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Weeks passed, the two men content in their intangible engagement. Now they were in Sherlock's bed, John was asleep after a twelve-hour non-stop case, and Sherlock was thinking. Usually Sherlock was the big spoon, given his size, but they had all but collapsed into bed earlier that night, so John was on his back and Sherlock on his side, an arm slung protectively over John's torso, his cold feet brushing against John's calves.
And he thought, as he listened to John's even breathing.
He thought of how they had ended up in his bed.
That first night, they had fallen asleep in his bed. The next night, too. And the night after that one. It became a routine when there was no case. When there was one, though, John still slept in Sherlock's bed when he could, and sometimes Sherlock would stumble in, ready to share a deduction, catch sight of John, and then slide in next to him, settling for whispering the thought excitedly into his ear.
-
One morning, John was making tea and Sherlock was reading the paper, just like almost every morning.
"Big or small?"
"Sorry?" Sherlock looked up from the newspaper.
"Big or small wedding?" John repeated. "I'd think you'd want a small one, but I wanted to check."
"Er, yes," Sherlock said. "Small would be preferable. Unless you want a big wedding?"
John set down two cups on the table. "No, small is fine. Whatever you want, love." He pecked Sherlock's cheek.
The detective blushed ever-so-slightly.
"Speaking of," Sherlock began, "When would be a good date? Because cases and such. . ." He waved his hand vaguely.
"We could always go to the courthouse with Greg or Mycroft as a witness."
"No Mycroft." A pause. "Greg?"
"Lestrade," John clarified.
"Ah. Yes, the courthouse would do. Nothing showy or. . . with /Mycroft/."
"Alright, love." John kissed him again.
-
The next week, John dragged Sherlock shopping. Sherlock was very confused when they arrived at a jeweler's.
"Really, John?"
"What? We need rings. And it's /technically/ a shop."
"I was under the impression we were getting more tea. We /need/ more tea. We do not /need/ rings." Sherlock sighed theatrically as John grabbed his hand and hauled him unceremoniously through the door.
"Yes we do, you git. I'm want everyone to know you are mine, and no one else's. And we can get more tea afterwards."
"They'd know, John." Sherlock took John's hand and kissed it. "Fine. What about this one?" Sherlock pointed to a sleek, simple black steel ring with his other hand.
"You would pick that one," John chided.
"And this one for you," Sherlock continued, pointing to a gold band with a faint engraving along the outside.
"Perfect." John kissed Sherlock's cheek and called the jeweler over to size and pay for the rings.
-
Sherlock patted the two velvet boxes tucked into his coat pocket. They had resided there since they had bought them, and Sherlock liked reaching into his pocket and feeling that this was real. He was curled in John's chair, watching telly. John was making tea.
"John?"
"Yes, love?"
"How about tomorrow?"
"For what-- oh. Tomorrow?"
"Is there an issue?"
"No, just-- you're sure?"
"Of course. You should call Greg, have a bachelor's party, or... whatever." He waved his hand vaguely.
John grinned and set the tea down on the counter. "Yeah. Yeah, I will."
-
John returned home later that night drunk and giddy. He stumbled up the front steps, slammed the door, and tossed his coat of the chair. A few steps later, he collapsed on his bed. The flurry of dust that rose into the hair made him cough, and he realized just how unused his room was for sleeping. He did his best to shake the rest of the dust off. Then he climbed into the stiff sheets and tried to sleep.
Operative word, tried. The bed was too cold, too big, too lacking in a certain consulting detective. So, like any sane person would do, he threw back the covers and went upstairs.
-
Sherlock wasn't having any less trouble sleeping. He had watched the clock for a while before going up to bed. He had dissolved into self-doubt, but pulled himself out of it. He lay on his back, running through every possible way the next day could go. But the bed was too cold and empty without John in it.
The door slammed and he heard John stagger around. Sherlock hoped he didn't hurt himself or trip on anything. He heard John flop into his old bed. There was a quiet for a while, and then footsteps echoed on the stairs up to his room. John opened the door as quietly as a drunk man could and walked over. He fell into bed rather unceremoniously and flung and arm over Sherlock's chest.
"Couldn't sleep without you," he mumbled, snuggling closer. His face pressed into Sherlock's neck and his legs groped over Sherlock's.
"I couldn't sleep without you either," Sherlock replied, and brought his arms around to hold John close.
-
Sherlock straightened his tie in the mirror and glanced at John. John looked immaculate, dressed in a dark suit and a tie that complemented Sherlock's.
"Ready, love?"
Sherlock inhaled deeply, brushed off his jacket, and nodded.
John smiled and took Sherlock's hand. "Let's do this."
-
Mycroft sent a car to take them to the courthouse. John leaned against Sherlock the whole ride, while Sherlock fumed that Mycroft had the /audacity/ to think they'd need a car. They arrived at the courthouse and began walking to the door.
"John?" Sherlock stopped walking.
"Yes?" John stopped, a few feet ahead of him, and turned.
"Are you sure?"
"Of course I'm bloody sure. I've bought rings, booked a court date-- what makes you think I'm not?"
"Just. . . making sure."
John walked back to Sherlock, stared him in the eye, and deadpanned:
"I love you. We are doing this."
Sherlock kissed him.
"We're not supposed to do that until they say, 'you may kiss the groom'."
Sherlock kissed him again.
-
Greg bore witness. Harry showed up too, a few minutes late.
"Have you brought tokens to exchange?"
Sherlock produced John's ring from his pocket, and from John's came Sherlock's. They swapped and nodded for the Justice to continue.
When the time for vows came, John pulled a folded sheet of notebook paper from his pocket and read off it.
"I, John Watson, take thee, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part, and thereto I pledge myself to you, for as long as you'll have me. I vow that you will never die for me again. I vow that I will never stop loving you." He refolded the paper and hoped no one noticed that his voice cracked on the last part.
Sherlock memorized his vows, of course.
"John Watson." Sherlock smiled and shook his head. "John Watson. You are perfect, and I vow to love you for as long you'll have me. I vow to protect you as best I can, despite your love for danger. I vow to support you, in sickness and in health, and for better or for worse. Of course, with our job, there isn't much fluctuation in income, so I'll leave out for richer or for poorer. I vow to make the tea sometimes. I vow to do the shopping sometimes. I realize these seem like silly things to put in vows, but I vow that silly will never stop us." He paused and looked John in the eyes. "I vow to love you, no matter what."
"With the power vested in me by Her Majesty the Queen, I pronounce you two husbands. You may kiss the groom."
Sherlock wrapped an arm around John's waist and pulled him in for a kiss; their first as husbands. He twirled the band on his finger absentmindedly. It felt... right.
When they were leaving, Harry caught up with them to talk to John.
"Hey, I feel a bit sorry for mum. Don't you, Johnny? No grandkids and all?"
"I wouldn't say that," John replied, gazing at Sherlock. "We'd adopt, right, Sherlock?"
"Of course," Sherlock said. "I would want nothing more than to raise a child with you, John Watson-Holmes."
John blushed and kissed his husband.