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1.
The thing was, Sherlock was not good with feelings, much less talking about them, unless it was in the heat of the moment. So when his fingers closed around a small box hidden in the pocket of his coat, and his mouth opened to let the carefully prepared words flow, he found that he suddenly couldn't speak. Nor breathe. Thankfully for him, John was oblivious, as his back was facing him.
"I was thinking we could to go to Angelo's tonight," his mug filled, he turned to Sherlock, a smile on his face.
"I -" Sherlock's brain (and heart) came back online after a short pause.
"Yes, sure. I'd like that."
He stared at John's loving expression before he cried out without thinking, "Got to dash!" He stormed off, his coat half flying. After a few steps, he came back into the room, pecked John on the lips and left again. He didn't see John's confused yet fond face.
2.
To Sherlock, Trafalgar Square and the National Gallery reminded him greatly of the Blind Banker case. That had been one of the first big case they had worked on together. Once again, a case brought them there. As Sherlock walked by Lord Nelson's statue with John by his side, he felt a sudden and unexpected pang of nostalgia.
He turned to John, playing with his hands, and said: "This is what I like about London."
"What's that?" John asked, and both began to walk slower.
"It reminds of you. Of how and why we met. Of my life before you, and my life with you. Here, I could never forget how my love to you crept up on me and held on tight."
"What brought this on?" John smiled, looking surprised. If John had been a stranger walking past an observing Sherlock, he would have been described as a man very much in love with the person standing in front of him. But then Sherlock would have scoffed and forgot all about this man.
"If you would let me continue," Sherlock said in a mildly irritated tone. John grinned but didn't say anything.
But the moment was gone. Sherlock's eyes fell on the "CCTV in operation" board ("Big Brother is watching," he thought bitterly) and instead of doing what he wanted to do, he ran off after an inexistent suspect, John on his heels, following him as always.
3.
The bell rung twice before someone answered the door. It wasn't John, as he was at the surgery. It wasn't Sherlock either, who laid down on the sofa, bored out of his mind.
"Sherlock, it's a package for you."
"Ah, finally. Thank you Mrs Hudson, that will be all," he dismissed her with a shooing gesture.
She commented on his manners but left promptly, which was the only thing that mattered to him at the moment. He carefully dropped the package on the kitchen table. He opened it to reveal the big question written on a chocolat cake. Pleased with it, he closed it and put it in the fridge.
An hour later, he received a text from John that said: "Another one's getting married. If you could have heard how he proposed… Some cake and a weird gift. But, oh well, if it suits them…"
Sherlock stared at the message, then the fridge, then the message again.
"Damn."
And he threw the package into the bin.
4.
John was already in bed reading when Sherlock joined him. The doctor looked up from the book and smiled in surprise at Sherlock.
"Thought you had files to read?"
"Can do that well enough here."
John's eyes turned to his book but Sherlock saw the corners of his mouth lift. He sat on his side of the bed and opened the first file. There was silence as both men read. Every now and then, John would glance at Sherlock and be lost in his thoughts, without realizing that Sherlock could feel his gaze on him.
After a while, John put his book down on the side table, along with his reading glasses.
"Right, well," John rubbed at his eyes, "I'm going to sleep."
"Do you want me to turn off the lights?" Sherlock asked and John shook his head, laying down under the covers.
"Nah, it's fine," he smiled softly, "I like you here," he said softly and winked, before closing his eyes. Sherlock's heart skipped a beat. He tried to get the words out of his throat, but instead what came out was a moronic "good night John". John slurred the words back to him.
He was still reading when suddenly he blurted out: "Marry me John."
He sighed in relief, happy to have finally let it out, when he registered the silence that answered his demand.
"John?" The word caught in his throat and barely came out at all. He sighed again, this time in disarray and despair, when he finally understood that his lover was just asleep and had therefore never heard the question.
5.
Angelo had been nice enough to accept Sherlock's demand. His restaurant had candles everywhere, garlands hanging from the ceiling, almost no client except for them. But it was an atmosphere not so unusual at Angelo's and John hadn't seemed to notice at all.
Sherlock had spent half the meal listening to John's tales, picking from his own plate from time to time, just to see the smile illuminate John's beautiful face. He was waiting for his courage to show up, but to no avail. Until John stopped talking and ate, gazing at Sherlock with burning eyes.
"We should do that," Sherlock said after a few minutes of silence.
"Do what?" John asked, holding the fork to his mouth, frozen. Sherlock had ceased eating and was instead playing with his fingers, even as he forced them to not move too much.
"That — that thing, that people do." John frowned, and used the seconds during which he was eating to think before speaking. Sherlock could almost see his brain working.
"Eat? Sleep? We're already doing that. Well, you much less than other people."
"Never mind," he sighed.
+1.
The scene laid bare in front of him, his eyes seeing everything of importance and dismissing the irrelevant details. Lestrade stood by his side, watching the same as he, not seeing the same thing. Sherlock could see from the corner of his eye that John was watching him and listening intently to his deduction.
" — therefore she comes from a bad neighborhood, more likely —"
"Yes," John cut him off suddenly.
"Sorry?" Sherlock asked, confused, looking up to him. Lestrade did the same, raised an eyebrow at him.
"Yes, I'll marry you." Lestrade coughed once, than a second time. Sherlock blinked. Breathed. Opened his mouth and closed it.
"I didn't… What?" John smiled softly and Sherlock swallowed with difficulty, his hands sweaty, twisting them as if to hide it. John reached up to hold them in between his.
"I saw you touching your ring finger more times this month than ever before. Didn't take a genius to figure it out," he squeezed his hands while Sherlock looked at him with wonder. Lestrade was making his exit stealthily behind John.
"You — you knew, the whole time?" John chuckled and nodded. "I waited, to see if you would finally pop the question but, well."
He shrugged, the remainder of a smile on his face.
"But. But you said yes?"
"Of course I did. Did you think I was ever going to say anything else?"
"Well, I —" Sherlock started to say but John kissed him to shut him up. Sherlock responded in kind, as John's hands freed his and came up to his hair.
"I love you," John whispered against his lips, and Sherlock never got the time to answer, as he was pulled back in a kiss.