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For the lives that Sherlock Holmes and John Watson have led, they deserved a break. A break from adrenaline, extravagance, adventure, all of the things that brought too much strive and danger to them. They've got enough of that working as consulting detectives. They needed a break, especially since they're parents now, they need to set a good life example to Rosie, tell her that there's more to life than near death experiences and heartbreak just around the corner.
So, it really was no wonder as to why Sherlock asked John the way he did.
They were lying in bed, just woken up and basking in the fact that Rosie hadn't risen yet, and they were barely coherent. Just hums and mm's and weird waking-up noises.
After a minute or two of just snuggling close, Sherlock wrapped around John's back, Sherlock yawned and muttered something John didn't quite catch.
"Hm?" John hummed.
"I said, 'marry me'." He answers.
John tensed slightly under his touch, but Sherlock didn't try to take back what he said.
"You joking?" John asked, voice raspy from sleep.
"Not in the slightest. I want to marry you, John."
John glanced over his shoulder, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Not that I'm not flattered, but why?"
Sherlock groaned, in the way John has recognized as the 'how can someone be so stupid?!' groan. "I used to hate the idea of marriage, the idea that you had to legally bind yourself to a person to show their love. I hated that marriage was always supposed to be the 'last step' in a relationship. It's stupid. But…" Sherlock paused, and his face softened.
"I suppose it would be nice to be legally recognized as your partner, to finally let my love for you be set in stone. Besides all the legal pro's, I really would love for you to wear my ring, for everyone to know that I'm yours."
John swallowed.
"Well," John shifted slightly in the bed. Then, after a moment, he turned around in Sherlock's arms, looking at Sherlock's face properly. His eyes were wide open, and they immediately found John's. There, John could only find earnestness and sincerity in them. He swallowed again. "Can… can I think about it?"
John felt his stomach clench in anxiety, felt a little guilty at not being as sure as Sherlock was. Sherlock willed those thoughts away.
Sherlock didn't hesitate to answer. "Of course, John. I don't care if it takes you an hour or a year, I'll wait for you. Always."
John's breath hitched. Since Sherlock died and came back, and the whole thing with Mary and Magnusson had gone down, John hadn't been okay. He was severely depressed and had anxiety, and he felt fearful he might lose Rosie if he continued to lay in bed and cry.
Sherlock, being forever changed, feeling guilty and shameful and just wanting to help John in every way he could, ("to try and make up for- all of that,") he immediately took Rosie- and John- under his wing, moving them both back to Baker st. and took care of her for the most part while John worked on himself.
After months of that, of Sherlock being nothing but attentive and caring and kind- while not showing pity, and still shaking John to his senses when he needed, and boy did he need it sometimes- John found his old, almost forgotten repressed feelings for his friend blossom again, along with a new sort of love, mourning the man John used to know, because Serbia changed him, forever, while falling in love with the man Sherlock came to be.
At this point, John had become aware of Sherlock's romantic feelings, Sherlock wanting his friend to know that even if he loved John in a way John couldn't love him, he will always be there for him, and for those months John let Sherlock believe that, that John didn't feel the exact same way as him, because John believed that too. He soon came to his senses, but there wasn't a sudden chaste kiss and frantic groping. John was hit like a truck, and they moved slow so slow, but Sherlock has learned to be patient, and John loves him all the more for it, for waiting for John.
So, now, here they are. John hasn't quite gotten over Mary, of the betrayal and the fear gripping him in his waking moments, he's not sure he will anytime soon, and marriage now seemed so… scary. Impossible. Too good to be anything but a trap. He hated feeling like that, because, well, in truth, John does want to marry Sherlock.
He's the man he'd fallen in love with, the man that had been with him through thick and thin, through the horrors and the good, the father of his child. Not biologically, no, but on an emotional level, he'll always consider Sherlock to be Rosie's dad, more than Mary had been her mother.
John blinked his eyes, then focused back to Sherlock's. Sherlock still had the look of adoration and trust in his eyes, not a lick of fear or regret. He wanted this, and he wasn't scared of John not wanting it either.
"What will you do if I say no?" John asked, fidgeting with the collar of Sherlock's t-shirt.
"I'll move on. If you don't want it then I don't want it either, John, all I want is to make you happy." Sherlock replied, easily, like he had rehearsed it. Maybe he had.
John felt his cheeks burn. "You're quite the romantic in the morning, huh?"
"Hey, I'm romantic most of the time!" Sherlock protested, with no heat.
