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Sherlock never celebrated valentine’s day. That was, of course, before John. Before he had discovered that his love for the doctor was indeed mutual, he suddenly couldn’t stop himself from giving in to all the clichés of a relationship. He frequently bought John flowers, just because he wanted to. He would cook him breakfast in bed. He took him to the movies. Whatever Sherlock could imagine in his brilliant mind, he would execute it.
This valentine’s day, however, Sherlock faced a challenge. It was their first and he knew how much John despised candles, evident from the faces he’d pull or the amount of times he’d roll his eyes when he noticed Sherlock’s newest purchase of scented candles.
“It romanticises things, don’t you think?” Sherlock would ask.
“It sets off my allergies, is what it does Sherlock. Plus, it’s a complete waste of oxygen. You’re setting small fires around the flat. That’s a safety hazard. You realise that, right?”
Sherlock knew he wanted to incorporate candles into this valentine’s day surprise, so he set himself the gruelling task of finding candles that John would like.
He had been searching for almost a week and had finally found hypoallergenic candles with subtle scents - nothing that would drive John’s nose wild. They were neutral in colour - perfect for John, too, as he hated the ridiculous colours or patterns they’d cover them in - and were in small glass containers. That way, Sherlock thought, the flame would be protected. John would have to really try hard to find something to complain about this time. He bought a few more items before leaving the store.
He returned home and found he had less than an hour to prepare the flat for Johns return. John had been away for a few nights with Harry, reconciling their lost relationship, or something like that. Sherlock had been too preoccupied admiring John’s eyes to have heard the specifics.
He lined every surface with candles and walked around the room lighting them one by one. They guided a pathway to the bedroom - that was an accident, but a happy one, for sure - and he decided to litter some rose petals he had bought across the carpet, following the candles lead.
In the bedroom, he had repeated the same design, placing candles on all surfaces and littering the ground in petals. He placed his gift on top of the bed, finished with a bow, and smiled. Sherlock took a step back and admired his handy work.
It wasn’t long before Sherlock heard the door open and close, accompanied by the familiar jangle of keys as they were hooked up. John’s footfalls came closer until he noticed they stopped suddenly.
“Sherlock, what on earth have you done?”
At this, Sherlock appeared in the doorway and smiled. “I put candles and rose petals around the flat. I thought that was fairly obvious.”
John just glared in response and stepped past him to see just what damage had been done. He covered his nose and sighed. “Sherlock, you know this stuff messes with my allergies-”
“They’re hypoallergenic, John. No need to worry.”
“Oh.” John removed his hand from his face and took a closer look at one of the candles. “Why are they in glass?”
“They’re less of a hazard that way,” Sherlock replied, watching John’s every move. “I didn’t want to burn the flat down, so…”
“Sherlock,” John began, tracing his fingertips across the surfaces around the room littered with candles. “Why?”
He had to admit, it did look lovely. The dark room lit up by small candle flames, almost leading a path to the bedroom.
“It’s valentine’s day,” Sherlock grinned. “Why else?”
John raised an eyebrow at Sherlock. “No, it’s not.”
“What?”
“It’s not Valentine’s day, Sherlock. It’s October.”
Sherlock’s smile fell from his lips. “Valentine’s day… Isn’t in October?”
John couldn’t help but laugh. “No,” he exclaimed, “It’s in February.” He giggled at the sight of Sherlock, completely dumbfounded.
“Oh.”
John continued, following the candles down the hallway. “What am I going to find in here?” He quizzed, “it better not be some sort of science experiment”.
Opening the door, all John could do was gasp. Okay, this is romantic, he thought. The subtle flickering light filled the room with a dull orange and red glow, accented by the rose petals scattered on the ground and on the bed. “Sherlock…” His voice trailed off. It was beautiful.
His eyes darted to the bed once more, and he noticed a gift. John picked up the box and removed the bow, anxious to see what it was. Inside, illuminated by the candlelight, was a single polaroid photograph of John and Sherlock. He recognised it - it was after they solved their first case together. He turned the photo over, it was dated, and scrawled in Sherlock’s handwriting was “This was the day I became yours. I want you to have this.”
Tears welled up in John’s eyes and he wiped them away before they fell. Sherlock was unbelievable.
“Sherlock-“ John began, turning to find him, only to bump into him. Sherlock was stood directly behind John, and reached out to steady him.
Sherlock’s face looked puzzled. “Why are you crying?”
“I’m not,” John replied, “you’re just… very romantic.” He angled himself upwards to place a soft kiss on Sherlock’s lips, the taller man placing his hand behind John’s head to hold him there for a few seconds before releasing him, instantly missing the warmth of John’s touch.
“So, you like the candles?”
“Christ, Sherlock, you git. Yes. It’s all so perfect.”
A smug grin littered Sherlock’s face. “I knew it.”