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“I’ve got another deduction for you,” John reaches for Watson, who is asleep in the carrier on my chest, and I stop walking so that he can settle her duckie hat down and cover her little pink ears.
Squeeze her foot and kiss the top of that tiny hat. John smiles and I feel conspicuous, “And I’m to answer yes or no, correct?”
John raises a hand toward my face, and I step back automatically (wish I didn’t but I did). His hand falls, “Sorry. You’ve got a bit of chocolate cake on your face. Just there.” He demonstrates by tapping a finger to his lip.
“Oh,” lick my thumb and swab at my face, “Got it?”
“No. Do you want me to?”
“Go on, then.” Lean down a bit and John grins and rolls his eyes, but gently wipes the chocolate off my face with a moistened fingertip, then reflexively pops it into his mouth. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. What was I saying?”
“You’ve got another deduction for me.” Rub the baby’s back rather nervously, “I’m listening.”
“Yeah,” John nods sort of resolutely. “I did have a deduction for you. Maybe er. More than one.”
“All right.”
“And since it worked out so well the first time, with you getting cake and all, if I get it right, you’ve got to say so. Okay?” John’s tone is light, but he pauses and turns to look directly into my face to show he really means the question as a question.
“Yes, all right. I will tell you. Is there cake on the other end of this deduction, John?”
“There can be anything you like on the other end, to be honest.” He smiles his old reckless smile from our early days together, and something young and foolish flutters in my middle. “Right, well.” John squares his shoulders, his smile lingering, “I deduce. That you. Love me. The way that I love you, I mean.”
Can’t seem to make myself answer that (what will I do with myself now I’m not sitting on that secret?). John only smiles hopefully into the following silence. Patient. But he’s already made it easy for me, hasn’t he? We’ve already decided what my role is to be. I only need to be truthful, and John proposes to do the rest. “Yes. I do. I love you.”
John glows a smile back at me, “Lovely.” He catches my gloved hand in his naked one and presses it. “That’s a relief.”
Giggle a little hysterically, “It is, isn’t it.”
John’s smile broadens, but grows a little solmen somehow, “I think we. I don’t think we’re quite erm. We should be careful, yeah? I don’t want to waste any more time, but I don’t want to.” He shakes his head and stuffs his left hand into his pocket, “We’ve got Rosie to look after and. I’ve already hurt you more than I can stand, so. Do you think you could be a bit patient with me, while we work out how to do this? Maybe go and see my new therapist together? I mean, Christ, I’m getting ahead of myself.” He stamps his foot and blows a deep breath, “I think we. I mean. Long story short, I’m arse over tea kettle in love with you, and I want us to raise my daughter together and be erm. Together. Properly together. In 221B. For as long as we both shall live or. I love you, and I want to spend my life with you! I feel like I’ve been talking for ten years, and you’ve not said anything. That’s what I want. What do you want?”
At first I can only nod, but John seems more than satisfied. He squeezes and squeezes my hand. It’s the first time in years, I think, that I’ve looked at him without any secrets between us, and I feel so light that I may just float away into the chilly London evening and bob about in the fog, “I want to sit down.”
John laughs, “All right. That’d be easy enough. Any thoughts on. The rest of it?”
“I want you and Watson to come back to Baker Street and live with me, and I want. I want for us to be properly together. Like you said.” Clear my throat, “Slow and careful is good. I’ll go to your therapist with you. Yes. Obviously we don’t know what we’re doing, so we could do with a bit of. Clarity. Support.”
Have to look at John in little glances. His hair has caught the orangey glow of a street lamp, and he’s too lovely to look at straight on, “Support. Exactly. God, you’re so. Fantastic.”
“So we. Are we together? Now? Happy birthday to me?”
John laughs, “We can call it tomorrow, if you’d rather not double up on special occasions.”
Edge a bit closer to him, “No, it’s. Fine. I was only wondering if maybe you’d like to. Kiss me?”
John beams, “I’d love to kiss you. I’m dying to kiss you. Come here,” With a little tug on my sleeve to draw me closer, John rises onto his toes to lean around the baby and kisses me tenderly. Almost reverently. It feels like a very good beginning.