"Uh-huh, sure, a box of chocolates with "I'm sorry for burning your favorite sweater again" sticky-noted on it is so romantic, mhm," John teased.
Sherlock groaned. "You'll never live that down, will you?"
"Never," John replied, a smile on his face.
Sherlock shook his head, exasperated. "You're terrible, John Watson."
"You first!" John exclaimed.
Sherlock just shook his head again and leaned in to kiss John's lips softly. They stayed like that for a moment, electricity flickering under their skin.
Then, eventually, Sherlock pulled away and stood up from the bed, pulling his robe on.
"I'll make us some breakfast, and wake up Watson." He said, before kissing John's forehead then leaving their bedroom.
John layed on his back, staring at the ceiling, and the drawings Rosie made and photos of Sherlock and him, and eventually all three of them hanging on the wall above their bed, all framed.
He thought, and thought, and thought, until his brain hurt, and the sounds of greasy food and a toddler crying made him sit up, and go join his family.
It's been a couple of weeks, and Sherlock had acted like he had forgotten the conversation they had. He hadn't mentioned it, not acknowledged or hinted at it. He gave John his space, when it came to that.
He acted normally, of course, he didn't kiss John differently or talk to him differently, their bedroom life hadn't suffered. He was just being Sherlock.
John doesn't know whether to be immensely grateful or a little sad. Maybe both, he supposes.
Since that conversation for John, however, he couldn't stop thinking about it. Every minute, what Sherlock said kept nagging him, and his doubts kept trying to drag him down.
It was frustrating, to say the least. His mind was elsewhere and Mrs. Hudson noticed.
John had been staring at the page of the book he didn't even try to read, pretending to be productive, and Sherlock shifted his focus slightly as he began to talk about where he was going. Something about Barts, or Molly, or whatever. John nodded along, and Sherlock kissed his forehead before he left.
After what felt like minutes to John, he was pulled back to reality when he heard someone clearing their throat in front of him.
"John, it's been five minutes and you've been staring right at me, what on earth is going on?" They asked, and John finally focused his eyes to see Mrs. Hudson sitting in front of him, along with a sleeping Rosie tucked under her chin while she softly patted her back and lifted and dropped her knee.
"Sorry, Mrs. H. I've just been thinking… a lot." John replied, rubbing the salt from his eyes.
"About what?" She asked, patiently. She had a look of worry, but she mostly seemed amused.
"Well," John felt his face warm, and he swallowed. "A couple weeks ago, well, Sherlock…… proposed… to me."
Mrs. Hudson's eyes widened and sparkled, a huge grin plastering her face. "Oh John, that's wonderful! Congratulations, both of you!" She quietly exclaimed, trying not to wake Rosie.
John swallowed and leaned back in his chair. "Well, the thing is, I didn't say yes."
The woman's mouth flew open, and her eyebrows furrowed, her emotions changing in seconds. "Why not? What happened? I thought the two of you were happy."
"We are! God, I am very happy, no doubt about it, I just… I didn't say no, I just told him I needed some time to think and that's what I've been doing. Thinking."
Mrs. Hudson looked contemplative, twirling Rosie's soft golden locks in thought.
"Well, what conclusion have you come to then, love?" She asked, rubbing the toddler's back and shushing her as she stirred softly.
John rubbed his face, sighing into his hands.
"I don't know. It feels obvious, but-" he groaned slightly. "I'm scared," He muttered.
"Well, of what?" Mrs. Hudson chortled. "Spending the rest of your life with Sherlock Holmes? How terrifying."
"No no, I'm just- stupid. I can't stop thinking that marriage is what's gonna- ruin everything. Maybe Sherlock will regret it, or I mess up somehow. Maybe he'll realize what a terrible husband I am, and he'll leave." John sat back in his chair and stared at the ceiling, frustration making his eyes glassy. "It's stupid but…. I can't help it. Marriage feels like a wakeup call, like it'll turn on the lights and reveal all the shit that's been hiding in the shadows. I can admit I'm in the honeymoon phase, and I love Sherlock, I do, I just don't want him to remember all the shit I did and hate me again. I just got him back."
There was a beat of silence between them, the confession sitting heavy on John's shoulders, then, "Oh, John," Mrs. Hudson said. "Sherlock never hated you, he was upset, sure, heartbroken, definitely, but he never hated you. You and Sherlock worked through your issues, and you did it together. All of that's in the past, John, and you have to let it stay there," John looked back down to look at her, her eyes and face full of sympathy and understanding.
