, you have magical hands, Dr. Watson."

"Since the day I met you, I've dreamed of running my fingers through your hair," John muttered into Sherlock's shoulder.

Sherlock turned in his arms, and kissed him as if it was the only thing he was put on earth to do. "And I, I have made do with daydreams of my lips on yours for far too long."

John shivered, then opened his eyes. "Just need to rinse, and condition, otherwise, you will have a mess -"

Sherlock smirked and turned again. "Do your worst...

'So hang a shining star upon the highest bough
And have yourself a merry little Christmas now...'

We'll need a star."

"A star?"

"For the top of the tree...and mistletoe..."

"You think I need a reminder that I should kiss you?" John grinned as he rinsed the shampoo from the dark curls.

"I hope you don't, it's, uhm, tradition..."

"Mistletoe. Right. Anything else?"

"Nope. I don't actually need any of it, since I have you."

John giggled. "And I'm the romantic. Idiot. Conditioner, then tea."

"and toast with jam?"

"And toast with jam." John kissed the spot behind Sherlock's ear and snorted as he heard Sherlock swear under his breath.

Chapter Text

"Water's getting cold, love." John murmured into Sherlock's damp curls.

"Didn't notice." Sherlock nuzzled his neck and John let out a whimper. "Hmmm...something to investigate further after tea." He sat up and pulled the plug out of the drain, then gingerly stepped out of the tub.

John opened his eyes and let them wander over the man who stood in front of him, all long, lean, but deceptively strong lines, pale skin that almost glowed in contrast to his raven curls. But time and humanity in its ugliest form had marked him in ways he was just now discovering.

Something in his eyes made Sherlock stop drying his hair. He put on his robe, then bent over the tub, his hand outstretched towards his friend. "John? I'm alright, just concussed - here, give me your hand before you catch a cold. Hey. Look at me, please. It's just life, love. And my life, our life, has done its best to take me down, but I'm still here. I don't want to spend any more time on what has gone before, I want to focus on you, loving you as best I can. Will you let me do that?"

John bit his lip, then nodded and allowed Sherlock to pull him out of the tub and into his arms. "I'm wet, your robe -"

"It's an old robe, John, it will dry." John could feel Sherlock's mouth curl into a smile as he kissed him softly, promising him an interesting morning.

Chapter Text

Sherlock was stretched out on the couch, trying to fill in the missing gaps of the case from the previous night. John turned the kettle on, pulled out two mugs and found a fresh loaf of bread in the box labeled 'bread' which normally held anything but.

"You bought bread?" John turned towards the couch and shook his head. Sherlock was elsewhere for at least the next ten minutes. He opened the bread, inspected it, but seeing no sign of tampering, organic, or otherwise, threw a couple of pieces in the toaster. He sat on the stool and took a deep breath. It was funny, he thought, the last few hours had been remarkably simple, it was finally their time, and they were both brave enough to risk losing the fragile relationship that had been building over the last few months. Strong enough to be prepared if the other wasn't ready...

The toast popped up, interrupting his musing, and he grabbed the honey from the cupboard, and the new jar of his favourite jam. He blinked and paused. Bread, jam, and yes, a new pint of milk for his tea.

He started as he felt Sherlock's breath on his neck. "So, you saw I went to the shops? I do know how - "

John snorted then sighed as Sherlock's long fingers ran along his sides, then pulled him against his chest. John wondered for not the first time, how he had allowed so much time to pass, then shut the thought down. As Sherlock had reminded him, thinking about what could have been took precious time away from their now. The now they had both paid so dearly for.

"I'll make the tea. Whatever you are pondering, stop."

"You make tea." John turned in Sherlock's arms and smirked at detective's heavy sigh and exaggerated eye roll.

"Had to. When you - when you were gone - I couldn't depend on Mrs. Hudson all the time, took some practice - experimentation if you will - no, no drugging, and besides, you weren't drugged, I just thought you were -"

John laughed, and Sherlock turned to look at him. "I should never have -"

"I know, you apologised enough. I think we went a whole three weeks without an explosion or body part in the crisper. You're right, let's agree to leave the past in the past. Breakfast?"

"Breakfast." Sherlock grinned, and the way the late morning light hit Sherlock's eyes made John wonder why he had been given so many second and third chances with the man who stood before him.

"Just lucky, I suppose, love." Sherlock muttered as he kissed John soundly before handing him his mug of tea.

John put his nose in the steam and took a sip. "Perfect," he whispered.

"Obviously."

"Berk."

"Git."

"Couch. Now."

"Yes, my Captain."

Chapter Text

They sat in silence as they had their tea, close together, but a small space separated them. Sherlock noted with a not insignificant degree of satisfaction, that it was a new silence, one without the thrum of nervous tension, or deep 'thinky thoughts'(John's words). He put down his mug, then turned to look at his friend, frowning a bit, as one of those overly thinky thoughts invaded his peace.

"Hmm?"

"We're not friends. I mean, of course we're friends, but, what exactly are we now?"

John grinned at him, then scootched, closing the distance between them and pushed a hand into softly scented curls. Sherlock closed his eyes as John kissed one cheekbone, then the other. They leaned into one another and let out a synchronised sigh. "Friends with benefits?"

"Benefits? Like BOGO?" Sherlock pulled back a bit and searched John's face, honestly perplexed.

"No, love." John paused, and took Sherlock's hands in his. "It just means we both want something more than friendship. Like this." He traced Sherlock's gently parted lips with a single finger, then leaned in, kissing Sherlock in the way he had only dreamed of before; slowly, deeply and completely.

"Oh. I see." Sherlock whispered against John's neck, when he recovered his ability to summon a coherent thought and express it clearly.

"I would, however, like to become your lover, your partner in all things, later today, if that would be acceptable." John murmured into Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock hummed his approval, then pulled away so he could study John's face. He observed - what, precisely? "John?"

"Yeah - I know, I'm a bit at sea myself, to be honest. Why don't we just -"

"have a cuddle? I'm sure there's some marathon or other on the telly?"

John nodded and arranged himself so he could sit comfortably for the next few hours, then patted his lap, and Sherlock nestled against him, then reached for John's hand and closed his eyes. John found the remote between the pillows and turned on the telly; sighing as he flipped through the options. "Baking show or Dr. Who?" He looked down and smiled at the man who was once again fast asleep. John put the remote down, then grabbed the throw from the back of the couch and laid it over his..."Everything. You are simply my everything, love." He kissed Sherlock softly and sat back to watch the fourth doctor, who somehow reminded him a bit of the detective, who had turned his face away from the telly. John's heart flipped a bit as he felt Sherlock's breath through his thin t shirt, but he shook his head and wrapped his arms around his love and was soon lost in the story.

Chapter Text

Sherlock came back to himself slowly; John's fingers resting in his hair, his other arm was draped over his hip. He didn't want to move for fear of losing his connection to John. But he knew John would realise he was awake sooner than later. He began to stir when John muttered above him.

"Hey there, we're not in any rush, I took the day off, you don't have to get up unless you -"

"No, I'm fine - how long?"

"Hmm...'bout three hours, maybe a bit longer, but you needed to sleep. How's the head? Need anything?"

"Just a bit of a headache, but I think I'll survive." Sherlock slipped his long fingers under John's shirt, and he grinned as John snorted, then giggled. "John Watson - I do believe you are ticklish... hmmm...what shall I do with that data...I wonder."

"Have mercy, love?" John whispered into his sleep mussed curls.

Sherlock sat up and saw tears of laughter in John's eyes. "Always, John. I think it's time we found our tree, what do you say?"

John nodded and caught his breath. "I do believe I did promise you I'd find you the perfect tree." Sherlock got up from the couch, ruffled his hair into place and offered John his hand.

"I think a bit of lunch may be in order as well?"

"Angelo's?"

"Hmmm."

They dressed hurriedly and made their way down the stairs, hand in hand. As they reached the street door, Sherlock tried to pull away, expecting John would want to keep the change in their status private; but John shook his head. "No you don't. I - I'm not afraid any longer. I want people to know, to see, how much I absolutely adore you." As they were about to step out onto the sidewalk, John pulled him into a long, passionate kiss. A few friendly passersby whistled their approval, and Sherlock grinned against John's smiling lips.

"Best Christmas ever, John."

"I haven't even started, love."

Chapter Text

Angelo saw them before they crossed the street, and rubbed his eyes. Finally. Sherlock had tucked his arm through John's and they were chatting about something, their heads close together, and then John laughed and stopped walking, pulling the taller man into a kiss. There was no doubt this time. Angelo sighed, and shook his head. So much time - ah - best not dwell - "Billy! Sherlock's table, biggest candle we got, and get that bottle I've been saving - GO!"

"Sherlock! John!" Angelo scooped them into an enormous bear hug as they pushed through the door. "Your table is ready; we have your favourite lasagne on the menu - and my best bottle is decanted..."

"Saw us coming." Sherlock grinned at his old friend, then took John's coat, shook out the snow and hung it up on a hook before taking his own off.

"For years now - ahh, pay me no mind. Come! Sit! Sit -"

John laughed as he saw the candlebra on their table. "Billy outdid himself, Angelo."

"Only the best for you two - a recent development, yes?"

"Very." John nodded as he helped Sherlock into his seat, before seating himself. "I'm afraid to ask, but, how?"

"Ahh, new sparks from an old flame, brighter than the snow, hotter than my garlic bread which should be ready right now - " Angelo bowed then made a quick dash to the kitchen.

He returned with a basket of steaming bread, a decanter of red, two glasses and one plate. "And besides, you would have come to see me long before now -" He waved his hand impatiently. "I know, circumstances, all that is over now, though, yes?"

Sherlock looked out the window for a brief moment, then turned back as John took his hand and squeezed it lightly. "Yes, Angelo, that's all over now, just took me a bit longer to stop being an idiot, and I finally let him know how much I love him." Sherlock leaned over and kissed him, not caring a bit who saw.

"I'll leave you to it, lasagne will be ready in a little while -" Angelo's voice faded into the background noises as John put his hands into Sherlock's hair and they sighed together for a brief moment, then Sherlock sat back and poured them each a small glass of wine.

"I saw a rather beautiful tree topper in an antique store when I was on my way to Bart's the other day - maybe we can see if it's still there after we -"

" - eat? Here, just how you like it - lots of butter, light on the garlic." John held a piece of bread to Sherlock's lips and grinned as his friend took a huge bite, narrowly missing his fingers. "We'll find your star after we eat some bread, drink some wine and then demolish that lasagne, yeah?" He took a bite of the garlic bread and sighed. "Too long..."

Sherlock chewed happily, then reached over to wipe a bit of butter from John's chin. That simple, yet intimate act made John blink, then reach for Sherlock's hand, and bring it to his lips. "Do you know?"

"Yes. Yes, John, I do."

Chapter Text

It was a busy lunch, but Angelo kept an eye on the table by the window; he had always known since the first time John had limped into his restaurant with Sherlock how his friend felt. Of course, over the years, the sentiment only grew, much to the detective's dismay. Angelo remembered the night of John's wedding.

