Chapter Text
Sherlock woke up with a crick in his neck, a draft on his feet, and a sleeping John on his shoulder. He took a moment to orient himself. It was New Year’s Eve, no New Year’s Day, according to the clock, which stated it was almost two in the morning. They had been watching some New Year’s Eve show on the telly, one with terrible musical performances and annoying emcees. John had insisted they have it on so they could ring in the new year and watch the fireworks shows from other cities around the world, but mostly he and John had talked over it. It had been a quiet, pleasant evening—a little alcohol in celebration, but nothing out of hand, quiet conversation with the person he loved most in this world, and the warm cocoon that seemed to hang around him and John constantly these days.
Somehow, they’d both managed to fall asleep before midnight. At least, Sherlock assumed John had dropped off around the same time he had. Their conversation had slowed, John had scooted down the sofa cushion to rest his head on Sherlock’s shoulder, and they’d drowsily watched the horrible presenters natter on.
Knowing they’d regret it if they stayed on the sofa for the rest of the night, Sherlock put his free hand to John’s cheek. “Wake up,” he whispered lowly. John groaned and dug his head deeper into Sherlock’s shoulder. Sherlock tried again. “John, we should go to bed.” Another groan was his only answer. Sherlock smiled, gently extricated himself from John, and pulled them both to standing, letting John lean on him rather than try a third time to wake him.
By the time they made it to the bedroom, John was awake enough to undress himself and climb into bed, and he sighed softly as he burrowed under the covers. “Hurry up,” he mumbled. “The sheets are cold.”
Sherlock chuckled, shucked his pajama bottoms, and crawled in beside John. “Rude,” he teased. “You’re supposed to warm them for me, not force me to warm them myself.”
“Make it a group effort,” John replied drowsily, inching close to Sherlock and putting his arm around Sherlock’s waist.
Sherlock hummed happily as he let himself be situated to John’s exacting specifications. If asked who would be the picky one about how he slept, most people would pick Sherlock, but it was John who needed to be facing a certain way with Sherlock positioned just so in order to fall asleep (sofa kipping aside). When asked, John had said that positioning himself in the same way every night had helped him go to sleep faster after he’d first returned from Afghanistan. He’d needed a sense of routine and feeling of familiar comfort in order to relax. Whereas Sherlock was used to getting sleep when and where he allowed it, without any sort of routine to fall back on. Still, he found John’s routine comforting, and he did accede that he’d been falling asleep much faster ever since John had taken up residence in his bed. Of course, it could also be that clocking John’s vitals and learning his every bump and crease and angle as the nodded off was a bit like counting sheep to Sherlock—a good way to slow his brain down enough to let it relax.
He was ready to begin that nightly routine when John sighed in his ear. “We missed midnight,” John noted.
“We’ve both seen many starts to many years, I’m sure we’re allowed to miss a few.”
“But it was our first one t’gether. It deserved special cel’bration,” John slurred sleepily.
Sherlock warmed at the thought. John was much freer with his thoughts and feelings now that they were together. It was as if he’d only kept everything so tightly bottled was because he was afraid of revealing his love for Sherlock. And now that that was out in the open, he didn’t care about the rest. Sherlock understood the feeling. It was liberating for them both, though it had started even before they’d even kissed. It had begun one month ago, when John said he wanted Sherlock around for the rest of his life.
He hadn’t revealed his complete feelings then, and neither had Sherlock, but they’d taken that first step, that pledge to spend their lives together, to put each other over anyone else. They could’ve kissed then and there, but Sherlock had enjoyed spreading it out a little, feeling that will-they-won’t-they tension, enjoying the little flirtations John so loved to give in their texting conversations, reveling in the increasingly open looks and touches from John and Sherlock giving his own in return. And now here they were, over a week into their new relationship, happy and open and starting a new year together. He understood John’s disappointment in being unable to ring in the new year together, but it was fine. He’d spent it sleeping and curled up with John, which was somehow maybe a bit better. It illustrated their comfort level with each other, which was a much better indicator of the longevity of their relationship than some big, showy kiss at a somewhat arbitrary moment of time. Still, he understood.
“If you can hold out for…” he checked his phone, “three more minutes, we can celebrate with Rio de Janeiro.”
John chuckled. “Okay, let’s…” he yawned, “do that.” He tightened his arm around Sherlock’s waist.
