Chapter Text
John climbed the seventeen steps of 221B, carrying a box of ridiculously expensive chocolate from a brand he knows Sherlock is partial to in one hand and a most beautiful bouquet in the other. They have been in a relationship for over 7 months now, after one night when they finally decided to shed all the barriers and just talked things over, about everything. He has been living at Baker Street with Rosie after Mary's funeral, and Sherlock graciously welcomed him with open arms; the man has a ridiculously generous heart. Being back at 221B felt like coming back home.
One night, a couple of days after he moved back in, they were sitting in their respective arms, relaxing. Just the two of them. Rosie had long since fallen asleep in her crib set up in John's room. Sherlock had been animatedly talking about his university days and early days in his career. John listened intently, loving the twinkle in Sherlock's eyes. He looked so young and lively as he gave the account of the very first case he was involved in. John could listen to him all day and never get tired. He couldn't believe that he had almost lost this beautiful and precious man. Thrice. John's heart clenched painfully at the thought. Something must have shifted in his expression, for he instantly picked up on it.
Sherlock stopped abruptly, mid-sentence and looked at John, a frown appearing on his face, "John, alright?"
At that moment, John's heart was ready to burst with all the love he felt for Sherlock Holmes, the man sitting across from him, so much so that his eyes welled up. After everything, the fall, the fiasco with Mary's past, the whole Magnessun business, they were finally here. Through everything, Sherlock has shown that he cares about John with his actions, the sacrifices he willingly made in order to protect John. Ever since his return, John knew deep down that Sherlock was a changed man; he was softer, much more considerate, open in a way he wasn't before the fall, willing to put others before himself and less hesitant to admit his mistakes. He was more human, the one that John always knew existed behind the mask of indifference and arrogance. That realisation hit far too late. He spent too much time being angry with Sherlock. Far too much.
"Nothing," John replied, clearing his throat, "It's just you." Sherlock's frown deepened, so John continued, "I missed this," John said, gesturing between them, "You."
"That's ridiculous," Sherlock said, "I have always been here."
But I wasn't, John wanted to say, "I know," John shrugged, "It's just. I am glad we are here."
"Me too, John," Sherlock said with a tiny smile playing on his lips.
John met Sherlock's eyes, and the open longing he saw in them took his breath away. Then Sherlock leaned in a little, placing his hand on John's knee, and John's heart skipped a beat. He was reminded of his stag-do, how the night had unfolded. For a brief moment, he had allowed his heart to hope that Sherlock reciprocated his feeling but back then, he had also convinced himself that it could only be his imagination. It had to be. Yet, at the moment, Sherlock was looking at him like he hung the moon, with raw love and affection that John was transfixed in his place by Sherlock's stare.
"John, please, tell me I am not reading this wrong," Sherlock said, his voice small and anxious, yet hopeful. But John understood that unspoken plea in it, too. The one that comes with baring your heart to another person, knowing you are giving them the power to stomp on it and shatter it in a million pieces. John swallowed but didn't look away, couldn't look away from Sherlock.
"I love you, Sherlock Holmes. I think I always have," John whispered, with a waver in his voice. The three words he was holding on to in his heart. Out. In open. He watched as Sherlock's eyes widened at the admission. He would have smiled at the look of surprise on Sherlock's face if he weren't being pulled into a kiss the very next instant.
When they broke apart, Sherlock looked at him with awe, "I wanted to do that for so long."
So, John kissed him again.
John found out pretty quickly that Sherlock was such a romantic at heart. Sherlock not only didn't shy away from any physical affections, but also made romantic wooing gestures regularly, not that John was complaining. In fact, he was quite smitten. Flowers, dinner dates, gifts (a ridiculously expensive jumper and a new watch, and it wasn't even John's birthday), sweet notes that simply say I love you. Just when John thought he couldn't love Sherlock anymore than he already did, the detective proved him wrong every time.
Once on landing, through the open door, he saw Sherlock playing Lego with Rosie, who found that breaking the towers that Sherlock made was far more amusing than building one, and the domesticity of it all filled his heart with warmth. Sherlock saw him and smiled, "Look, Daddy's home, Watson." He then stood up, swooping Rosie in his arms, which made her giggle in delight. John's smile widened.