"Didn't expect to see you tonight, thought you'd be dancing -" Angelo stopped as he saw Sherlock's face, and nodded to the empty table. "I'll bring you something. Go. Sit." Sherlock shrugged but took off his coat and scarf and hung them up, then sat down and stared out the window.

Angelo brought over a dish of ice cream and sat down next to him. Sherlock snorted, but took a bite, then put the spoon down. "You don't understand how I could - " Sherlock stopped and turned back towards the window.

"Yeah, I do. He asked you to be his best man. How could you say no to him?"

"I never should have come home, Angelo. He doesn't -"

"He does, he's just afraid. You left him. Let him think you were dead. No, I know why - he doesn't though, does he? And you'll never tell him, especially not now."

Sherlock shook his head.

"You two - believe me, there is still time, just be patient, my friend. Now, eat your ice cream, and come back into the kitchen, got a new recipe I'm working on could use your help -"

Sherlock finished the ice cream, went back into the kitchen after hanging up his coat, vest and tie; threw on an apron and helped Angelo create a new dish - it wasn't the thing with peas, but nothing was...

Angelo watched as John fed Sherlock the last bite of lasagne, then kissed his nose. He walked over to refill their glasses and remove the now empty bowl, but found himself sitting down at their table. They both turned to look at him; John nodded and waited for him to begin.

"I - it's not my place, I know, but - "

John took Sherlock's hand in his."I promise, Angelo, to keep both him and his heart safe for as long as I live, as long as he will have me. I know I haven't done a very good job so far, but, I hope he'll give me a chance."

"Cannolis, then?"

John smiled and murmured a barely heard, "please," as he stared into Sherlock's sparkling eyes.

"Billly! Cannolis!"

Chapter Text

Sherlock put on his coat and scarf and drew on his gloves, then turned to face John as they were about to head back out into the snow.

"Not quite ready, love," John murmured.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes questioningly at him, then sighed and rolled his eyes as John flipped Sherlock's collar up.

"Now, we're ready." John tugged gently on Sherlock's scarf, pulling him into a gentle kiss. They accepted another bear hug from Angelo, and made their way into the chaos of a London afternoon, already humming with the sights and sounds of the coming season.

As they walked through the old city, John shivered suddenly, recalling their recent Christmases, both apart and together, and tried to pretend it was the brisk wind that had picked up while they were inside Angelo's. Sherlock wasn't fooled, of course; he tightened his grip on John's arm, and muttered. "It will be different this year, I promise, John. Can't guarantee there won't be a corpse or two, but - ah, here we are - and it's still there."

Sherlock pointed to a window filled with odds and ends; mostly old scientific equipment and books, interrupted by the occasional porcelain knickknack, and John started to laugh until he saw an eight pointed star in silver hanging in the corner of the window, a bit out of place, John thought, but he agreed, it was perfect.

"That's it. It's beautiful, love." John looked up, and found Sherlock's eyes dancing at him, his eyelashes seemed to be dipped in snowflakes, his cheeks were flushed pink by the wind, and his shy, but pleased smile almost made John's knees buckle, but Sherlock put an arm out to steady him. "Almost as breathtaking as you."

Sherlock groaned at the romanticism, but kissed John's hand in return, and pulled him inside the shop. The jangle of sleigh bells made them laugh and John declared 221B would now be incomplete without that sound. Sherlock sighed, but agreed; whatever made John laugh was worth any price.

Chapter Text

The shop also, to John's delight, had a collection of beautiful ornaments, scattered throughout the darkened rooms of otherwise mostly below average junk to his mind. Bright silver balls, tiny beaded snowflakes, and Sherlock gave a quiet yelp of surprise when he discovered miniature, handcrafted wooden instruments hanging on a small tree. The normally taciturn shopkeeper beamed when Sherlock commented on the quality and attention to detail, and began chatting about the granddaughter he had made them for, but had moved on to boys and had lost her interest in the bits and bobs that used to keep her entertained for hours at a time. Sherlock perched on a stool and listened intently as John wandered through the odd conglomeration of forgotten leftovers from owners long gone. When John returned to the front of the store, Sherlock was conversing with the owner in the shopkeeper's native German, over cups of tea and small cakes. John watched the gentle interaction between the two men, so different, and yet, they had enough in common to swap stories over a small meal. He wondered that he had never seen this side of Sherlock before, but then he considered how little time they had spent together apart from crime scenes and the bubble that was Baker Street. John realised how little he knew his friend and was determined to change that as soon as possible. He cleared his throat and Sherlock turned, his eyes dancing in amusement as he spoke to his new friend, "this is John, friend of my heart, I'm sure there is a much stronger word in your native tongue that I'm forgetting, but it is the best I can do in English."

The older man nodded with a bit of a wistful smile."You both are very fortunate then, my friend." He bowed to them, then disappeared into the back room for a few moments, returning with a box tied up in a golden bow, which he placed carefully into a large bag. "Save it for Christmas Eve, a gift for your new old love." John blinked at him, then shook his head. "Ah, yes, I know the signs, I was young like you boys once upon a time."

John snorted at the idea that he could still be considered a young man, but then he saw the light change in Sherlock's eyes and he understood suddenly. Their love was stronger than death, stronger than time, it simply was a fact, not unlike a law of nature. He chuckled at the idea, then bowed deeply to the shop owner, and collected their purchases before offering Sherlock his arm. Sherlock nodded his thanks, and promised to return to play for the older gentleman. They left the shop both lighter than when they had entered it, and Sherlock laughed as he heard the jingle of the sleigh bells as they began walking arm in arm as the snow continued to fall.

"Do you mind a brief detour home, John?" Sherlock muttered as he shook snow from his hair, then glanced up at the swirl of white against the darkening afternoon sky.

"I was thinking the same thing, love." John paused then and asked shyly, "do you mind me calling you that?"

Sherlock looked at him for a long moment, then whispered. "I don't mind if it is what I am to you; I don't mind at all."

John moved in closer and kissed him with intention. "When I look at you now, all I see is love." Sherlock shivered and they both knew it wasn't from the cold December wind that pushed them towards Baker Street.

"Taxi!" Sherlock yelled, and as always, one appeared as he raised his hand, as if he were a magician, casting a spell.

Chapter Text

John closed his eyes as he heard the cabbie singing along with the song on the radio,

"Gone away is the bluebird
Here to stay is a new bird
He sings a love song, as we go along
Walking in a winter wonderland..."

and felt his bare hand being warmed between two leather clad ones. He was afraid to move, or breathe, for fear of losing this fragile moment. But eventually, as the cabbie called out Baker Street, he opened his eyes to find Sherlock staring straight ahead, as if lost in thought.

"Sherlock?"

"Hmmm?"

"Just checking." John let out a shaky breath and was somewhat relieved that Sherlock seemed as nervous as he was.

"I'm right here." A quiet voice whispered back.

"Good. We're home."

"Home." Sherlock looked up as they pulled up to 221B, then looked down at John's hand in his. He shook his head, then gave John's hand a squeeze. "I sometimes - no, never mind -"

"Tell me?" John touched Sherlock's face lightly. "Please?"

"I get lost, and you are the only one who can find me. That's the only way I can explain it."

John nodded in understanding. "I know. You have found me so many times, I have lost count, love. Let's go upstairs?"

Sherlock paid the cabbie, while John grabbed the packages, and they almost managed to sneak past Mrs. Hudson's door, but as they stomped the snow from their boots, she popped her head out to chastise them. "Ah, John, how you can - no gloves, no hat on a day like this -" her words stumbled to a halt when she saw the look on Sherlock's face. "Actually, I was just heading over to Mrs. Turner's for our stories, and a bit of dinner, perhaps a few hands of gin rummy - late night, I imagine." She winked at John and saw his cheeks flush an attractive shade of pink. "Very late." She threw her coat on, tucked her curls under a bright red hat, kissed them both on their foreheads and slipped out into the blustery afternoon.

"Oh, dear." John smirked as he watched her go.

"What?"

"If it's that obvious to Mrs. Hudson -"

"Oh. You mean. Oh. Hmmm. Well. They have always had their ideas about us from day one, anyway." Sherlock shrugged, his nervousness seemed to have vanished as he all but pulled John up the seventeen steps.

The packages were stored away quickly, then shoes, coats, jumpers and shirts were efficiently dealt with, and once again, they faced one another, at yet another threshold, when John reached out and gently pushed a damp curl from Sherlock's eyes, and the spell was broken.

"Do you know? How ridiculously happy you make me, Sherlock? I don't think you know, truly -"

"John?" Sherlock sighed impatiently.

"Yes, love?"

"Take me to bed, please?"

John grinned and scooped up a slightly scandalised detective into his arms and murmured into his curls, "as you wish."

"Movie reference, probably deleted it, right?"

"Right." John sighed, and rolled his eyes, but marched them quietly into Sherlock's bedroom and closed the door.

Chapter Text

John laid Sherlock gently on his bed, and once again found himself astonished at the profound love he saw in his friend's eyes; he hoped Sherlock discovered the same look in his own.

Sherlock sat up, and leaned back into the pillows, waiting and watching. He nodded and spoke quietly. "I know, John, I see it, I see you, now. I want to see all of you, touch all of you, know you completely, please?" He bit his lip as John blinked then finished undressing, without a word, and joined him in bed.

"John - "

John smiled as he watched Sherlock's bright eyes darken and heard his breathing change. He took Sherlock's hand and placed it over his very interested length. "Touch me all you want, love, I'm yours."

They sighed as one as Sherlock moved his hand; investigating, learning, making discoveries as John's breathing hitched and the occasional swear word escaped from parted lips; he straddled his strong thighs, and kissed him hard, telling him without words, in a new language they were now creating together how much his blogger was wanted, needed, above all, how cherished and adored.

"Sherlock," John whimpered. "Let me see you, please?"

Sherlock pulled away and looked down into John's blown eyes, surprised to find tears flowing freely, he kissed them away, and nodded. He moved to the edge of the bed, then stood and turned to face John; he swore to himself as he felt his fingers slip off the buttons, and his legs tremble.

"It's just me, love."

Sherlock shook his head. "Don't you know, John, you are -" he took a deep breath and closed his eyes, and his fingers remembered how to work, finally, he removed his trousers, then folded them neatly, and draped them over a chair. Habits, he thought to himself. Then he closed his eyes and stepped out of his silken pants. "You could never be just anything, you are my first, my only friend, and my first and last love. Don't you know?"

"Come here." John sat up and put out his hands, inviting Sherlock into his arms. After the slightest hesitation, Sherlock smiled, then crawled back into bed, slowly kissing, touching, caressing the man who waited for him, before finally laying flush against him, and wrapping John in his arms. They both felt the other shudder, then John rolled them so he could see Sherlock for the first time.

John had always known how well made Sherlock was, but to see him laid out in front of him, his dark curls against white sheets, a dusting of hair on his chest, well-defined muscles leading to sharp narrow hips, another patch of curls and, a lovely, leaking cock, long and lean as the rest of him; the sight almost overwhelmed him. He ran his fingers along Sherlock's thighs, and slowed as he felt him jump under his fingertips.

"Slowly, love, we'll go as slowly as you want."

