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John has no idea why he does it. It’s probably because the stupid things were on offer.
The set of two mugs, with chocolate on sticks to make proper hot chocolate, is wrapped in pink cellophane. One had a tiny watercolour hedgehog with the phrase “Looking sharp!” repeated around the top and bottom of it. This was the mug that drew his attention to the set. Hedgehogs always were one of his favourite animals and this one on the mug was very sweet.
Then he noticed the other mug of the set. A watercolour bee with a contented smile and rosy cheeks, and “Bee happy!” on it. He couldn’t help thinking of Sherlock, the memory of the consulting detective flouncing around 221B’s kitchen in his dressing gown, googles around his neck, eyes lit up as he ranted about bees. To be fair, Sherlock was usually on John’s mind. Having a crush, especially on a flatmate, tended to keep you thinking about them.
Struck with how perfect it was, John took a minute to remember that the mugs were a Valentine’s gift. He couldn’t buy a valentine’s gift for him and Sherlock. Placing the set reluctantly onto the display, John bit his lip. He couldn’t. He had no idea how Sherlock hadn’t realised his feelings for him by now, but he wasn’t going to tempt fate.
The 75% sticker was taunting him from the corner of his eye.
He pinched the bridge of his nose as he realised he was actually considering buying the thing. This was crazy. Living with a madman had turned him into one. Wait. Sherlock never knew public holidays. He’d see it as an impulse buy (which it was) not a Valentine’s gift (which it wasn’t).
John picks the set back up and places it into his basket. Even if Sherlock doesn’t appreciate the bee mug and hot chocolate, he’ll be appeased with the fact that he can now have two old mugs for experiment purposes.
John shouts that he’s home as he comes through the door but, unsurprisingly, Sherlock doesn’t reply.
He’s sitting, cross-legged, in the middle of the living room floor, his hands palm to palm in front of him like he’s praying but his eyes are screwed shut in concentration. The ground around him is littered with paper and photographs. A pen that he must have been using at some point has been abandoned, left resting on his ankle, it’s lid on the floor.
John opens the set quickly, to get rid of the damning pink cellophane adorned with hearts. He notices the little tags that tell him there is honey inside the chocolate and his chest twinges with how perfect it is. He melts the chocolate in the microwave, removes the mugs to add milk and places them back in the microwave.
John smiles at Sherlock as he places a cup of hot chocolate on the table in front of him.
“Not thirsty.”
“Sherlock.”
Sherlock cracks one eye open. John stares him down.
“Come on. You’ve checked out the last couple of days, at least this will give you some energy and you need a pick me up.”
Sherlock scowls. John raises an eyebrow at him in warning. Grumbling, Sherlock picks up the mug that he knows doesn’t contain tea and takes a sip of the best hot chocolate he has ever tasted.
“This has honey in it.”
He smiles at John like he’d presented him with unsolved triple homicide. John ignores the flutter his heart does. He’s been ignoring it for so long that it’s almost easy – almost.
“I like when you smile, but I love it when I’m the reason.”
Sherlock freezes the same time John does. John can’t believe he just said that out loud. Neither does Sherlock, by the way he’s blinking. Every time he’s confronted with something he can’t believe or understand he does that. Starts blinking like crazy, and stuttering if he’s talking, as if the great computer in his head has started to lag. John would never admit he finds it cute.
“Oh.”
It falls from Sherlock’s lips as he stands and crosses the room in two strides. He bobs his head, centimetres from John’s face, clearly searching for something. Apparently, he finds something he likes because he smiles again and brushes his lips against John’s.
Sherlock kisses John so softly, so sweetly, the taste of chocolate and honey on their lips. John can feel himself smiling into it, more and more until he breaks the kiss, giggling. Sherlock rests his forehead on his, nuzzling into him like an overgrown cat. John gently pushes him back.
“Sorry, uh, I’m guessing you now know how I feel about you. But I just want you to know, because I, uh, know the whole relationship thing isn’t your thing, you don’t have to go along with it to make me stay.”
Sherlock glares at him.
“Idiot.”
“Pardon?”
“You think I kissed you because you fancy me? I kissed you because you love me back.”
“Love you? Wait, back?”
Sherlock sighs impressively.
“Obviously. How could you not know I loved you? Well. In my own way.”
John starts giggling again.
“We can’t do anything the normal way, can we?”
“Why would you want to? It would be boring.”
John raises a hand to cradle Sherlock’s face and he leans into the touch. Sherlock tips his face up so the other man would lean down and kiss him. The kiss is slow and warm, chaste and unhurried. Sherlock is inexperienced, but a quick study and he slowly slides his way up into John’s lap to get a better angle.
“Are you sure you’re fine with this?”
John asks as they break apart for breath. He pulls away, stroking Sherlock’s arms.
“Is this okay? Do you feel okay with this? I don’t want this to be too much and to make you feel bad because I- “
The rest of the sentence gets lost in an undignified yelp as Sherlock nips his collarbone.
“It’s the best way to get you to shut up and to stop you overthinking. One of the most amazing feelings in the world is having someone fall in love with you who you thought you never had a chance with. It’s better than heroin. Trust me, I would know. I think the only better feeling is making out with that person.”
He accentuates the point by nipping at John’s bottom lip.
“You do make me feel guilty though. You brought my very first Valentine’s present and I got you nothing.”
“You know it’s Valentine’s day?” John says disbelievingly. “You haven’t deleted Valentine’s day?”
Sherlock shrugs.
“It’s the day of the patron Saint of the plague and beekeeping.”
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The young woman’s converse squeaks on the empty warehouse’s floor as she makes her way to the man in the middle of it, leaning on his umbrella.
“Done sir. I have no doubt you monitored my progress via CCTV, but I feel it is good manners to confirm with you.”
“Excellently done, Miss Colton.”
The man turns to leave but Miss Colton clears her throat.
“Why exactly was it so important that the target brought that Valentine’s gift, sir? If that information isn’t classified?”
He turns back around.
“Unfortunately, it is. All I can tell you is that I was proving a point to one of the most brilliant minds there is, that he is oblivious to the obvious. In short that my little brother can be, pardon my pun, a mug. However, it has proved you would be useful in the field. I look forward to working with you Miss Colton.”
Miss Colton examines his extended hand and begins to nod before she shakes it.
“And I Mr Holmes.”