Chapter Text
John couldn’t help feeling Sherlock was up to something. One would normally feel that all the time if they’d just met the man, but John knew better and could feel that he was actually planning something.
He snuck round the flat more so than usual. When John showed up, Sherlock was surprised to see him and a little flustered, like he’d been in the middle of something. But John had no idea what that something was. He tried to shrug it off, but in the back of his head, John was always wondering what this was.
One night, about a week after the bloody loo cleanup, John returned from a particularly stressful day at St. Bart’s. Patient after patient had been anything BUT patient as they waited for their appointments. The waiting room was packed, and John’s energy level by the end of the day was very low. All John wanted when he got home was a nice cuppa, some crap telly, and some peace. With this in mind, he was very shocked when he got to 221B.
As he opened the door to his flat, he found Sherlock in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on two plates of pasta with meat sauce. Sherlock was cooking. By himself. And the kitchen hadn’t blown up. In fact, the kitchen was clean of all experiments.
“Sherlock, what’s going on?”
Sherlock looked up from the two plates. “You’re home. You’re supposed to come home in fifteen minutes, I haven’t finished.”
“Finished what?”
“This,” he said as he gestured to the table. “Oh! Stay right there!” And just like that Sherlock had left the kitchen for his bedroom. John was left standing utterly confused. Did he do this for me? Why would he do this for me? Why now? And suddenly, Sherlock was back from his bedroom bearing a small parcel. He outstretched it to John, who took it hesitantly.
“What’s this?”
“A gift.” The consulting detective stood expectantly. “Well, open it.”
John shot Sherlock a questioning look and began to tear the poorly wrapped paper. Inside, John found a pile of scarves that appeared to be made out of his shrunken jumpers. I thought I threw them out. He made me scarves out of my jumpers. And John felt something stir in his chest: happiness and… something else. John tried to shake the second feeling, but found it stuck. He realized Sherlock was waiting, so he prepped his voice to speak. “Did you-“
“With some help from Mrs. Hudson. Now you can still have those jumpers.”
John didn’t know what to do about the pushing in his chest, it was prohibiting any real speech. He pushed out “Thank you Sherlock” as an involuntary tear fell out of his eye. He tried to conceal it, but Sherlock saw.
“You do so much for me, John. You put up with… everything that I do.” John began to register what was happening.
Sherlock’s voice wavered as he continued. “You believed in me, even when I left you here alone. You didn’t keep me out when I came back, and I will always owe you for that.” Sherlock steeled himself for his next words, but found them hard to come out. “I… I… I think I l-love you.”
Sherlock braced himself for silence, but was instead greeted by a pair of lips against his. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s waist as Sherlock became stiff with shock. As he realized that John was not mad or stunned, he pulled John closer and kissed him back, intent on memorizing this man’s lips so that he’d remember them forever.
As Sherlock pulled out of the kiss, he stared into John’s deep blue eyes. ”I was so concerned you’d be afraid of this.”
And John realized he had been afraid. Petrified really. “I was, but only because I didn’t know if you’d feel the same. I- love you, too.” He hugged Sherlock, whispering into his shoulder, “Thank you for saying it first.”
Sherlock whispered back into John’s hair, “Thank you for making me whole.”