Sherlock took a gulp of air and blew it out again. "John. Please?"

John laid down against Sherlock's shoulder, slotted a strong shorter leg between lean ones and looked down at his hand as it wrapped around Sherlock's hard length, he stroked once and waited until he heard Sherlock release a breath. "You are so lovely, Sherlock, exquisite -"

"John -" Sherlock covered John's hand with his own. "Touch me, I need you to, I want - oh. Yes. John. My own, make me yours, John. I - so little, is so, oh, John. So much, I - didn't know, yes, Johnnnnnn. John. Johnnn."

John watched Sherlock's face change as he came for the first time from another's touch; his eyes, that saw everything, were blown wide seeing nothing, then they closed, and his beautiful lips fell open, as he moaned John's name as if it were the only word that existed. John closed his eyes and felt Sherlock's heart thrum beneath his fingers; he listened carefully; hearing only a whispered, "My heart, John -" and then Sherlock was asleep. John smiled, was still for a moment, then quietly left the room, returning with a warm, damp flannel. As he washed his friend and now lover, he found himself falling even deeper in love. He shook his head in astonishment, then threw the flannel onto the side table, and stretched out next to Sherlock. He chuckled to himself as Sherlock reached for him, even in sleep, pulling him once again against his shoulder. John drew the heavy down comforter over them, and soon, he too, was lost to his dreams.

John blinked awake to an empty bed, and the scent of coffee hovered near his nose. "John! Get up, up, John. Coffee, shower, clothes, then a bite of breakfast, then tree! It's so gorgeous outside, John. John. John? Can you hear me? John?"

"Yes. Sherlock, I hear you, love." John looked up at Sherlock's beaming face, and sighed."You're even more beautiful than you were last night. How it's possible, I don't know, but it's true." He yanked him down into a kiss, and Sherlock moaned softly.

"Or...I suppose we could stay in bed, the tree stands won't be opened for hours yet." Sherlock climbed back into bed, and John pulled him into his arms.

"Hmmm..." John nuzzled Sherlock's neck and pushed his robe from his shoulder. "Decisions, decisions..." he groaned, then stilled as Sherlock wrapped his long, nimble fingers around his length while he kissed him as his life depended on it.

Sherlock blew an errant curl from his eyes, and sighed. "I do believe coffee can wait, yes?" He grinned mischievously as he stroked John until he saw his blogger's eyes roll back and he stuttered out Sherlock's name.

"Sher - oh, my god - love, Sherlock, Sher-LOCK. Please love, oh, there, yes, how - unnghhhhh - Sherlock, my love, my one. SHER-LOCKKKK - the sweet sounds John made somehow pushed Sherlock over the edge and they came together as one.

"Is it, uhm, always-" Sherlock whispered after he recovered enough to catch his breath.

"Like this? Noooo, no, never for me. It's you, it's just us, we, uhm - oh, god, I'm sorry, I'm about to fall asleep again, will you stay, please?"

Sherlock nodded and laid down on his back, then gathered John into his arms. "Yes, John, I'll stay. For as long as you'll have me." He tightened his arms around his love and watched the bright winter sky once again turn white with snow.

Chapter Text

Sherlock sighed as he felt John's weight against him; he took a deep breath in, and was suddenly and exquisitely overwhelmed by the newness of everything. The machinery, his inner workings, his hard drive, if you will, slowed so he could attempt to examine in minute detail, what it was precisely about the man in his arms that made his pulse race or calm; his breath hitch and his brain cease to click along at its usual breakneck pace. He closed his eyes and breathed John in; the residue of their love making mixed with the everydayness of his oatmeal soap and his shampoo, the slight hint of antiseptic that followed him from the clinic mingled with their meal at Angelo's, and the mustiness of the antique shop lingered in his fingertips. So much data, so much -

"John."

"Hmmm?"

"Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you. Just thinking. No. Not thinking, exactly." He paused, then frowned at himself.

"Wasn't sleeping." John murmured.

"No?"

John shifted just enough so he could look into Sherlock's eyes without leaving the warmth and security of his lover's arms. "No. I've been listening to your heart beat, feeling your fingers as they drum out a composition on my back, and I was attempting to adjust to the idea that I woke up in your arms. It's quite mind-blowing to be honest with you. I didn't know what it would feel like to feel safe and loved, because I've never felt it until this morning."

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but he realised once again John had been able to say everything that needed to be said, and closed it tightly again.

"What were you 'not thinking' about?" John asked, with a twinkle in his eye.

"I, uhm, was attempting to analyse something that shouldn't ever be so scrutinised. I should be able to understand what makes you so different from any other person I've ever met, and you simply defy all logic."

John snorted, then placed a kiss on the singular blemish over Sherlock's heart, a reminder of an instant that nearly stole this moment from them. They both stopped and time looked the other way for a moment.

"We both were centimeters from not being here, I almost never met you, and because I - I lost faith in us, in you, you died. Let me finish. You died on the table. I never told you, you almost left me without knowing I loved, love you - and yet. Yet, I am here, in your strong arms, we have been given so many chances and we are finally here together. I will never go another day without making sure you know how important you are, how loved and necessary you are to me. There is nothing logical or reasonable about us, never has been. Oh, love, I'm sorry. I -"

John flipped them so he was cradling his gently sobbing friend and lover in his arms. He stroked Sherlock's curls as the detective was finally able to grieve for their time apart and what had almost never been.

When he finished, Sherlock looked up to meet John's equally reddened eyes."I came back for you, John. Just for you, you are the only reason I am still here."

John whispered, "I know, love. I know." He kissed Sherlock's forehead, his nose, then his lips. Sherlock sighed against him and took a deep breath. John smiled and pushed Sherlock's mop of curls from his face and spoke softly. "Let's have a shower, then find us a beautiful tree, hmmm? And then, we can build a fire and have a cuddle on the couch?"

Sherlock nodded and smiled. John blinked at him, and shook his head. "How did I get so lucky?"

"No, John, I'm the lucky one." Sherlock kissed him hard until they were both gasping for air, then he jumped out of bed, and grinned wickedly. "Last one in buys breakfast." He winked and dashed for the loo.

"You berk, I always buy breakfast!" John sighed, than laughed as he slowly crawled out of bed.

Chapter Text

He is happy, thought John, as he slipped behind Sherlock in the shower. I finally get to know what he is like when he is happy. Sherlock leaned back into John's embrace, and sighed, yes, happily. So much I don't know, and yet I know him better than anyone else. John almost absent-mindedly moved his hands over his friend, eliciting such sounds that made John sigh in relief. Relief? Odd. He realised then how much he wanted, no needed, to make up for everything; every time he chose something or someone over the man who was currently melting in his arms. Every time he mistook Sherlock's shyness for coldness... he wanted so badly to erase all of his mistakes.

"That would erase our history, John." Sherlock muttered, as he turned in John's arms and was facing him, flushed from both the heat of the shower and John's close proximity. "Please, you do not owe me anything - we are here because of our human failings, not in spite of them. We are essentially incomplete without the other. I saw it in your eyes when you bent over me to take my pulse that day - I knew you were breaking, and I couldn't stop it from happening. I felt it when I stood next to you as you gave another your name, I - damn...I can't relive the past, John. I need to be with you now, I need you to be with me now. I know, John. I know how much you want to be able to fix what has gone before, you can't, and I need you, you, John. As you are at this moment, full of doubts, misgivings, but above all, your hope, and your love; I need all of it."

John looked down at their feet, strange things, feet - and felt tears rushing down his face as he returned his gaze to Sherlock. He was grateful for the hot water that washed them away, though he knew his friend wasn't fooled. Sherlock placed a shaky hand on John's chest, the other in his wet hair and he pulled him into an embrace that nearly took John to his knees, he felt absolved, loved, and cared for in a way he had never experienced before. "I would forgive you if you ever needed forgiveness. You know that, don't you? You need to forgive yourself, John, for me, please?" Finally, John's knees gave, and Sherlock held him as they both went down slowly. He wept in Sherlock's arms as if he were a child; hot, noisy, graceless tears. He sighed against Sherlock's chest, trying to recover some sense of his normal, strictly stoic demeanour, but realised it was never quite him. It was only for show, and within the last days, Sherlock had stripped him of it, leaving him open wide and vulnerable.

"I'm here, John. You have done the same to me. You have given me more than anyone ever has, you have recognised that I am a human being, someone who can love and be loved. No one else has ever allowed me to believe that. Just you. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere without you ever again. Right now, I'm going to wash you, then wrap you in a towel, and then, I'm going to make love to you, because if I don't, I will, frankly, lose my mind."

"What about the tree?" John whispered, hoarsely, still listening to Sherlock's heart beating against his fingers.

"The tree will wait for us."

Sherlock was as good as his word, and soon they were back in bed, sound asleep in each other's arms.

Chapter Text

Sherlock's mobile pinged, then John's. John reached blindly for his before it went off again.

How is he? Up for a few questions? - GL

John looked down at Sherlock, still sound asleep, and sighed.

Give us an hour? - JW

Us? - GL

John rolled his eyes at his use of pronoun, but realised it was, as it always had been, the correct one.

Yes. US. - JW

'Bout time. Good for you. - GL

John threw his phone back on to the table and pinched his nose.

"Cat out of the bag, then?"

"Hmm. Seems so. Lestrade will be here in an hour, about the case."

Sherlock stretched and sat up, then ran his fingers through his hair and grinned down at John. He raised an eyebrow and John growled before pulling him down into a kiss that made them both shiver.

"Still love me then?" Sherlock whispered against John's neck.

"Mmmm. If needs must, I suppose."

"Git." Sherlock squirmed out of John's arms, off of the bed, and into his robe; he handed John his and admonished lightly. "For now, this seems like overkill, but in all fairness to Gavin, we should dress, don't want to embarrass the poor fellow."

John sighed in agreement and reluctantly got up out of their still warm bed. "I suppose you're right, love." He drew on his robe, but left it hanging open, and Sherlock groaned.

"You surely will be the death of me, John Watson." He murmured against John's lips, freezing as he realised what he had just said.

John shook his head and rolled his eyes at him. "There are worse ways to go, you've already proven that, twice, love."

Sherlock stared at him for a moment, then threw his head back and laughed, a joyful sound that John had never heard before in all the years he had known the detective. And he had been the cause of the joy. He did the only thing he could do: kiss Sherlock gently on his nose, then tie his robe and leave their room to make tea.

"So, remember anything?" Lestrade asked, after he nodded his thanks as John placed a cup of tea into his freezing hands.

"A wall - crashing into a wall, then waking up here, so no."

Lestrade looked at Sherlock, then at John. Sherlock was in his chair, glaring and grumbling as usual, John had been sitting at the desk, fingers hovering over his keyboard, thinking of an appropriate title for a new posting, no doubt. They didn't appear to be any different than two days ago, but then he looked at the detective again, there was a new softness in his eyes, and his fingers didn't quite hide the smile as he looked over at John.

"So..."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed, then to Lestrade's surprise, he smiled. "We're good. It's good. Better than I ever imagined, honestly."

John blushed as he typed, but said nothing, there wasn't anything else to say, really.

