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“Be back in a few hours!” John calls before exiting the flat.
Sherlock remains still until the door closes, then whirls in to action. He grabs the few items he’ll need and stealthily follows John.
He follows him to Wandsworth High Street where he is shortly joined by a tall, skinny, dark-haired woman. John has gone on four dates with her, but Sherlock has refused to learn her name.
He follows the pair to Angelo’s, and Sherlock’s determination settles more solidly in his chest. This is completely unacceptable and something clearly needs to change. So, whether he actually believes this will work or not, Sherlock is going to damn-well try.
When their wine has arrived, Sherlock finally strides in to the restaurant with purpose. He ignores the confused looks from the other patrons, eyes fixed solely on John and that woman.
John notices Sherlock’s intent approach and looks at him in shock before his face falls in to one of annoyance, “Sherlock,” John starts as his friend comes to a stop imposingly over the table, “there is nothing you can say that is going to pull me away from this date.”
Sherlock glances quickly over at the woman to see a look of shocked resignation on her face. She knows what’s coming, just as all of John’s former girlfriends knew it would happen at some point. He’d feel sorry for the honesty roulette having landed on her turn, but it can’t be helped; this must end now.
Sherlock takes a deep breath as he turns back to John and announces loudly, to the entire restaurant, “I am in love with this man,” he gestures vaguely to the incredibly shocked John Watson before him, “The truth is I have been for a long time and I refuse to hide it anymore.”
Sherlock reaches in to the pocket of his coat as he falls to one knee, his nervous eyes meeting John’s frightened ones. He pulls out a ring from the pocket, “John Watson, will you marry me?”
There is complete silence in the entire restaurant as Sherlock and John simply stare at each other. John is trying to comprehend this sudden change of events, and Sherlock is subtly trying to urge him with just his eyes to make a choice quickly.
“Oh, say yes!” An older woman to the side says giddily, but John still doesn’t speak, can’t even look away from Sherlock.
John’s date clears her throat awkwardly as she stands up, grabbing her coat from the back of her chair, “I’ll just leave you two alone, shall I?” she says gently before walking away as the silence continues.
Sherlock gracefully stands from the floor when he hears the door close, folding the ring in to his right fist as he takes her seat. With a confused rumble, the restaurant resumes its noises, trying to cover the awkwardness of an unanswered marriage proposal.
“What are you doing?” John asks quietly, angrily.
“I thought that was fairly obvious,” Sherlock replies calmly.
John sighs, rubbing his left hand over his eye, “You can’t just propose to me so that I can’t date anyone and have no choice but to keep coming on cases with you.”
“Marrying you myself is precisely the only thing I can do to stop you from marrying and leaving again.”
John meets his gaze again at that, looking bewildered and a bit sad. Sherlock takes a deep breath before continuing honestly.
“You clearly think that settling down and having a normal life is something that you need, and, over the years, I have discovered that I need you,” he admits beyond his will. He detests being so open like this, “Now, I can’t promise you a traditional normal life, but I’m guessing by the number of times you have chosen to join me on a case over continuing a date that that isn’t disagreeable to you. You know you will never find a woman who will leave our dynamic unchanged. So, what I’m saying is that if you need to be in love with someone, maybe you could be in love with someone like me.”
Sherlock’s palm encasing the ring begins to sweat as John simply stares at him like he’s about to cry.
John sniffs while moving his mouth in a small circle, making his nose twitch from side to side. It’s adorable, but Sherlock won’t mention it.
John clears his throat before whispering, “You know there’s more to being married than just laying claim to me coming on cases, don’t you? To declaring that no one else catches my interest over you and a murder?”
Sherlock’s brow furrows, because of course he knows that, “You mean sex.”
John huffs out a quiet laugh and shakes his head in bemusement, “I mean sex and kissing and having consideration for my feelings and talking about things and give and take,” he elaborates almost as a challenge, holding Sherlock’s gaze as he assesses his reaction to the words.
Sherlock’s eyes dart around as he considers and then nods curtly, “Will you still wear your jumpers?”
John’s head moves back a little in surprise, “Of course.”
“Will you still pull the door shut with the knocker so it sits askew?”
“Do I do that now?” John asks in honest curiosity.
“Yes.”
“Then probably.”
“Will you still yell at me for leaving body parts in the fridge?”
“Absolutely.”
“Will you do that thing with the peas again?”
“That was asparagus,” John corrects with a small smile, having taken the time after he mentioned it in his best man speech to figure out what he had actually been talking about. How he didn’t understand what that meant for his priority of Sherlock over Mary, he can’t say. Denial, probably.
“Fine, but I liked it. Will you do it again?”
“If you’d like,” he nods in agreement, affection beginning to shine through the caution.
“I don’t dislike sex,” Sherlock blurts suddenly, blushing slightly after he says it.
John clears his throat awkwardly, “Good.”
“I don’t have much partnered experience - and nothing penetrative - but I find masturbatory activities to be quite...”
“Stop,” John halts him, face red as he holds a hand out to him, “stop talking now.”
Sherlock lets his shoulders fall back down, unaware that his discomfort had raised them in the first place, “Alright.”
