Work Text:
John was tired.
No, he was exhausted. He shuffled his way into the kitchen and put the kettle on, knowing that his favorite genius would want a cuppa after such a hard day.
They had been chasing a spree murderer for the past week all over London. Sherlock had picked up on miniscule clues at the first murder scene that had them searching all over for three days until they found the second body. Luckily, today was only running all over trying to find his supposed "hide out" that Sherlock had insisted he had. They finally reached the "hide out" which was actually a garbage bin with a false bottom. Sherlock of course had dove straight into the bin and they had to walk home. The murderer had shot at Sherlock, and for a horrible moment, John thought he had hit his mark. He was screaming when he grabbed the murderer's gun hand and disarmed him. As soon as the threat was gone, Sherlock had a hand on his shoulder assuring him that he was fine.
John leaned against the counter and let his head hang. All he wanted to do was curl up in Sherlock's arms and sleep for at least twenty-four hours.
He heard soft footsteps getting closer. Sherlock pressed his forehead against John's neck, putting his hands on the counter on either side of John. John immediately wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist and pulled him flush against himself. John breathed in the scent of his own shampoo and the faint stench of garbage that still lingered and let himself relax for the first time all week. He pressed light kisses to Sherlock's bare collarbone, holding his waist tightly as if he was going to rush off suddenly.
"John, you are perfectly aware that-"
John hummed discontentedly, effectively cutting him off. Sherlock ran his hand up John's back and up into his hair, scratching at his scalp lightly. John shivered, holding Sherlock tighter.
"I'm sorry I scared you earlier. I....I had forgotten how that sort of thing effects you." Sherlock said, his voice barely above a whisper. John mumbled something against Sherlock's skin and shook his head. "What did you say?" Sherlock tried to back away to look John in the eye, but John held him firmly, only moving his head so that his mouth wasn't pressed against Sherlock.
"I said. Shut up. and hold me." John repeated, sounding like he was fighting back tears. Sherlock moved his arms one at a time, almost as if he was scared that John would change his mind, and let his hands settle on the familiar material of his favorite knitted jumper that John had snagged. It had been nearly two years since Sherlock had jumped off the hospital, and John still had nightmares about it at least once a week. Naturally, Sherlock had suggested that John try sleeping in his bed with him. One thing had lead to another, and a few months and awkward discussions later led them to this moment. Sherlock was suddenly hit with the realization that he would never have anyone better matched for him than the man in his arms.
"I love you." Sherlock mouthed against John's neck. He figured it was a bit too soon to actually say the words, but he had to tell John sometime didn't he? John's breath hitched and his body went rigid. Sherlock's heart dropped to his feet, but he didn't dare move a muscle until John said something.
John looked up and pressed his lips firmly against Sherlock's, kissing him passionately, but without any heat behind it. Both of them were breathless by the time they really needed to part. Sherlock rested his forehead against John's, keeping his eyes closed.
"I love you, Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock's eyes opened, to meet John's tear filled ones. "Since the day we met." Sherlock's eyes widened slightly. Sherlock pressed a few light kisses to John's lips, his own curling up into a soft smile. They stood in the kitchen for several more moments until the kettle started whistling, startling them out of their trance.
Sherlock moved away from John, heading towards the stove wen he felt a sharp pinch on his bum. He whipped around quickly to a grinning John.
"That towel does wonders for your ass." John said playfully.