Lestrade grinned. "Good. I'm happy for you boys, it looks good on you, both of you." He finished his tea, put the mug down, stood up and shrugged into his coat. "If anything comes up, I'll let you know." He was about to head back into the snow when Sherlock cleared his throat.

"Christmas Day, if you and Molly aren't busy, you are more than welcome to join us. We, uhm, are actually going out to get a tree -"

"An actual tree? In Baker Street? Don't tell me, mistletoe? Egg nog? Biscuits?"

Sherlock huffed and pointed at the door.

"I'm going, I'm going."

Chapter Text

They stood outside breathing in the chilled air, hand in hand, watching adults trudge through the snow with their heads down, grumbling under their breath, while the neighborhood children screamed in delight, engaged in a snowball fight of epic proportions.

John smiled. "I've never seen so much snow in my life, not even as a kid." An errant snowball splatted at their feet and John hurried across the street to engage the enemy. Sherlock sighed and pulled out his phone.

What if I'm not enough? - SH

Don't be ridiculous. - Molly

He had, almost had a real family. - SH

He wants you. Just you. Surely you must be able to deduce that. - Molly

I'm afraid, Molly. - SH

That's how you know. - Molly

Illogical. - SH

Yes. - Molly

Find him a jumper yet? - Molly

No. Been otherwise occupied. - SH

Pleasantly, I hope. - Molly

Very. :) - SH

Sherlock Holmes, you just used a smiley emoji! - Molly

I do know how, every idiot knows how - SH

But - Molly

Yes, I'm very happy Molly. - SH

About time. - Molly

Where is that eye-rolling emojithingie when you need one? - SH

John pulled Sherlock's phone out of his hand and snogged him fiercely. "God, I love you." Sherlock blinked against the brilliant blue-white of the snow, and the light in John's dark eyes told him that Molly was right. Sherlock smiled into John's love blinded eyes and laid a gloved hand against a cold, pink cheek. "And I love you. So much."

"Let's go find a tree before those hoodlums mount another attack." John grabbed Sherlock's hand and they headed off in search of the perfect tree.

Chapter Text

"D'ya suppose Big Brother knows yet?" John whispered as he glanced up at one of the ubiquitous cameras.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and pulled John into his arms. "Have anything special in mind, my love?"

"Much as I'd enjoy shocking his delicate sensibilities, the wind is picking up and our tree awaits..." John sighed as he laid a hand into Sherlock's frozen curls and kissed him gently, but passionately, claiming Sherlock's lips as his own, a kiss that would leave no doubt in Mycroft's mind -

Ping. "Yours, love," John smirked as he pulled away, then they both looked down at Sherlock's mobile.

About time, brother mine. - MH

Sherlock snorted and rolled his eyes.

Ping. "Yours, I believe?" Sherlock grinned as he nuzzled John's neck, eliciting the tiniest of growls.

"Not here, love. Unless you want to create a front page scandal." John reluctantly disengaged from the warmth of Sherlock's arms to peer at Mycroft's message.

Please, just love him. - MH

I do. I will. I promise. - JW

Good. Now kindly stay away from my cameras, you know how people invariably will talk. - MH

Don't they just? - JW

John turned off his phone, then winked up at the camera, laughing as it turned away abruptly from its previous viewing angle. He grabbed Sherlock's hand once again, bringing the detective's knuckles to his lips. Sherlock closed his eyes and swayed a bit. "Hmmm...save that thought for later?"

"Sorry."

Sherlock sighed, "don't be. I, uhm, that is, my fingers seem to be on the sensitive side."

"Ah. Oh, damn - look! That has got to be the ugliest jumper I've ever seen."

Sherlock turned back toward the window they had just passed and gasped. "Oh. John." The jumper of dubious merit was indeed atrocious; it was a cardigan, one half in deep burgundy, the other in a bright kelly green, and decorated within an inch of its handcrafted life. Enormous sequined snowflakes mingled with garish multicoloured fairy lights, that were actually blinking at them. Reindeer frolicked under a full moon, and Santa waved from his sleigh. Sherlock could only imagine what the back was like. He pulled out his camera and took a few snaps. "Let's go in, I can't even begin to deduce how awful the back must be. Please?"

John chuckled and shook his head. "The things I do for you." He kissed Sherlock's forehead, then nodded. "Lead the way, love." The door jangled merrily, as Sherlock pulled John inside the tiny store. "Bloody hell!" John managed to swear under his breath. Every inch of the shop was covered in all things outrageously Christmas, including some of the most obnoxious socks he had ever seen, and better yet, they were mismatched and obviously knitted with love. "Be right back, love, for Harry - she'll absolutely loathe them."

Sherlock barely muffled a snort and turned away, the back panel was even more glorious, a bedazzled Christmas tree glittered next to a fireplace with a roaring fire in it, stockings were hung, and there was a puppy curled up in front of the tree as if it were waiting for jolly Saint Nick. After he had recovered, he muttered to himself. "Oh, John, I'm almost sorry, but I can't help it. Happy Christmas, love." He took several snaps before he managed to attract the attention of the bored sales woman who was messing about on her phone.

I've found it! It's utterly horrendous, but charming somehow. - SH

The front. - SH

And, the back. - SH

Molly was relieved she had put her coffee down when she picked up her phone. She couldn't stop laughing and was still giggling when Lestrade walked in ten minutes later in search of a post-mortem report she had promised him.

"What is so funny?"

"Look!"

"Oh, my god - who sent - Sherlock - Molly Hooper - what have you done?"

"That's not all, look at these socks that John found."

"You are a menace to all that is Christmas, Ms. Hooper."

"They came to me for advice, Greg, I couldn't help myself."

"So...you are the reason -" He shook his head at her and pulled her into his arms.

"They just needed a bit of a nudge; it was time. How are they? I haven't seen either of them in a couple of days -"

"Completely besotted. I've never seen Sherlock really smile before, and he couldn't stop smiling when I was over there earlier. And John - he's still a bit stunned I think, stunned and head over heels in love."

"How can you tell?" Molly asked as she caught him looking at her in a way that sent a shiver through her.

"I remember the day I realised you were in love with me. He's got the same look, like he's wide awake for the first time, and he's afraid to fall asleep in case it's all a dream."

"Oh, you - damn it, Greg. I have work to do, and so do -"

He grinned as his lips found hers, bringing all thought of conversation to an abrupt halt. "Of course, Ms. Hooper, just need that report and I'll be out of your hair -"

Molly shook her head at him and pulled him in the direction of her office. "I'm taking an early lunch today, DI Lestrade." She grinned wickedly as she closed the door and locked it behind them.

Chapter Text

They tried four tree stands before they found 'their' tree. Most were simply:

too tall
too wide
too narrow
too weird
too short (John rolled his eyes as he towered over one)
too just 'uh-uh' (John's words)
one 'Are you bloody kidding me? Blue?'(an outraged Sherlock)
and one had a marked resemblance to Big Brother, which made them both shiver, and leave the stand as fast as their exhausted legs and frozen feet could carry them.

They were worn out and about to give up when they saw a small wooden sign that read "The best hot choc you've ever had. 10 feet away." Sherlock looked at the sign suspiciously, then shrugged as he heard John's teeth chatter behind him.

"Why not?"

"Hot choc and TREEZ 5 feet away," read the next sign.

"Treez?"

They stopped short as they saw a group of Sherlock's Homeless Network, serving hot cocoa and cookies to some younger kids, obviously in need of something more. Sherlock sighed. He always gave his eyes and ears on the street a bonus every December, and he had never known what they had done with the money until now.

"Billy?"

"Sherlock? Doc? Wow. Uhm - I have a nice tree saved for ya, always pick out the best in case you two ever came by, ya never did, figured ya might not be quite the Christmas type. Wait... there's somethin' different." Billy beamed at them. "Looks good on ya. Never did quite get -"

"What, Billy?" John asked quietly.

"Why ya went and married the blonde ledy - when Sherlock, well - ya know -"

"That's a fair question, Billy," John answered quietly. Sherlock had turned away, but stayed close, afraid to hear the answer, but needing to know.

"I was afraid, Billy. He left me for two years, and when he came back, I had met someone, and - well, to be honest, I was angry that he didn't trust me enough to take me with him."

"I get that, Doc. Yeah. I can understand that - yeah. Oh. Shit. Sherlock. I didn't mean - do ya wanna see your tree? She's a real beaut, the best. Honest."

"It's fine, Billy. Lead us to 'er." Sherlock reached for John's hand and blew out a heavy sigh of relief when he felt John's fingers wrap around his and give a gentle squeeze.

Billy took them around the corner, and, indeed, it was perfect; well-proportioned, just the right height and width to fit in Baker Street, and not a speck of blue or hint of Mycroft to be found.

"How long have you been doing this?" Sherlock waved a hand at the trees and the hot cocoa stand.

"Since that first Christmas you found us, we started with just the cocoa and cookies, Mrs. Hudson makes 'em, by the way. We added the trees later, I think a couple years before you met the Doc here." Billy shrugged. "We buy coats and toys for the younger ones with the money we make. You pay us well enuf, we just wanna give the kids a special treat."

Sherlock nodded and cleared his throat. Then he asked quietly, "How much for the tree?"

Billy shook his head. "Nuh-uh. This is our present to you and the Doc. You do so much fer us, dunno what I'd be doin' if not fer you -"

Sherlock shrugged. "You'd do the same for me, if roles were reversed - I know how hard it is - " He looked at John who smiled at him, "when you don't have someone."

Billy nodded."Ah, Sherlock - we have each other, you made us family. You gave us - uhm, just about everythin' didn'tya?"

John could see the emotions sweeping through the man next to him, and Billy saw it too. "Listen, how about I bring this to Baker Street for ya in a bit; the wind's pickin' up a bit and -"

John nodded and put out his hand, "Thank you, Billy, thank the others, too, please? And we will be having a bit of a party on Christmas Day -"

"You bet we'll be there." Billy grinned and one of the girls brought them each a steaming cup of cocoa, they took it and gratefully and stood quietly as one of the boys started singing:

"Sleigh bells ring
Are you listening
In the lane
Snow is glistening..."

John leaned into Sherlock's shoulder and closed his eyes, as he felt the detective's arm pull him tightly into his side. "I'm so sorry, John. There were so many days I wished for your company; your humour, your assistance, your sanity - but, I barely made it home, I knew there was a chance I wouldn't make it back, and I couldn't risk -"

"Shhhh. Listen."

"Gone stray is the bluebird
Here to stay is a new bird
He sings a love song
As we go along..."

Sherlock closed his eyes and listened to everything; the gentle carol, the ever-present cacophony of London and the howling winds, but most of all, John breathing - strong and steady next to him. His love, the one thing, the one person, that made life worth living was at his side, happily humming along. He wondered with a bit of a snort when he had become such a romantic, and realised suddenly it was the day John Watson appeared as if by magic that day in the lab. Magic, he huffed to himself.

"Yes, love. Magic." John whispered into his shoulder.

Sherlock was no longer shocked when John read his thoughts so easily; he waited til the song was over, nodded his appreciation to Billy and offered John his arm.

"Home, John?"

"Yes, love."