He crossed the threshold of the door, putting the items on the sofa before greeting Sherlock with a chaste kiss on the lips.
Rosie made a high-pitched sound and began wriggling in Sherlock's arms. Clearly excited to see him, "Hello, to you, my little bumble-bee," He said, taking Rosie from Sherlock's arms and dropping a kiss on her forehead before putting her in her high chair. Rosie made an unhappy sound of protest, so he gave Rosie her favourite stuffed toy to keep her occupied for a while.
He went to retrieve the items he got, feeling slightly ridiculous while Sherlock watched him with fond eyes. He offered the bouquet to Sherlock with an outstretched hand, "Happy Valentine's Day, love."
Sherlock accepted it, his eyes brightened, his lips twitching up into an infectious smile, "Red tulips are a symbol of love, passion and romance, while Alstroemeria, commonly known as Peruvian lily, signifies friendship, strength and devotion. Whereas peonies represent prosperity and happiness. All in all, what a vibrant and wonderful bouquet, John."
John grinned up at him, pleased with himself, "I love you, too, you git," he said, "And chocolates."
Sherlock bent and leaned down to kiss him, taking John's bottom lip between his own, "And I you." He declared once he broke the kiss.
"I love you more," John replied with an easy smile.
"Impossible," Sherlock said after putting the bouquet and chocolates on the table behind him so he could dive back again to kiss John properly. He touched his forehead to John's, cradling John's face in his large hands. John's hands came up to intertwine in his curls, and Sherlock purred, closing his eyes and leaning in.
He was about to kiss John again when Watson made her dissatisfaction known for being ignored for a long time. They both glanced at Rosie, her lips out in a pout, stuff toy lying on the ground, before their eyes met, and just like that, they burst out laughing. John's giggles and his chuckles filled the room, and apparently, Rosie, thinking she had done something funny, squealed.
As the laughter slowly died down, John gave a chaste kiss on Sherlock's cheek, "Come on, now. Get ready for the date, Mr Holmes, while I tend to Rosie." John said, smoothing the lapels of Sherlock's dressing gown.
Sherlock steeped his fingers under his chin and pretended to ponder, "Hum. I don't know. What's a date?" He asked, a picture of cluelessness.
John looked amused. He loved to see this playful side of Sherlock, "Oh, well. It's just where two people who love each other go out and have fun, you know."
Sherlock couldn't help the grin that broke through, "Are you sure? People might talk."
John shook his head, fighting back a grin. "Well, people are idiots."
"True," Sherlock answered, "Bit back in a bit," Sherlock said, dropping a kiss on John's forehead before disappearing into their bedroom.
"Now, now, Rosie," John pampered, picking Rosie up in his arms, "Did you feel left out? I am so sorry. Would you like to play with cars?"
Once they both got ready for their date, they dropped Rosie off at Mrs H, thanking her profusely for looking after Rosie, "Oh, hush, now, boys. It is no bother at all." Mrs Hudson said, taking Rosie from John's arms, "I love spending time with my goddaughter. Now, off you go, shoo." She said, making wild hand gestures which made Rosie giggle, "Say bye-bye to your dads, Rosie."
"Ba-ba," Rosie mumbled, with a wave of her hands, smiling at them.
In the doorway, they bid their goodbyes to Rosie before Mrs Hudson shut the door. John turned to him, ogling him from head to toe. Sherlock wore a purple shirt that John loves so much, a suit jacket and trousers, but it is evident that he had spent more time doing his hair; every curl was perfectly in its place. John caught the whiff of his cologne as he came nearer. He looked simply—
"Have I told you how stunning you look?" John said, loving the way a blush crept up to Sherlock's high cheekbones.
"You have mentioned, yes," Sherlock replied, "You don't look bad yourself," Sherlock added, looking appreciatively at him. John was wearing nothing particularly sharp, the blue cashmere jumper that Sherlock got him, with a pair of jeans.
"I am telling you, you are getting the short end of the stick."
"Nonsense, John," Sherlock shot back, reaching out to caress John's cheek, "You are quite a handsome man."
"Oh, my blushes, Holmes," John smiled up at Sherlock.
"Shall we?" Sherlock said, offering his hand for John to take.