Chapter Text
1 year later:
“I don’t see why we need so much stuff.”
“John we need sufficient supplies to live. As a Doctor-in-training I would hope you would realise this.”
“Yes but since when has your experiment on beetles become a part of the necessities of life?”
“Since yesterday.”
John sighed as he followed the coat wielding Sherlock into their new flat.
“You’re going to love London John. I can feel it,” Sherlock said for the 9th time, forgetting his hatred of repetition.
“I already do,” he replied, putting his cushion on the chair that he had earmarked as his back at the estate. He was excited that Mrs Holmes had let him keep it. “I’ve been here before you know,” he said, going into the kitchen, allowing Sherlock to fuss with his things that were already in the space. Sherlock had moved in a week ago at the beginning of his first year of University. John could still remember the conversation about whether he was going into Halls or not at which Sherlock had scoffed at and “I’ll be sharing a flat with John, obviously” which came as a shock to everyone else in the room, including John who had no memory of that agreement (mainly because there hadn’t been one).
“Yes but that wasn’t proper London. That was boring sight-seeing. John will you just put that down and hurry up.” John sighed and dumped the box of kitchen supplies in said room (the box would not be looked in for another 6 weeks until Sherlock trips over it in a spectacular attempt to wrestle the biscuit tin off of John, who will be holding them hostage after an experiment dyes his favourite jumper purple).
“I wish you’d just tell me what it is.”
“It wouldn’t be a surprise then would it?” Sherlock explained with an exaggerated eye-roll. “Now come on.” He bounded for the stairs to the upper floor room and John followed at a more sedate pace. Sherlock was practically buzzing while stood outside the door.
“Hurry up, hurry up,” he whined.
“I’m coming; just give a guy a chance will you?” John grumbled but picked up his pace slightly.
When they were both cramped on the landing and John was about to complain about the lack of space, Sherlock flung the door open and strode in. The words died in John’s throat.
“So, what do you think?” Sherlock turned expectantly, as John adventured into the room after him.
The room had been converted into something resembling a forest, with small trees, plants and leaves decorating the room. The walls were a dark green and the ceiling a dark blue, giving it the feel of night time.
“You said that sometimes you missed your old home and London isn’t known for its greenery so I thought this could provide an alternative, if you wished.” Sherlock sounded nervous, presumably because John hadn’t spoken yet. However, he couldn’t find the words to describe what he was feeling and so dragged Sherlock down into a fierce kiss instead, cutting off Sherlock’s next sentence.
“It’s perfect. You’re perfect,” John said his eyes blazing.
“I know,” Sherlock said smugly. “I’ll leave you to settle in, my lecture is soon.”
As Sherlock hit the stairs, John appeared in the doorway. “Sherlock. Thank you,” he said with as much sincerity as he could.
“You’re welcome. This is our home now and we can do what we like with it. Though I would appreciate if you didn’t tell Mummy. Or Mycroft. Or the landlady. In fact, we can simply keep this between us for now.” he smiled before going to grab his bag, clearly happy in his decision.
Home. John mulled over the word. The estate hadn’t been called home. Sherlock had christened it many other names (mainly things to do with hell or captivity) but never home before. This place though, 221B...
He could get used to calling this home. Sherlock’s words rang in his ears.
“Our home.”
John found himself giggling while gazing at the inky coloured ceiling.
Yeah, he could defiantly get use to that.