Later that night, as they cuddled on the couch together, Sherlock with his back to the cushions, John slotted neatly in front of him, their legs and fingers entwined, they breathed in the scent of the fresh fir tree, and Sherlock murmured, "Hypothetically speaking, would you ever, uhm. No. Never mind. Forget I said anything."

John turned in his arms and kissed him thoughtfully. "Ask me."

"Would you ever want to be married again? Hypothetically, of course."

John blinked furiously, then sat up and bit his lip, and was quiet for a long moment.

"If the right person asked me. Yes. Yes, I would. Hypothetically."

"Why? Why would you want to go through that again?" Sherlock sat up and ruffled his hair, utterly at a loss.

"She wasn't the right person. If the right person wanted to make that kind of promise, that kind of commitment to me, yes, I would wear your - his, uhm - their ring."

Sherlock froze for a split second, then seemed to reboot. "Right. Good. Dinner? Is there any of the thing with peas left? I don't recall getting any of it -"

John rolled his eyes and stood up. "It will be ready in a couple of minutes, yeah?"

Sherlock laid back down and closed his eyes. "Fine."

I think I just hypothetically proposed. - SH

Did he hypothetically accept? - Molly

Uhm, yeah, kinda, I think, not sure? - SH

Did you put a ring on his finger? - Molly

No. Nope. No ring. - SH

I think it's only binding if you put a ring on his finger. - Molly

Help. - SH

Do you want to marry him? - Molly

Yes, I want him to know, how much I love him. - SH

He knows. - Molly

He has work tomorrow, will you help me find a ring? - SH

Of course. - Molly

Thanks, Molly. Night.- SH

Night, Sherlock. - Molly

I think he kinda proposed to me. - JW

When? - GL

Just now. - JW

Really? - GL

I think so, it was hypothetical, but you know... - JW

Yeah. Damn. What'dya say, mate? - GL

Yes, of course I said yes. - JW

Wow. Okay, uhm - problem? - GL

No, not really. Feels natural somehow. - JW

Congratulations? - GL

Yeah, maybe, just think I may have spooked him a bit. - JW

Ah. Well, talk to him? See what's up? Maybe he was just curious? - GL

Yeah, talking. Hmm... yeah, not our strong suit. - JW

I know. Just talk to him. - GL

Right, ta. - JW

Anytime. - GL

Molly and Greg turned off their phones and swore at the same time.

"Bloody hell!"

Chapter Text

John placed the bowl of reheated thing with peas on the coffee table and muttered, "budge up." Sherlock sighed but obliged without another sound.

"You should eat."

"Mmmm."

"Don't go away from me - not now, please?" John stroked Sherlock's hair and waited.

"You want to talk."

"If you want to. I know you're afraid. You haven't done this before, and now you aren't quite sure-"

Sherlock's eyes flew open, and grabbed John's hand. "You are the only thing I am sure of. Never doubt that. I just don't want to disappoint you. I've never tried to be in a relationship before, and I feel like I might be rushing things, but I have wanted this, this whatever it is we are doing for so long - I just want - you don't know how it feels to see you in my arms when I wake up, what it means to know I am allowed to touch you, kiss you, need you. If I believed in miracles, I'd say it is miraculous, I don't know how -"

John watched as Sherlock sat up, then launched himself from the couch and began to pace. "I'm afraid to think too much about what's happening, because I'll find some way to break it, I won't mean to but I feel as if I step wrong, all this will simply shatter. Right now, I feel like what I assume a butterfly feels when it first emerges from the chrysalis, its wings still damp, not quite able to fly, I feel fragile, and floaty, my brain isn't helping, it wants to catalogue, analyse, keep it logical, safe so I can process it away. But, I don't want to turn you into a case to solve, I can't, there has always been too many variables when it comes to you, so much I still don't know about you, and John, I want to know everything."

Sherlock stopped pacing and after a moment turned to face John. "Tell me, please, what you are thinking, or feeling right now because I honestly can't read your face."

John stood up and moved carefully, purposefully towards Sherlock. He stopped in front of him, and smiled. "Right now, I'm thinking how much I love you. And yet, those words are too small, too overused for what I feel for you at this moment. I want nothing more than to undress you and take you to bed and make love with you, but first -"

"First?" Sherlock's eyes glittered in the firelight, and he bit his lip.

"You should eat before it gets too cold." John grinned as he gently pulled Sherlock back to the couch and sat him down. "It's still warm." He held a spoonful to Sherlock's lips and waited patiently as the detective smirked, but opened his mouth and took a bite.

"It's just as I remembered it, John. Perfect." Sherlock grabbed the spoon and finished the bowl in record time, then picked it up, carried it to the kitchen, washed and dried it, and put it away. He walked back to where John was still sitting, and offered him his hand.

John blinked up into Sherlock's eyes. "You have no idea how beautiful you are right now. I wish you knew what I can see in you; your brilliance, the way your mind works still amazes me, your eyes are telling me so much, asking me even more, and your mouth, bloody hell, Sherlock, I could lose myself in your lips for days..."

"John."

"Sherlock."

"You are the only one who ever cared enough to look beyond my flaws, no one even tried to get close to me, just you. I want so much, John. Please? I need to know what it feels like, to be with you, completely. Pl-"

John kissed Sherlock with a rawness and desire that took them both by surprise; when he pulled back, he started to apologise, but Sherlock placed a single finger to his lips and shook his curls, he whispered hoarsely, "I want more John, I want it all. Show me, please?"

John chuckled softly then muttered, "if I were younger, I'd make love to you in the light of the fire, but fact is, I'm just an old, broken soldier -"

"Bedroom, old man." Sherlock snorted and lifted John into his arms. He kissed him soundly and sighed, "there is nothing broken about you, John Watson. Nothing at all."

Chapter Text

"Have you ever? I mean, I know you have been with women, obviously, but -"

"Have I ever been with a bloke? You remember our first night at Angelo's? I said it was 'fine. It was all fine?' I had someone special in Afghanistan. He wasn't as lucky as I was. So, yes, I've - "

Sherlock nodded, looking into John's eyes. He had never seen them so dark before, so damn -

"Beautiful." He kissed John slowly and sweetly. "So beautiful."

"What?" John choked back something that he thought was long buried, then began unbuttoning Sherlock's shirt, taking his time, caressing, tasting as he went, smiling, as he heard Sherlock sigh and sway a bit before steadying himself.

"Your eyes, John. You have beautiful eyes."

John shook his head. "I've never understood."

"What?" Sherlock shivered as John's hands began to undo his trousers, then felt his confident fingers on his zip and his brain whirred to a dead stop.

"You could have had anyone you wanted, and yet you chose me." He pushed Sherlock's pants and trousers down to the floor. "Step out, love." Somehow Sherlock's ears and muscles were still working and he followed John's instructions. "You gorgeous, brilliant, amazing man. Why me, Sherlock?" He pushed Sherlock's soft blue shirt from his shoulders and watched it float to the floor.

"I knew, John, from the moment I saw you, from the first words I heard you speak, that you - oh, John, I -" Sherlock opened his eyes to see John yanking off his jeans, madly hopping on one foot, trying to keep his balance, and he giggled, then snorted, then burst out laughing as John sat down hard on his arse. "I'm sorry - but, John, oh, love." He helped John to his feet, sat him on the edge of his, no, their bed, and untangled the jeans from his ankles. "You were the first person who made me laugh. The first to forgive me for being different..." He pulled John's jumper over his head and started on the button-down. "So many layers, John. So much-" Sherlock knelt in front of John and looked up, asking for permission. John nodded and lifted his hips, then Sherlock removed John's boxers. "You want me." He sat back, in wonder. "You don't know how remarkable it is to know that, John. That you could ever want me is still so astonishing."

John bit his lip to stop the emotions from shattering him completely. "Sherlock. I need you, you have no idea how much I - " John yanked the last bits of clothing off and stretched out on the bed. He closed his eyes and waited. After a long moment, he felt Sherlock's long fingers touching him gently, simply letting John know that he was there next to him, and then Sherlock straddled him suddenly, knocking all of the air from his lungs. He opened his eyes to see Sherlock watching him. The light in his remarkable eyes broke him completely. "Damn. I don't deserve - Sherlock, please, I don't know how to -" Sherlock leaned over and put his nose in the spot that absolutely sent John around the bend. "How? Ohhhhh god - "

"Shhh, let me? Let me love you, John."

"Do you have -"

"Uhm-hmm. Side table drawer. Slow down, Captain Watson, I want to get to know you, every gorgeous, sassy inch of you."

"Oh, bloody hell -" and then for the first time, John Watson let someone love him, for everything he was, his flaws and scars included.

"John?"

"Yeah?"

"Will you, I want you inside me, please? I - "

John looked up into Sherlock's wrecked face, knowing it matched his, and nodded. "Lie back love."

Sherlock laid against the pillows, his chest heaving and his face flushed a lovely pink, his eyes were blown darker than the December night sky, and John thought he had never seen him more beautiful. "Sherlock. Love. My remarkable, brilliant, amazing, gorgeous man, I'm going to make you feel so good."

John knelt between Sherlock's knees and placed gentle kisses along one thigh, and then the other, then dared to gaze into Sherlock's face again, and was humbled by the honesty he found there. He had never seen his friend so unguarded, so human, so touchable before. It was all he could do not to come right then and there.

"John?" Sherlock whispered.

"Look into my eyes, love. I'm going to touch you now, look at me, there you are, yeah?" John grabbed the lube and slicked up his fingers, then found Sherlock's eyes again, as he gently massaged around Sherlock's entrance. He stopped as he felt the detective freeze. "Breathe, love. We don't have to do this tonight -"

"NO. I want you, John. I want to feel you, please?" Sherlock pleaded. "I need you."

John nodded, and kissed him as he gently pressed a finger into the tightest heat he had ever felt in his life. "Bloody hell, love. You feel so -"

"Good. More, John, I need - yesssss. Oh. Hmmmm -"

"Breathe, Sherlock - I have you, love."

After a few minutes of patient give and take, gentle kisses and a few swear words when John removed his fingers, John put a condom on and slicked himself up, then entered Sherlock slowly. Somehow he was able to keep his eyes open to see Sherlock's expressive eyes pop, then roll back into his head. He reached blindly for John's arms, grabbing on tightly, holding on as if it were the only thing keeping him from lifting off from the bed.

"Johnnnnnn. More, please?"

John closed his eyes and pushed in, hearing sounds that made all higher thought impossible, he knew he was responsible for some of them, but he couldn't be arsed to care. Finally, he was fully seated inside his best friend, his lover, the better part of himself, and he pushed a damp curl from Sherlock's eyes. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock's eyes were tightly shut, and a single tear ran down a sharp cheekbone. "John. I - move, please, I need you to move?"

John nodded and gently pulled out the tiniest bit, then pushed back in. "Sher - oh, hell, I'm so sorry -"

"John - I know, I'm so close, you feel - ungggggh, yesss - oh Johnnnnnn."

John pulled out completely then pushed back in, and with a muffled cry as he was neatly tucked into Sherlock's neck, he felt Sherlock tighten around him; and he was lost.

