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The moment Sherlock saw the box of Valentine cards at the store he knew Rosie would love them for her friends. Now, sitting with her at the kitchen table watching her slowly write each classmate’s name on the buzzing bee cards with her little tongue sticking out, he’s reminded so much of John it makes him want to tuck one little card away for his flatmate. He won’t. Instead he suggests Rosie write out an extra to her dad. But the thought of slipping a little “Bee Mine” under John’s pillow brings a small smile to Sherlock’s face as he tidies up the crayons.
When John comes home from the clinic a few hours later, Sherlock and Rosie are just done setting the table and John scoops up his daughter in a hug and gives her a big kiss on her cheek. “What were you two up to this afternoon?” he asks, looking between the two of them as he settles a laughing Rosie in her dinner chair. Sherlock smiles at John as he watches the scene, so grateful to be a part of it even as just a bystander watching. John meets Sherlock’s eyes and holds them a second longer than usual with a smile of his own. Sherlock is thrown for a moment and blinks fast as he starts to serve dinner.
“We wrote our Valentine cards for tomorrow,” Rosie answers, “and there are some left over so you can write yours, too!” She’s looking at both John and Sherlock as she speaks.
So after dinner Sherlock lifts Rosie so she can pull the extra cards off the shelf and then she gets the crayons out of the drawer. They all decide to write one to Mrs. Hudson and one to Molly. Rosie writes one to Mycroft. John kicks Sherlock under table when he rolls his eyes after John tells Rosie that’s a very nice idea.
They finish up and Sherlock begins Rosie’s bedtime routine. “Come on, little bee, up you go,” he says and he lifts her out of her chair. As they walk toward the stairs, he notices John thinking for a moment as he holds one of the few remaining cards, writes a few words, and then slips the little card into his back pocket. Ah. John must have finally asked out the new barista at the coffee shop across from the clinic. Sherlock’s grateful he decided against his earlier card-pillow plan.
John is washing the dishes when Sherlock comes down. “She’s asleep?” he asks.
“Finally,” replies Sherlock, “she wouldn’t stop chattering away wondering who would give her cards at school tomorrow.”
John chuckles. “I left a little bear for her at Mrs. Hudson’s so she wouldn’t see it. I’ll run down to get it if you want to finish up here.”
“I’ll go,” Sherlock jumps up, much preferring the errand to the dishes. John leans back, looking out the kitchen exit to the stairs, until he’s sure Sherlock’s gone. Then he shuts the water off and goes to the bathroom to retrieve the gift bag he has hidden behind his med kit in the cabinet under the sink.
He opens the bag to check that the vintage chemistry book he knows Sherlock was eyeing last month when they took Rosie to story time at the bookstore was still intact. John changed the bag’s hiding spot every two days since he bought it, trying his hardest not to let his brilliant flatmate deduce him. Not that Sherlock would expect a gift from John on Valentine’s Day, abhorring all such emotions except for those that he displays for one little blond, curly haired girl.
John is lost in thought when Sherlock pushes open the bathroom door that was left ajar. “What are you doing on the floor, John? Are you injured?” he asks seeing the med kit.
John yelps and jumps up, startled at Sherlock’s quick intrusion, and solidly bumps his head on the edge of the sink. “Well, I am now!” he yells at Sherlock and he sinks back down onto his bottom, eyes shut, one hand clutching the top of his head.
“I’ll get ice,” Sherlock starts for the kitchen but John stops him. “No no, I’m fine. It’s not bad,” and he stands up, holding onto the wall not realizing the gift bag is still in his other hand.
Sherlock sees it and asks, “Is that for Rosie, as well? I’ll put it with the bear,” and goes to take it but John pulls the bag back.
“No, this one’s not for Rosie,” he quickly says, putting it behind his back.
“Of course,” Sherlock quietly replies and leaves the bathroom, confirmed in his new girlfriend suspicion from earlier. Of course John would have a gift ready for his date, although surprising he would choose such a loaded holiday to start off on. “Rosie’s bear is on the table.” And he walks down the hall to his room and closes the door.