“Will you keep wearing your posh shirts and trousers?” John inquires, his turn to ask the questions.
“What’s wrong with my shirts and trousers?” Sherlock asks, offended, as he looks down at his outfit under his coat.
John chuckles, “Nothing. Will you keep wearing them?”
“Yes?” he answers cautiously, looking and sounding like he expects this to be a trap.
John nods in satisfaction, “Will you keep making me non-drugged tea?”
“If you’d like.”
John’s face falls serious, “Will you run off without me at crime scenes?”
Sherlock opens his mouth uncertainly, “I...”
“Honesty, Sherlock. Please,” John begs.
“Probably,” he admits with a wince, “but I always assume you’re following.”
John lifts the left corner of his mouth slightly at that, “Will you keep leaving me out of the loop of important information? Will you run off and leave me to think you’re dead for two years, let me mourn you long enough to have to move on, and then come back like you did nothing wrong?” By the time he ends the question, his eyes are hard with a mix of anger and despair.
John has always trusted Sherlock when it came to danger and tea and even toxic experiments, but to trust him with his heart is something he’s not certain either of them can handle. He has watched Sherlock propose marriage before simply to break in to an office building, for crying out loud! So what is supposed to make him think that this isn’t just some ploy for Sherlock not to have to waste time taking John away from dates to go on a case anymore?
Sherlock also looks pained as he realizes how deeply this one action - to save John, sure - is still affecting their relationship to this day, even after all this time. His lips purse in frustration with himself for not seeing it before, “That will never happen again,” he says honestly, “I don’t regret doing it because it kept you safe, but I don’t think either of us could handle it a second time. I sort of assumed that, should anything like that happen again - unlikely as it is - that we’d be running together,” he admits.
And John looks like he’s about to cry again, “Damn right we would,” he says firmly, eyes blazing so that Sherlock has no choice but to believe how strongly he feels about it.
For long moments they simply stare at each other intently, looking as though a silent conversation is being waged even though they’re merely crossing the threshold of revelation together.
“So, at the risk of being essentially turned down once more, I’m going to ask again,” Sherlock starts nervously, but allowing John to see the sincerity in his eyes, “John Hamish Watson, will you accept this ridiculous life we lead over all others and marry me?”
John’s tongue wets his lips briefly before he replies, “God yes,” while nodding.
They both break out in to relieved, happy smiles as Sherlock moves the ring from his still sweaty palm to John’s ring finger.
As Sherlock stands to close the distance between them so they can experience their first kiss, John looks down at the ring. It is a cheap child’s toy ring, adjustable, with a metal animal shaped in the middle.
“Sherlock,” he laughs as the other man guides him up from his chair, “it’s a penguin.”
Sherlock flushes in embarrassment, “I’ll replace it with a proper ring, of course, but this was the only one I had lying about, and anyway, penguins mate for life, you know...”
John cuts off his rambling with a fond shake of his head, eyes shining with adoration as his left hand lands gently on Sherlock’s cheek, guiding his full attention to him, “It’s perfect, actually.”
Sherlock flushes a bit darker, though it shouldn’t really be possible, “John,” he whispers as a plea, his face turning in to the warm palm on his cheek.
John smiles as he guides the taller man’s lips down to his and kisses him with such a deep, devoted passion that they lose themselves within it. You always hear about the type of kiss that makes the world stop, fireworks appear, a shiver go through your entire body. But this kiss is different than that; it feels like the final piece of a puzzle has finally made its way to lock in to its position, and both men know they’ll never be apart again.
At some point the clapping reluctantly draws them out of their own world and back to the reality that they are, in fact, still in a public location.
Sherlock blushes again and tries to hide his face against the right side of John’s head. Sherlock can both feel and hear John’s laugh, so he tightens his grip on John’s back (where his hands must have fallen of their own accord during the kiss) and whispers in to his ear, “Please take me home.”
John’s arms reflexively pull him closer for a moment as a wave of protectiveness and love sweep through his body. He steps back and grabs Sherlock’s right hand in his left and smiles at the rest of the patrons as they pass, proud to finally have this man as his.
Sherlock, while pleased beyond words at the outcome, is still a bit shy about all of the attention on them and is instead ignoring all of their stares to simply take in every detail of the side of John’s face.
When they near the door, John sees Angelo standing there, beaming at them.
“How much do I owe you for the food I ordered and didn’t eat?” John asks, suddenly remembering that he had come here on a date with someone else.
Angelo shakes his head, “No charge, for the food or for this,” he says as he hands them a bottle of what appears to be an expensive champagne.
John takes the bottle in shock, “Angelo, we couldn’t possibly.”
Angelo waves a dismissive hand as though nothing has sounded more preposterous to him in his entire life, “Please, it’s a gift from all of us to you; we’ve been waiting such a long time for you two to figure it out.”
John smiles up at Sherlock, who still appears entranced by John’s face, and says, “Yeah, so have we,” then turns back to Angelo and says sincerely, “Thank you.”
“Congratulations,” is all he says in return, still with a huge smile.
With Sherlock’s hand held tight in his left and a bottle of expensive champagne in his right, John leads them out in to the night to find a cab to take them home.