After what felt like an eternity, he mumbled, "I'm sorry, so sorry - I just -" He stopped talking as he felt Sherlock's arms wrap around him, and soft lips press into his sweat-drenched hair.

"That was brilliant, John. You have nothing to apologise for, I - you. I love you, so - damn, I'm so tired, John. Who knew?" Sherlock's arms relaxed, and John heard a slight snore escape from those remarkable lips.

John pulled out slowly, carefully slid the condom off and tied it, then binned it. He sat up and looked at the man beneath him, the moonlight softened the sharp, long edges of his love, and he shook his head. "My heart. You are nothing less than my heart, Sherlock." He made himself get up and go to the loo for a warm, damp flannel, to clean them both off. When he returned, Sherlock's eyes were open and he smiled at John, a new kind of smile, a gentle kind of knowing rested in his features - it told him all he needed to know. He knelt by the bed and washed the detective, gently and lovingly, stopping when Sherlock's hand covered his.

"I didn't know why, I thought I knew, theoretically, I understood, but now, now I know why people do awful, terrible acts in the name of what they call 'love'. John. I -"

"Sherlock?"

"I'm suddenly starving, and I want to decorate our tree and I want to cuddle with you on the couch and watch crap telly. A fire in the fireplace - you, I want to hold you and never move again. I want everything -" Sherlock clapped a hand over his mouth and his eyes glittered at John in surprise.

"Shhh...let me throw on some clothes and rebuild the fire. Slow down, love, I'm not going anywhere except to the front room and the kitchen. Breathe for me? There, in and out, in and out. When you're ready, put on your robe and come sit with me. I think we have some biscuits - I'll put the kettle on, yeah?"

Sherlock nodded, then moved his hand and whispered. "You do love me, don't you, John?"

John's jaw dropped and he was speechless for a moment, then he found his voice. "Yeah, Sherlock, I honestly do. I didn't really understand how much until now. But, yeah, I do." He grinned and pressed his lips against Sherlock's, then stood up and shrugged into his clothes.

"Take all the time you need."

Sherlock watched John leave the room and closed his eyes for a moment. Then picked up his phone.

He loves me, Molly. - SH

I know, you idiot. - Molly

He really, really loves me. - SH

You deserve it, sweetie. - Molly

Do I? I don't know. - SH

Of course you do. Tomorrow, yeah? - Molly

Yes. Tomorrow. - SH

Sherlock turned off his phone and wondered suddenly if he looked any different. His insides told him he was forever changed by a simple act of love. He needed to know if it showed on his face, so he threw himself from the bed, wrestled with his robe until he could tie it loosely around his waist and went to look.

"Oh. Oh John, what you've done to me." He peered into the mirror, observing all the minute changes, a new softness had claimed the sharpness, a gentleness replaced the hardness that had always resided in his glowing eyes. Smile lines had somehow overcome a general severity that used to carry him through life. He looked for any remnant of his former self, then blinked to find John behind him. "John. I'm - you've, I'm not the same. How?"

"You finally understand how much I love you. You believe in it, in me, in us. It's overwritten everything else, love."

"How do people exist like this on a daily basis? My brain, it's gone mushy, John, all it can think about is kissing you."

John laughed and placed his hands on Sherlock's hips and turned him carefully. "I think we will both survive. Your brain will adapt, promise." He kissed Sherlock's worried nose crinkle and smiled gently.

"Promise?"

"Yeah. Let's get some tea and biscuits in you?"

Sherlock bit his lip, unsure, but allowed John to lead him to the couch. A fire danced in the fireplace, a plate of his favourite chocolate biscuits waited on the coffee table and John pushed a mug of tea into his trembling hands. He took a sip and sighed, then leaned back into John's waiting arms.

"John?"

"Yeah."

"Thank you."

"My pleasure, love."

Chapter Text

John groaned as his alarm went off, but then grinned when he remembered the night before, and felt Sherlock's curls tickle his chin, long legs were entangled with his, Sherlock's fingers were...damn. He had never had a partner wake him this way before, gently stroking, exploring, then Sherlock disappeared under the duvet and the lips John had only dreamed of for so long were kissing, and his tongue...that wicked tongue - John covered his mouth with both hands to muffle the sounds he had no control over.

"Good morning, John." Sherlock murmured softly, before taking John in completely.

John bellowed as he came down Sherlock's throat, then sighed as Sherlock released him, and popped out from under the covers.

"Good morning, Sherlock - uhm, no gag reflex, then, love?" John whispered, then kissed him, hard; it had been so long since he had last tasted himself on someone's lips, and it shocked him how much it meant to him.

"Nope." Sherlock grinned at John, but then saw something in his eyes, and rolled them, so he could hold John in his arms. Sherlock didn't say anything for a moment, just held on to him, as John tried to organise his thoughts, but found that he was suddenly overwhelmed by everything that had happened over the last few days. "I know, John. Mush. Feels like you got hit by a lorry, doesn't it? You are still the same person you were a couple of days ago, at least physically, you seem to be in working order."

John laughed and sat up. Sherlock smiled at him, and touched his arm lightly. "I love you, and I would love to spend the rest of my life in bed with you, but you have work in an hour and I have things to do. You take a shower and I'll make the tea?"

"This is my life now?" John asked quietly, mostly to himself.

"No, our life, John. Now, go, scoot before I change my mind."

"I love you." John bent over the smirking detective and plundered his remarkable mouth, then scooted.

"Unfair." Sherlock grumbled, then pressed his fingers to his lips, and smiled again.

Can't stop smiling, it's awful. - SH

One of the side effects, not much to be done. - Molly

Damn. :) - SH

Know where you want to go today? - Molly

Yup, know the perfect place. - SH

10ish? Meet me at Bart's, lunch after? - Molly

See you then. - SH

Tea was made, bread was toasted and spread with jam when John appeared in the kitchen. He glanced at Sherlock; hair askew, his robe barely hanging on his shoulders as he stood at the table with a mug in his hand, lost in his thoughts.

"Hey." John whispered, then he took the mug away and pulled Sherlock into a gentle embrace. "I hate that I have to work today. These last few days, Sherlock, I have never been as happy, you make me so happy, love."

Sherlock buried his face into John's neck, and pressed a kiss under his ear. "Thank you, John."

John shuddered, then sighed. He didn't have to ask what he was being thanked for, he understood, but wanted to feel Sherlock's lips at his ear just a bit longer. "What for, love?"

Sherlock smiled and murmured into John's most sensitive point. "For loving me so well."

"My pleasure, love."

They broke apart reluctantly; John sipped at his tea, while he watched Sherlock as he drizzled honey on his toast, then after dipping his finger in it, he brought it to his lips.

"Tease."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him and sucked the sweetness from his finger. "I'm thinking..."

John's brain and body conspired against him, and he jumped up from the table, stormed over to where Sherlock had frozen, finger still in his mouth, and he pulled Sherlock back against him, knowing Sherlock could feel his desire through his heavy cords. Sherlock moaned, then turned in his arms. "John. Please?" John nodded and dropped to his knees. He undid Sherlock's robe to find him hard and needing him. "Please, Joh - oh, yeahhh." John licked, kissed, and teased, inspiring Sherlock to the most amazing sounds John had ever heard, before finally showing some mercy, and taking him in slowly. Sherlock's fingers gripped John's shoulders and he yelled John's name as he came. John felt Sherlock's knees begin to give way, so he pulled off, then stood up and scooped him up and into his arms. Sherlock's head fell against John's shoulder as his eyes closed.

"I -"

"Uhm-hmm. I know, love. I'm going to lay you down in our bed and go to work. I love you beyond reason and sense, Sherlock. I'll try to be home as early as I can." He laid Sherlock down softly and watched him gently ease into sleep. He kissed his forehead, then left their room, and closed the door quietly behind him.

Sherlock walked into the lab and Molly looked up.

"Oh. Sherlock." She covered her mouth to muffle her squeal of joy, then walked over to him and hugged him fiercely.

"It's that obvious." He nibbled his lip and tried not to smile.

"Uhm, yeah. A bit. Let me get my coat so we can get out of here before -"

"Damn." Sherlock desperately tried to school his features into its normal neutral scowl.

Anderson and Donovan pushed through the door, and froze.

"We're heading out, your report's on my desk." Molly turned towards her office and tried not to laugh as she saw the light bulbs blink on.

"Holmes. You look -" Anderson's mouth stopped working and he would have fallen to the floor if not for the chair that sat nearby. Donovan rolled her eyes and pushed him into it.

Donovan grinned. "You and John. Finally. Looks good on you, Holmes."

"Uhm, thanks?" Sherlock managed, as a shy grin spread across his face.

"Ignore Phil. Go on, I'll get him moving again once you're gone."

Sherlock nodded and Molly threw on her coat and grabbed her bag.

"Seriously, Sherlock, congratulations. You and John deserve to be happy."

"Thanks, Donovan."

"Okay, where to?" Molly asked as they hopped into a taxi before the flurries started up again. Sherlock gave the cabbie the address of the antique shop where he and John had bought the star and bells.

Molly clapped her hands in delight. "My favourite shop. I didn't know you knew it. It is the perfect place, Sherlock."

They pulled up and Sherlock paid, then opened Molly's door.

She gave him her hand and paused for a moment. "Sherlock?"

"Yeah?"

"It's really good. This, uhm, you and John. It's better than good, it's brilliant, it's perfect."

Sherlock felt his face heat up and could only nod. It was one thing for John to see him so open and slightly awkward in these first days, for Molly to acknowledge their relationship with such warmth and love meant more than he thought it would. But then, she had seen him at his absolute worst and most broken, even more than John ever had, and she had loved him even then in her way.

"Thanks, Moll. It, uhm, we never would have happened without your help. I - I don't think I ever thanked you enough for what you did."

Molly bit her lip and shook her head. "Just seeing you and John happy, knowing what it took to get here, that's enough, Sherlock. C'mon, let's go find John something. Yeah?"

Sherlock grinned and held her up as she slipped on an icy patch. The bells announced their arrival, and the owner, Henry, shouted out a greeting:

"Molly! Been too long, young lady. And my new friend, brought your violin, Mr. Holmes?"

"Not this time, Henry," Molly grinned. "Sherlock needs something, an engagement present -"

"For your John. Yes, I thought you might be in the market for something. I have just the thing. He has been married before - I know the signs, young man, perhaps not a ring, then? But this?" He put a small wooden box on the counter and watched with satisfaction as he knew Sherlock understood how special the item was, how rare and treasured it had been.

"Oh, Sherlock. It's beautiful, Henry."

Sherlock picked up the pocket watch, he could tell the year it was made, who made it, it was -

"One of a kind."

Sherlock nodded quietly.

"Just like your John."

"Yes, Henry, just like my John."

Sherlock sat and chatted with Henry as Molly rummaged through the new bits Henry had found since she had been in. Henry told him of his own friend of the heart, but he hadn't been as fortunate. "Different time, people weren't as accepting then, there were laws... we both married good, lovely women, but our hearts, our hearts never forgot."

Sherlock nodded, and cleared his throat. "His name?"

"Johann."

"John."