“What did you decide for your resolution?” Sherlock asked, mostly to keep John awake, but also because he was curious. John had been mentioning it for days, but hadn’t said what’d he’d landed on. Sherlock, of course, wasn’t pledging anything definite, though he’d tacitly vowed to make John happy. That was enough to be going on with, he thought.
“Oh,” John began with a hum. “Spend the year proving I’m worth a lifetime with you.” He rubbed his nose against Sherlock’s cheek. “Figured that would annoy you far less than a fitness regime or dieting or, I dunno, being less of an arse to other people.”
It was simultaneously greater and less than any answer John could have given. Less because it wasn’t as if John hadn’t been doing that all along, and greater because it made Sherlock feel special, to have such a vow concentrated on him, of all people. He scooted even closer to John, careful not to upset their current arrangement.
“Oh, John, I’ve known your worth for years. Maybe not from day one, otherwise I wouldn’t have turned down you chatting me up that first night, but definitely early days. Hell, you jumped on Moriarty’s back while covered in explosives for me. You, John Watson, are worth everything to me. You have been for ages, and you will continue to be so for the rest of our lives.”
John propped himself up on his elbow, leaned over Sherlock, and put a hand to Sherlock’s cheek. “Never stop amazing me, Sherlock. God, how did I get so lucky to find you? I think you proved your worth to me that first day, in the lab. You read me in a way not even my therapist had managed after two months of sessions. It was… freeing to be seen without having to explain myself for once, for you to understand where I came from and what I needed to feel valuable and wanted. I knew then that you would play an important part in my life, and that grew only more obvious over time. It hasn’t always been easy, you and me, but we’ve managed to get this far. I have high hopes that the rest of life’s challenges won’t be insurmountable if we stay honest with each other.” John stopped a moment, then chuckled.
“What?”
“It’s just gone midnight at the start of a new year, and the two of us are talking like we’re in a wedding ceremony.” He laid back down, snuggling back into position next to Sherlock.
“Did you… were you hoping…” Sherlock had trouble making himself ask. He didn’t want to disappoint John, but he wasn’t sure the whole wedding song-and-dance was necessary. He would do it, though, if it made John feel more secure.
“No,” John said with a sigh that sounded content. Good. “It’s just a paper stating what we already know. And in this day and age, really, something said in a church or in front of witnesses doesn’t really hold much more intent than what we’re saying now. We’ve been marinating all month in the idea of spending our lives together, longer, really, at least in our own heads. Maybe down the road we’ll decide the tax benefits are worth it, but as a means of pledging ourselves to each other, not necessary.”
Sherlock relaxed as John talked. It shouldn’t surprise him that they agreed on this. They were two danger-loving mad men. Marriage wasn’t a priority for either of them. Still, that didn’t mean romance wasn’t warranted. He did want to make it clear what he expected out of their future.
“I agree,” he replied. “And, for the record… I vow, John Watson, to love you, to make you laugh, to keep adventure in your life. I promise I won’t abandon you when this gets difficult. I won’t let jealousy or boredom or criminal masterminds interfere with our happiness. I’ve loved you for years, and I’ll continue to do so for as long as I’m alive.”
Sherlock felt John’s smile through the t-shirt covering his shoulder and John’s fingers rubbing softly over his hip, a comforting and mindless gesture. “I vow, Sherlock Holmes, to love you, protect you, and stand tall by your side. I will support you in your mad schemes, learn as much as I can from your genius mind, and take the mickey out of you every once in a while to keep you from getting too big a head.”
“Hey,” Sherlock complained insincerely, pinching John’s arm.
John giggled. “I won’t let anger or hopelessness or lack of understanding get in the way of you and me. I’ll always ask for stolen ashtrays and make jokes only you understand. I may have sometimes hated your actions, but I’ve always love you, and I plan on doing the same for the rest of my life.”
The idea of them growing old together seemed to not become any more boring or commonplace the more they talked about it. Sherlock’s heart was light, and a happy hum infused his body. He was in bed on New Year’s Day with the man he loved and had just vowed to spend the rest of his life with. No other holiday would beat this one out. The winter solstice would always hold a special place for being the moment they first kissed. But this was more comfortable, more… forever.
“To a new year and the beginning of a new life,” he whispered against John’s temple.
“To us,” John replied. “Happy New Year,” he mumbled, beginning to drift off again.
“Happy New Year, John.”
With such an auspicious beginning, Sherlock knew it would be a good one.