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Sherlock wasn’t going to think about what day it was, he had done enough of that already if Mrs. Hudson’s walls and the wear pattern on the rug in the living room was anything to go by. John sure didn’t give a second thought to the date when he decided to go help settle his aunt in a care home up north. If John didn’t think it was important enough to remember, then neither would Sherlock. Besides, he had more important things to think about than dwell on the fact that he was alone on this day of all days. The earth had managed to compete one full rotation around the sun, big deal, it happened all the time, it didn’t matter. When Lestrade called asking him to come down to Scotland Yard, that just made it easier to ignore the fact that there was something that didn’t matter, something that he should forget.
The solicitor of the Peckham Poisoner was challenging the Met’s evidence collection, claiming contamination, improper handling, and even planting of evidence. It was all patently false, Lestrade and his team may be idiots, often times missing the most obvious of details, but they took their jobs seriously, and would never lie and jeopardize a case. Because of the accusations, they had to go through all the evidence, piece by piece, and account for every single movement of the investigation. Why Lestrade wanted Sherlock there, Sherlock wasn’t quite sure – some convoluted reason having something to do with the fact that he consulted on the case – but he’d take the distraction.
It was ridiculous that they even needed to review the evidence at all. The defense was just getting desperate and throwing up roadblocks, grasping at straws. The case was sound, the evidence was sound. The case was airtight, and as long as the Crown Prosecutor assigned to the case wasn’t a complete moron, a conviction was almost assured. But getting a man who poisoned seven people, killing three, off the streets was imperative – and Lestrade was very insistent he aid them – so Sherlock went along with the pointless review.
For three hours Sherlock stood hunched over several desks in the bullpen with Lestrade, Donovan, and Anderson. They reviewed witness statements, reviewed and reexamined the evidence logs, matching them crime scene photos. Slowly but surely, they re-traced their steps though the entire investigation.
As it turned out, reviewing the evidence ended up being more engaging than Sherlock had anticipated. He became so engrossed while comparing the victims’ toxicology reports, that he failed to notice the hush that fell over the normally busy office. It was only a pair of familiar arms wrapping around his waist, and a pair of lips he’d recognize anywhere kissing the side of his neck, that pulled him from compounds and chemical formulas. Grinning, Sherlock turned around and was met with a sight that stole his breath and stopped his heart. There standing before him, a smile spread across his face, was John in his full RAMC dress uniform, complete with dark blue beret, white gloves, and all his various medals and insignia. He looked… he looked stunning.
“J-John…” Sherlock stuttered when he managed to find his voice.
“Hello, Love.” John beamed, and threaded the fingers of one hand into Sherlock’s hair while his other hand curled around the back of Sherlock’s neck, pulling him down into a kiss and stealing his breath once again.
“What – what are you doing here?”
“You didn’t honestly think I forgot what day it is, did you?” Sherlock blushed, he did think John forgot. “One year ago today, you blurted out that you’re in love with me over a dead body. Where else would I be?”
Where else would he be?
“But, what about your aunt?”
“All moved in and settled. It doesn’t take four days to move a seventy-six year old pensioner into a retirement home, especially when she was all packed beforehand.”
“So… So this was all… You telling me that you weren’t going to be back until the day after tomorrow, that was just…” Sherlock trailed off, still trying to get a handle on what was happening. John was right there in front of him. And he was dressed… he was dressed like that.
“Just a clever ruse all so I could surprise you?” John finished. “Yep!”
“Yeah, and John didn’t put all that work and effort into it just so you could stand there and gape at him.” Lestrades voice cut in, and suddenly Sherlock remembered that they weren’t alone. They were in the middle of the busy Met headquarters, with countless police officers, Lestrade, and even worse, Donovan and Anderson looking on.
“You knew about this, didn’t you?” Sherlock said, turning in John grasp to address Lestrade. Of course, that was why he was so insistent Sherlock come down and go over the evidence with them when he’d never done anything like that in the past. Usually once a case was solved and all evidence gathered, Lestrade wanted Sherlock to stay well and truly out of it so that ‘proper procedures can be observed.’
“I was tasked with getting you down here and keeping you here. Surprised we were able to pull the wool over, to be honest,” Lestrade chuckled.
“Hmmm, don’t get used to it.” Sherlock hummed, before turning back to John. “You’re in your uniform. It’s… it’s good.” He said, allowing his hands to run up and down John’s arms, feeling the soft wool and John’s still firm muscles under his fingers.
“You approve then?” John asked, inching closer and looking up at Sherlock through his eyelashes. Sherlock’s heart skipped yet another beat. “I had noticed the way you react when I slip in to Captain Watson mode on cases.”
“Approve? Yes, yes I very much approve.” Sherlock managed to get out before swooping down to reclaim John’s mouth. He’d only been gone for two days, but he’d already missed him beyond reason. “Now what are we still doing here? Take me home at once, Captain Watson.”
“Right away, but I’m the one giving the orders around here.” John practically growled, and in one quick motion, swept Sherlock up and into his arms. Sherlock was going to have to remember to thank Mrs. Hudson for making them watch that ridiculous movie about the American naval officer.
Later, he’d have to thank her later.
“Good luck with the rest of the case, Lestrade,” John said as he started towards the lifts, “and don’t even think of calling us until tomorrow. Better yet, make it the day after.” Then dropping his voice so that only Sherlock could hear, he added, “because I have some drills to run through with you, Ensign Holmes.”
“Hmmmm. Yes, sir.” Sherlock shivered. Why did he ever believe John would forget what day it was?