Henry turned away and returned with a black and white photo. "My John."

Sherlock held the framed photo gently in his hands. "Henry."

"Yes, it was like seeing a ghost."

"He's -?"

Henry blinked and looked away. "Long ago. He's been gone thirty years now. I still miss -"

"I'm so sorry, Henry. Was this his? His watch?"

"Yes, my friend, I've been saving it for the right person. It is yours, for your love. A gift. Please? No. I can't take anything for it. Never take him for granted."

"No. I never have. I never will."

Molly interrupted them with a squeak of sheer happiness. "Henry, how did you know I was coming?" She was wearing a deep burgundy velvet jacket, with black buttons, and a wild, floppy straw hat covered in bright flowers and...

"Bees!" Sherlock giggled at his friend. He bought Molly the jacket and the hat, and a few books for his collection that he had been searching for. He bowed deeply and patted his pocket. "Henry, next time, I play for you and your John, yes?"

Henry smiled and came from behind his counter. Sherlock was shocked by how tiny his friend was, then he caught sight of the stool he had been perched on. Henry laughed. "Ha! That's why I stay behind there, my friend. But I need to embrace you, you are so full of light and love right now, but scared, yes?"

Sherlock bent down to meet his friend's eyes and he admitted, "yes, it's absolutely terrifying." Henry hugged Sherlock around his shoulders, then whispered into Sherlock's ear.

Henry's words echoed Molly's text from a day ago. "It's how you know. It's how you know you are alive and loved. There is always the fear of losing it. Love him, love him truly and well, my friend."

Chapter Text

Sherlock and Molly walked over to a hole in the wall tea shop that Molly was fond of for tea. They sat by the window, and watched the snow fall in silence for a moment. The girl at the counter raised an eyebrow at Molly and she nodded. Soon, a pot of tea and a pile of fairy cakes arrived.

"Come here often, then?" Sherlock mused quietly, before adding three spoons of sugar to his tea.

"A bit, yeah." Molly grinned. "Talk?"

"About?" He looked down into his tea as he stirred it, then he raised his eyes to meet Molly's warm expression.

"The weather? Politics? Oh, I dunno, a certain blogger named John? Pick one?"

"Don't think I've seen this much snow since I was in the Ukraine. Is Victor- no, it's Elizabeth, still Queen? And, uhm, yeah, I'm a bit fond of John." He took a sip of tea and sighed. "Good tea."

Meet me for a sandwich, or something? - JW

Pub, ten minutes? - GL

Ta. - JW

"Damn." Greg looked at John's face as he sat down across from him. "You've got it bad, mate."

John looked down at his hands and nodded. "Yeah. It's great. He's great."

"I'm hearing a 'but'?" Lestrade got the bartender's attention and ordered two coffees.

"It's me. I'm so afraid I'm going fuck it up somehow. I look at him and I lose track of everything; my brain shuts down, it feels like my heart actually hurts when we're apart, even if he is just in the next room for a minute or two. My track record stinks." John took a sip of coffee and shrugged. "I don't know what it is -"

"What what is?" Lestrade narrowed his eyes at his friend.

"Why he loves me," John mumbled into his cup.

"Damn it, John." Lestrade pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Since the day I met you, I've known. I've known him for over, what ten years, now? Maybe it's longer, I've lost track. He has never even truly liked anyone but you. I mean, he and Molly are friends, but it's Molly, she's different. But I saw his face when he brought you to the Pink Lady crime scene. You barely knew each other, but I dunno, he was different, you had changed him at a fundamental level in less than a day. You allowed him to be human, somehow. He trusted you, and you didn't leave like everyone else did."

"No. He left me." John shook his head. "He left me, Greg. I know why, but -"

"Are you afraid he will leave again?"

"No. God, no. I'm just afraid he will get bored."

"Bored." Lestrade shook his head. "He will never get bored with you, mate. I've seen him look at you when you are examining a corpse, and his eyes - they fucking light up. Have since that first case, you are endlessly intriguing to him..."

"I've never known why he stayed."

"Seriously?" Molly rolled her eyes at him. "Sherlock."

"No one else ever did." He dragged his finger through the icing of his third fairy cake and licked it off.

"You didn't give anyone a chance until John."

"He needed me. No one has ever asked that of me before. And then he walked in the flat and sat down in the chair and he looked...he looked..."

"Like?" Molly prompted.

"He fit. Like he was meant to be there. He never asked me to change. Not really. He seemed to just understand somehow, and I've never known why. I don't believe in the whole 'soul mate' thing, or 'meant to be'...but..." He poured another cup of tea and shrugged.

"But?"

"I wasn't planning on being at the lab that day, Molly. I was...uhm...I was on my way to my old dealer, I just needed - I needed to not be here for a while, but then I got a text from Lestrade, he had a question about something, can't even remember what it was now, but I ended up needing to recheck a result. And then, Mike walked in with John, and there was something, something about how he met my eyes, I saw everything, and nothing. It was fascinating. Someone who had such a shut down internal life that all I could see was what he wanted me to see...he was still surprised by how much I could see, and he wasn't turned off by my deductions, he wanted, needed to be seen. And..."

"...he saw me. I felt seen for the first time ever, in my life." John pushed his plate away and shook his head.

"Stripped naked too, a bit? He was always doing that, back then, he wielded it like a weapon." Lestrade sighed. "It was like a test. You were the first to pass it."

John laughed and finished his coffee. "And now, after all these years, everything is so easy for us, finally, and I'm fucking terrified. I'm actually in love, Greg. And I love him, and I want to be with him for the rest of my life."

"Tell him that."

"What?"

"Just tell him."

"Yeah, right." John sighed and picked up the check. "Thanks, Greg. I appreciate you listening. I know I'm an idiot, it's just hard to trust my gut with this kind of stuff. I've been wrong so many times."

"It's Sherlock, John. He isn't everyone else. You know that. Just enjoy being with him."

"I'm having fun, Molly. He makes me laugh and feel everything, all at once. Just this morning - I -" He stopped and bit his lip. "Never mind. Let's just say, I think I make him feel the same way. And it's better than anything, ever. Better than a locked door murder - he just..." His words faded and Molly nodded.

"I know, Sherlock." She covered his hand with hers, and he grabbed her fingers.

"He's my world, Molly. He's everything. I never thought I'd have someone, especially not him, never thought I wanted it, and now. Now -"

"Yeah, I know. Just tell him. You gonna give him the watch tonight?"

"I think so, I was going to wait til Christmas, but I think I want to do it, today. Right now."

"Now?"

"Right now."

Molly shook her head and went to pay for the tea. The girl at the counter nodded at Sherlock, he had paid after a trip to the gents.

"Let's go then."

Meet us at Bart's? - Molly

Why, what's wrong? - JW

Just be there? - Molly

On my way. - JW

"What's up?" Greg asked as he pulled on his gloves.

"Have to meet Sherlock at Bart's."

"My car's just out front, I'll take you."

"Ta."

Sherlock was pacing, mumbling the Periodic Table when John and Greg walked in.

John took one look at Sherlock and took a deep breath - his hair was a mess, like he'd been running his fingers through it, he only did that when he was nervous about something.

"Sher-"

"John. You know how I asked you hypothetically if you ever wanted to get married again?"

"Uh-huh. Sh-"

"Just, uhm, hear me out. Please, sit? This could take me a while."

John sat, trying to hide the giggle that was threatening to escape.

Molly gave Greg a look which told him all he needed to know, and they disappeared into her office and closed the door.

Sherlock cleared his throat and began. "Thing is, I love you, John Watson. I didn't know what it meant to care, truly care about anyone until I met you. I love you, and it's the best and most terrifying feeling - and I want to love you for the rest of our lives. Will you let me, please? Marry me." He pulled the box from his pocket and placed it front of John on the counter. "Henry thought this would be an appropriate token of how I -"

John opened the box and blinked furiously at the treasure in his hands. "Sherlock -"

"Too soon? I knew it -"

"No. NO. Stop. It's beautiful, and you're absolutely perfect, and gorgeous, and brilliant." John put the box down, and pulled Sherlock into his arms."Yes. Yes, love, of course I'll marry you. Of course I will." He felt Sherlock tremble, and he hummed quietly. "Shh, I have you, love. I'm scared too. But you are simply the only person I want to go to bed with at night, and wake up next to every morning. Especially if you continue to wake me the way you did this morning."

Sherlock sniffed and giggled. "You liked that, hmm?"

"Uhmm-hmmm."

Sherlock stepped back and pushed his curls from his face. "I think that can be arranged."

John grinned and wiped Sherlock's tears away. "I'll bring home some curry tonight? I gotta go back to work - god, I love you, so much." He kissed Sherlock softly, put the watch in his pocket and flew out the door.

Sherlock put a finger to his lips, then pulled out his phone.

I love you, too. - SH

He sat on the stool and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and blew it out again. He got up and knocked on Molly's door. "I'm heading home, I have a tree to decorate. Lestrade, uhm, thanks."

He put on his gloves, and walked out of the lab, and into a taxi.

You're welcome. - GL

He rolled his eyes as he saw the straightened knocker upon his arrival home. He pushed it askew and wondered what the hell his brother needed now.

Chapter Text

Sherlock took his time going up the stairs, knowing unannounced visits usually meant trouble of one kind or another. At last, he pushed open the door open to find Mycroft chatting uncomfortably with Mrs. Hudson on their couch.

"Ah, brother mine, we were just discussing -" Mycroft had the grace to blush a bit, so Sherlock decided to be kind.

"the weather? Dreadful, isn't it? Mrs. Hudson, I know Mycroft loves your gingerbread, and I could smell it as I came in the door. Perhaps -?" He winked at his landlady, who stood and kissed his cheek, then returned to her flat.

Sherlock sighed and moved to the window. "I'm assuming you're here for a reason, Mycroft?"

"I thought I'd just stop by to see how things are progressing?"

"You mean you wanted to check up on me when you knew John would be at work?"

"Are you quite sure -" Mycroft began and then paused, a rare uncertainty was in his voice, and Sherlock turned to face him.

"About-?" He cocked an amused eyebrow at Mycroft, and realised for the first time in his life, he had something that Mycroft could not even contemplate, let alone begin to understand.

"This...entanglement? You know I've become rather...fond of John, but a relationship? We aren't equipped to deal with relations-"

Sherlock turned back towards the window and sighed. "I asked him to marry me today, nice romantic spot -"

"The morgue?" Mycroft groaned, then shrugged. "An appropriate place for the pair of you - and?"

"He said yes, Myc." Sherlock mumbled at the window. "He actually said yes."

Mycroft stood up from the couch and wandered over to the tree, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath in. "Mmm...smells like the trees we had as kids. Do you remember, Sherlock?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No. I'm pretty sure I deleted them all. Didn't think they were important."

"I have some of Mum's ornaments in the attic, I can have them sent over -"

Before he could stop himself, Sherlock moved from the window and walked toward his brother, stopping just short of reaching out to touch him. "No, bring them yourself, Christmas Day. Don't say you're busy, you can take a couple hours off once in a while."