John feels like shit. This is entirely not the way he intended for this night to go, or how he wanted to give Sherlock his present. John was looking forward to tomorrow night, sitting in their chairs in front of the fire, and he was hoping that a small amount of liquid courage would be all he needed to finally confess his feelings to the man he’s loved for so long.
Now all he wants to do is bring back the Sherlock who was he was smiling with not even one hour earlier. And if that means giving Sherlock his gift now, then so be it.
John walks down the hallway and is about to knock on Sherlock’s door when he pauses and pulls the small valentine out of his back pocket. He closes his eyes for a moment and takes a few deep breaths before dropping it into the bag. It’s not like he wrote a sonnet on it, and if Sherlock doesn’t react then John can just laugh it off and claim he was caught up in Rosie’s enthusiasm. He knocks on the door before he can change his mind. “Sherlock?”
Sherlock opens the door. He only has himself to blame for his disappointment. “Is your head alright? I apologize for startling you,” he says calmly. John has every right to date, and Sherlock long ago swore off being childish about it.
It’s all John can do not to shove the gift bag into Sherlock’s face. “This is for you,” he says instead and gently holds the bag out by the handles.
Sherlock stands still and looks at the bag. John bought a gift for him? In a bag with hearts on it? He goes back and forth between those two sentences in his head for quite a bit before he hears John say his name. Loudly. Sherlock looks up and meets John’s eyes.
“Hello, there you are,” John smiles. “Do you want to open it?” Sherlock nods.
He takes the bag, walks to the kitchen table, and sits down. The bag is heavy and Sherlock knows it’s a book, but his mouth slowly gapes open when he pulls it out. “John,” he says reverently, “how did you know? This is entirely too much.” He opens the book confirming it’s the exact one he was eyeing those weeks ago. “This is a first edition,” he says, finally looking up at John’s face. John is beaming.
“I know,” John says proudly. “I was glad it was still there when I went back to get it. I hope you like it. Happy Valentine’s Day, Sherlock.” He knows Sherlock hasn’t noticed the little card still tucked inside the bag, but the exchange went so perfectly John decides against mentioning it. Another time, he thinks with sigh, and starts to stand up.
“I haven’t opened the card yet,” Sherlock looks at John, who slowly sits back down, suddenly about to vomit all over the table. What if he miscalculated? Why did he have to ruin this perfect moment with that damn card? He bites his top lip and worries his eyes while Sherlock opens the card.
Sherlock reads it. Right above the pre-printed “Bee Mine” in bright yellow bubble letters, John’s writing reads, “Sherlock, Will you?” with “Always yours, John” underneath. He looks up at John.
Silence.
John counts to five before breaking eye contact and putting both hands on the table and pushing himself up. Well. That’s that. No harm done, really, and now that he tried he can start to somehow deal with his feelings realistically. “I’m very glad you like the book. Good night, Sherlock,” he smiles and starts to leave the room.
“I will,” Sherlock quietly says as he sits alone at the table.
“What?” asks John, turning back around.
Sherlock looks at the card again and softly smiles. “I will, John.” Sherlock swallows and looks up into John’s incredible blue eyes. “I am,” and Sherlock prays he’s not getting this wrong.
John walks back and stands in front of Sherlock’s chair. “You are?” John asks hopefully as he looks down and cups Sherlock’s face with his hand. Sherlock grabs it and holds it in place as he leans into it, closing his eyes, and nods.
“Look at me, Sherlock.” And Sherlock does. All of John’s apprehension dissipates as he looks into those beautiful eyes. Eyes filled with admiration, trust, and love. John leans down and gently grazes his lips against Sherlock’s before touching their foreheads together.
“Always, as well, John. For me,” and Sherlock tilts his head up bringing their lips together again, holding the small little card in his hand, against his heart.