Archive of Our Own ^beta

John rubbed his hands together as he entered the flat, before he took his coat off and hung it up. Sherlock had already lit the fire, thankfully, so it was nice and warm inside. Outside, it was attempting to snow in the way that only England could; enough to leave a white coating over the streets, but quick to turn to sludge and black ice. 

“Do you want hot chocolate?” he asked the genius, who was already perched at the kitchen table, clearly waiting for something. 

Sherlock nodded, folding his hands together in front of him. “Thank you.” 

John arched his eyebrow, but inclined his head. Sherlock had been in an odd mood for the last couple of weeks—maybe even as long as a month—and this was just another sign of it. Surely normal for anyone else, but Sherlock didn’t often think to verbally thank John for something as simple as a warm drink. 

He thanked him for things in plenty of other ways of course, and they both knew they were grateful for the other, so it didn’t really need to be said. And yet… well. Here they were. 

John busied himself heating up the milk and stirring in the chocolate powder, along with a little bit of sugar, since the chocolate they’d bought was just a touch bitter. When it was done, he added canned squirty cream to the top, and handed one of the mugs to Sherlock. 

“What kind of shenanigans have you been up to today?” John asked, as he wandered through the kitchen to the living space, to put his mug on the table. 

“I did a fascinating research project on wool,” Sherlock replied, a small smile lifting his lips. 

“How many of my jumpers were injured in the process?” John asked, arching his eyebrow in question. 

“Only two,” Sherlock said. “And they were two that you didn’t like.” 

“Which ones?” 

“That horrid mauve one that Harry bought you last Christmas, and the puke coloured one.” 

John noticed the lack of clarification on where it came from—Mary, which was unexpectedly thoughtful of Sherlock to not mention her name—and then nodded his head, because Sherlock was right. He didn’t like either of the jumpers, and he wasn’t really sorry to not have them anymore. 

“How was work?” Sherlock asked, following John into the living room. 

“Fine,” John shrugged. “I’m just going to go and get changed, I’ll be back in a few.” 

Sherlock nodded, and John felt his eyes burning into his back up the first set of stairs, until he turned to the second, and out of eyeline. 

Hopefully, Sherlock would tell him what was going on soon. 

… 

“I wish to talk to you about something.” 

John looked up from the book he’d been reading, and then put it aside without a second thought, because Sherlock looked nervous, and that didn’t usually mean anything good. 

They’d had a calm enough evening. After the hot chocolate, John had cooked—spagetti bolognaise—and Sherlock had eaten it without complaint. They’d each settled down with a book afterwards, and John had expected that would be them for the rest of the evening. 

Apparently not. 

“Since you came back… since we both came back,” Sherlock acknowledged. “I… I have found it… I like it when you’re… I…” He paused, frowning to himself. “I believe that we should get married.” 

John blinked. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but it certainly hadn’t been that. 

“Married?” 

“Yes, John. I believe it would be the best course of action.” 

“I’m going to need you to explain your logic a bit more to me here, Sher,” John admitted. 

“I… We would be able to be each other’s medical proxies,” Sherlock pointed out, despite the fact that they already were. “They wouldn’t be able to keep me out of your room, or vice versa. And, well. We would be able to combine finances,” he added, again, despite the fact that they already were. “And, and.” He paused. Sighed. “And you wouldn’t leave.” 

“Ah. So… shall we unpack that last one?” John offered. “Since the other two points are moot?” 

“Must we?” 

“I fear we must,” John said, his tone soft. “Sherlock, I’m not going anywhere. We’ve played silly buggers enough, haven’t we? Nothing is ever better when one of us is gone, so… I’m here. I’m staying. You don’t have to ‘put a ring on it’ to make sure that I stay.” 

“It is… more straight-forward if we get married,” Sherlock argued. “Because then you would be… mine. And I would be yours. And we would be a we.” 

“You want us to be a ‘we’?” 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Don’t be an idiot, John. Of course I do.” 

“Huh. That’s… different.” 

“Is it truly?” Sherlock asked. 

“I would say so, Mr-Married-To-Your-Work,” John replied, nodding his head. “I didn’t know you were even thinking about us like that. You never said… well, anything.” 

“You were always too busy telling people you’re not gay,” Sherlock replied, a little sulkily. 

John chuckled. “I love you, but you’re an idiot.” 

Sherlock stared at him, his mouth dropped open in surprise. John waited him out, and then chuckled when Sherlock practically leapt off the sofa and knelt down between John’s legs, gazing up at him with an eager expression on his face.

“Say that again.” 

“That you’re an idiot?” 

“The first part. Say it again.” 

John softened, reaching out a hand to brush it through Sherlock’s curly hair. “I love you. Of course I love you, how could I not.” 

“Why am I an idiot?” 

“I haven’t told anyone I’m not gay since you came home,” John murmured. “Losing you taught me a few things, you know? A little bit late, but better than never.” 

There was a joyful light in Sherlock’s eyes as he picked up John’s hand in between his own. “Will you marry me?” 

“Will it make you happy?” John asked, turning his hand over so he could lace their fingers together. 

“Inordinately so.” 

“Then of course I will.” 

Sherlock tilted his head, and then slowly, pushed up so that he could press his lips softly against John’s for a moment. When he pulled back, he arched his eyebrow in question. He didn’t have to speak for John to know that he was asking if it was okay. 

John chuckled. “Whenever you want.” 

… 

“You’re sure you don’t want to do a ‘proper’ wedding?” Sherlock asked, looking down at the certificate Mycroft had produced for them within only a couple of days. 

John shook his head. “We don’t need all of the pomp and circumstance, Sherlock. We’ll know we’re married. It’s all we really need.” 

Sherlock smiled, and then sighed his name with a flourish. “I agree.”