Sherlock swore to himself as Mycroft stood silently. He always had a response, even a canned one; this silence was new, somehow it felt wrong. "Never mind. Terrible idea. Forget I asked." He sat down on the floor and peering into a box of Mrs. Hudson's fairy lights, groaned at the tangled mess. "We just should have bought new ones."

"Here, allow me. Mum, for all of her brilliance, always just dumped the lights in a big box when she took the tree down. By December 26, she was well over the season -" Mycroft took off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and sat down on the couch, pulling a box in front of him. "Why don't you start a fire, this may take some time."

When John arrived home, an hour earlier than usual, he found Sherlock playing at the window, while Mycroft was humming along as he plugged in the lights, then stood back to make sure it was perfectly done. John whistled in admiration, resulting in a momentary lapse of decorum, as Mycroft dropped the f-bomb.

"John. I didn't realise it was so late, I, uhm, understand congratulations are in order? I should be going, have calls to return, wars to start, governments to topple, you know -" He threw his jacket on and made for the door.

"Mycroft, I have plenty of curry, please stay? You are welcome -"

Sherlock stopped playing and turned to see what his brother would do. He thought implosion was improbable but not out of the realm of possibility. "Please, Myc, John always buys three times more than even he can eat."

"No, brother mine, I have had a lovely afternoon, but I do have work to do, and I'm sure the two of you would prefer to be alone. I think I'll just pop down and see if Mrs. Hudson has any more gingerbread I can take home with me. I will see you on Christmas Day, if that is acceptable, John? Sherlock extended an invitation, but I -"

"Of course, Mycroft. No one should be on their own on Christmas. Please invite Anthea as well, she is more than welcome."

Mycroft froze again momentarily, but then nodded. "Thank you, John, I will certainly pass that along." He grabbed his coat and flew down the stairs, forgetting his umbrella.

John chuckled and put down the curry before grabbing the umbrella and opening the door, prepared to give chase."Mycroft." He shook his head as he saw him waiting on the landing. He closed the door and muttered, "you always - damn. Before you say anything; I know I have let him down before -"

"He is very important to me, John. He has been hurt in ways I can't even imagine, please, just -"

"I love him, Mycroft."

Mycroft sighed and nodded. "Our parents, for all of their shortcomings, loved one another and us very much. They had always hoped we would find people who, well, could understand us enough to love us. He is, as you know, different. He is the most unique person I've ever known, and I thought I knew him better than anyone, but I've come to realise he is capable of great love. We had a remarkable afternoon, John. I had never dreamed he'd ever be content, let alone happy. He is happy, John, and it is because he knows how to love and is loved in return. I know that, and I thank you for it. Please, just be patient, he - no, I don't have to tell you." He turned to go, but John touched his arm, stopping him.

"I'm sorry."

Mycroft narrowed his eyes, but then softened his shoulders just a bit and whispered, "it was a long time ago, John. I've deleted...not quite everything. I just never wanted him to go through the same pain. It was excruciating to say the least. I have tried and failed, to properly let my brother know how important he is. I have faith you will succeed. Good night, John, and welcome to the family, such as we are." He almost smiled before he turned and walked down the stairs. Mrs. Hudson was waiting outside her door with a tin.

"We'll see you Christmas Day then, dear?"

"Yes, Mrs. Hudson, news travels quite quickly here, doesn't it?"

"If you only knew." She looked up at John and winked, then gave Mycroft a kiss on the cheek and sent him on his way.

John was still smiling when he walked back into the flat. Sherlock had opened the cartons and poured wine, and was stretched out on the couch, wearing only his robe.

He removed his jacket and shoes, then pulled off his jumper and was working on his buttons when slender hands stopped him. "Let me."

John dropped his hands and leaned back into Sherlock's chest. He closed his eyes and focused on the long fingers that were slowly undressing him. "I missed you," he whispered.

"I know, John, I missed you too."

Chapter Text

John shivered at Sherlock's touch, and muttered in a husky voice he hardly recognised as his own, "the curry will keep, unless you are hungry?" Sherlock's elegant fingers started on his trousers and all thoughts of food vanished, all that mattered at the moment and the foreseeable future were the light touches and deep whispers of love that rumbled in his ear.

"Bedroom, John?"

"Mmhmmm, please?"

Sherlock placed a single kiss in John's hair, and he smiled as he felt his blogger groan softly and reach for his hand. "Shhh, John, I have you, step out, there." John whimpered as he felt Sherlock's fingers caress him for a moment before leading him to their room, and pushing him gently down on to their bed.

Sherlock turned on the light, then joined him on the bed. John raised a questioning eyebrow and Sherlock whispered, "I just wanted to see if you looked any different now that we're engaged to be married."

"And, do I?" John grinned up at his love's bright eyes.

After a cursory examination, Sherlock sat back and shook his head. "Hmm...no...you seem to have remained unchanged, except..."

"Except?"

"Your eyes, John, something about your eyes - you finally know, don't you?"

"Know what?" John murmured before pulling Sherlock into a deep kiss.

"How much I love you, you really know."

John nodded and reached over to turn the light, but then changed his mind.

Sherlock pulled away, a crease of worry appearing suddenly. "What, John, is something -?"

"No, love. Everything is perfect. You're perfect. I just want to see you, all of you, please, Sherlock?"

"John." Sherlock bit his lip, but saw only love and understanding in his love's eyes, and he smiled shyly. "Yes, John."

John unwrapped him from his blue dressing gown, and laid him on his stomach. Sherlock's breath caught, and John could see apprehension tighten his slight but strong shoulders, but he laid a kiss at the nape of Sherlock's neck, and John watched Sherlock's muscles release, and a sigh escaped from deep within him. "You're safe, love. You are so beautiful, and you are loved, so loved." John traced each and every scar, with his lips and sweet words, until he heard his best friend, his lover and someday husband sobbing into his pillows. John flipped him gently, and cradled him in his arms. "My amazing, brilliant and gentle man. You are my heart, my reason, my everything, I -"

Sherlock placed a trembling finger on John's lips, and whispered into John's chest. "I know, John. I never believed you could love me as deeply, and as illogically as I do you. The past few days have taught me I was wrong, so wrong, John. I never believed I was worthy of a fairy tale love." He heard John chuckle and he shook his head. "It's true, John. We are each other's princes and damsels in distress, we have rescued the other so many times, it would be a very long and ridiculous tale, and you have already romanticised us enough to the point of...never mind, as much as I railed against your narratives of me, of us, I held on to those bits, I saw them as proof of your love until I knew for sure. I've been trying to understand why you love me, and now I know. We have been put on this planet to love one another. That's why I'm here, still here somehow, after everything; it's why you survived, to find me, to love me." Sherlock placed a kiss over John's heart, then laid flush against him, and looked down into John's blown eyes and tear-stained face.

"Sherlock." John pushed his hands into the raven curls, and simply took in the man above him. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out except a deep groan as Sherlock moved his hips against John's, ever so slightly. Sherlock spent the next hour taking his love apart, then putting him back together, bit by bit. Finally Sherlock collapsed around John, who was still shuddering from the aftershocks and wrapped his long arms and legs around him. "Dinner?" He whispered in John's ear.

"In a bit, will you just, just be here, where you are, be with me?"

Sherlock nodded, pulling John tighter against his chest. "Of course, John. Rest, now, I have you." John turned in Sherlock's arms and kissed him once more, barely a brushing of his lips against his chest, but Sherlock hummed in response. "Sleep, my love, my John." Sherlock held John as he slept a dreamless sleep, watching over him until he too, could no longer keep his eyes open.

Mrs. Hudson tapped on the flat door, and finding it unlocked as always, she walked in. She made her way in, through the trail of discarded clothing, shaking her head, but smiling in spite of the mess. "Boys," she muttered with a sigh, as she spied the uneaten supper laid out, on a clean kitchen table for once. She rolled her eyes but boxed everything back up and stowed it in a nearly spotless fridge, then went to check on them. "My boys," she murmured as she threw the duvet over them, then left the room, closing the door silently behind her.

Chapter Text

Sherlock opened his eyes, blinking against a rare sunny morning. He considered stretching, but his arms were already in use, both wrapped around a very comfortably warm and sound asleep, or perhaps not so sound aslee-

"John -!"

His 'betrothed' (though he thought, when he could think again, 'partner' would be best for the general public) snorted and hummed as he made his way up from under the - wait - as bewilderingly besotted as he knew himself to be, he knew he hadn't pulled the duvet over them as he drifted off last night.

"John?" He whispered in a slightly concerned, possibly embarrassed tone.

"Love?" John grinned at him, more awake and a bit more coherent than himself. "I do believe we need to make a more concerted effort to lock our door, at the very least put up a 'Do Not Disturb' sign? At least it was only Mrs. Hudson, who has no doubt, been dreaming of the day when she finds us in bed together for the last I don't know how many years and not Mycroft."

"Perish the thought!" Though it did make Sherlock giggle to think of Lestrade barging in; no, he could have the 'dynamic duo' with him and he cringed. "I think we need to invest in some new hardware for the front door and perhaps make sure the lock for this room actuall - John, oh, wait, do that last bit again, yes, that, there, ohhhhh -"

Downstairs, Mrs. Hudson smiled happily as she turned up the news a bit louder as she started the washing up from her morning tea.

Chapter Text

Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes as John resumed running his fingers in his slightly damp curls as they(John) watched one of those 'Holiday' films he once found insufferable; he thought back to his emergency meeting with Molly just three days ago, wasn't it?

"Sherlock, are you feeling well? What's wro-?"

"I - I'm in love with him Molly, and I'm afraid if I don't change or something, he will leave, and if he leaves again...I don't even know if he...I need help, what can I do? I'll do anything, anything at all, Molly. He, he just seems so sad, and I don't know how to -"

Molly shook her head, crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. "Seriously."

Sherlock stopped pacing, and finally looked at his friend. "What?"

"He wouldn't be there if he didn't want to be."

He narrowed his eyes at her, and then blinked. "You think..."

"Yes..."

"No. He couldn't poss -"

"Think, Sherlock. He came home. His home is not Baker Street."

"No?"

"Home isn't a place, it's not a building, Sherlock."

"He, uhm..." She nodded as she saw realisation slowly sink in. "I'm -? Molly? I need - what do I do?"

"Make him tea. Clean the fridge. Disinfect the table. Go to the shops. Ask him about his day."

Sherlock tapped his bottom lip nervously deep in thought. "But that has nothing to do with Christmas..."

"Means you are thinking of him. You are putting his comfort first, above your absentminded mad scientist/detective bit, it's a thing people do, who love one another - hasn't he usually done that for you?"

"Sherlock? Love?" John kissed his forehead, then his nose and he smiled as Sherlock blinked at him.

"Hmm?"

"It's Christmas Eve, probably should start decorating a bit. Oh, and the gift from Henry, I almost forgot. Shall we open that now?"

Sherlock sat up and stretched, grinning as he heard John's breathing modify just ever so slightly.

He undid the bow and opened the box to find the tiny Christmas tree decorated with the miniature instruments. "John."

Sherlock found himself tearing up, and then felt John's strong arms wrap around him. "I have you, love. Happy Christmas, Sherlock."

"Happy Christmas, John."