John still has no idea how he's gotten Mrs. Hudson to forgive him, after everything. When Sherlock left, John left her too, alone in 221. And when Sherlock came back, John treated everyone like shit, his mental health down the drain, then everything with Culverton-... Mrs. Hudson loves Sherlock as if he was her own son, and John had nearly killed him for the second time. He has nothing but regret and guilt inside himself, but he's so, so grateful Mrs. Hudson has welcomed him and Rosie into her home again.
She leaned forward slightly and placed her hand on John's knee. "Sherlock won't be another Mary."
John flinched. "I know."
"Then don't be afraid of what might happen, be present right now. And right now, what do you want?"
John swallowed, blinking tears away.
"I want to marry Sherlock Holmes."
"Then what are you waiting for?" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed, a soft smile on her face.
"Do I have your blessing?" John asked, in a rush. It just came to him to ask, and he thought it was appropriate.
Mrs. Hudson paused, and then she dabbed her eyes slightly, and sniffed. "Oh, of course, John, of course!"
John stood from his chair, and kissed Mrs. Hudson on her cheek, rubbing her back. "Thank you," he muttered. "Thank you."
"I've thought about it." John said, a hand covering his mouth where he had his head resting against it, staring at the other man.
The candlelight made Sherlock's eyes dance. "Oh?" He replied, sipping his wine. "To what are you referring to, John?"
John rolled his eyes. "you know."
"Yes, I do," Sherlock rested his head against his hand, mirroring John's posture. "But I want to hear you say it."
John had half the mind to call Angelo over and order another bottle of this Sauvignon Blanc, just to procrastinate, but he stopped that feeling, knowing that tonight had to be the night, perfect after weeks of Sherlock waiting for his answer.
Tonight, John took Sherlock out, wanting to go and enjoy some dinner alone, just a night for the two of them, but he had other reasons, more specifically to finally give Sherlock his answer. Mrs. Hudson had the biggest smile he'd seen, way too eager to take Rosie in for the night.
He had wanted to buy a ring, propose to Sherlock properly, but he got nauseous just standing outside of the store, and he opted out of that plan.
John took another bite of his Alfredo, swallowed. "I thought about what you asked me, in July," he took a sip of his wine when Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "When you asked me to marry you?"
"What conclusion have you come to, John?" Sherlock asked, softly, his voice deep. Another reason he loved Angelo's, it was always so intimate, it made Sherlock all the more dare-he-say sensual.
John swallowed on nothing.
"I've decided…" John slid his free hand over the table and took Sherlock's resting one, and ran his pointer over his knuckles. "I want to. Let's get married, Sherlock."
Sherlock blinked, and blinked and blinked.
"Yeah?" He asked, his voice almost breathless. He seemed so confident just a second ago, but now he looked like he watched his dreams come true right before his eyes.
Maybe he did.
"Yes, Sherlock. I'm sorry it took me so long to think about it, when really, there was nothing to think about," he squeezed his hand. "I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and I want everyone to know it. I was so irrationally scared, terrified even, over nothing. Let's do it."
Sherlock blinked even more, and his eyes were glassy, pupils seeming to swim in the candle's flame.
"Okay. Okay. I love you, John. I'll get us rings as soon as Mycroft unblocks me."
John laughed a little, "why couldn't we buy it ourselves, hm?"
"Well, for one, we're saving for that doll set for Rosie,"
"True."
"And, I don't want to go to Mummy and Daddy's without Mycroft suffering with me, because Daddy can engrave our rings."
John's eyes widened. "You've really thought about this, huh?" He asked, his voice light from bewilderment.
"Of course," Sherlock squeezed John's hand back. His face was full of adoration and anxious energy, but full of pure love. "I want the best, John, because you deserve nothing less, and Daddy is a master."
John tried not to choke up, thinking about Sherlock's father making their rings, the symbol of their union, tried not to think how much it meant to him that his future father in law would put in that work, whereas his own father would rather choke on rotten bourbon versus see his child happy.
He's probably turning in his grave.
"I love you, Sherlock Holmes. Thank you for being so patient with me, for so long." John said, leaning forward to rest their heads together.
"I'll wait for you until the sun stops burning and the stars finally fade, I'll wait until the bees stop buzzing and the birds forget to sing. I'll wait forever for you, John. I love you too."
John leaned forward and kissed Sherlock softly, galaxies colliding and stars aligning under their skin.
"And there is, for me, no difference between writing a good poem and moving into sunlight against the body of the woman I love." -Audre Lorde