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John stared at himself in the mirror and sighed. He needed to get back into the gym. He had gained far too much weight over the summer. Nothing overly significant, but he missed the flat, toned stomach he had had in the army. He rubbed a hand over his stomach again. There had to be a cheap gym somewhere in the area. Maybe if he-
“John! I need you, right this instant!”
He rolled his eyes and grabbed his button up. “Right this instant can wait while I put my shirt on!” He called out as he slipped it back on. Slight tautness around his belly as he buttoned it up, but there was no need to start buying a size up yet. This needed to be nipped in the bud. Three or four nights a week in the gym should-
“John!”
Noticing that Sherlock’s voice had risen in volume and anger, he sighed and made his way downstairs. “What couldn’t wait five minutes?” He turned to walk into the living room and was surprised to see Sherlock standing right in front of him.
“You.” Sherlock said, his voice low.
He took in John and frowned. John was purposefully wearing a shirt he was aware looked good on him. Even though they had no plans for anything this evening. Hunter green, dark. John felt good in that shirt. Wore it on some of his dates previous to their relationship. He needed the reassurance that he looked good. Which meant he did not feel good. John was concerned with the weight that he had gained. But why now? What had made him notice?
“What about me?” John asked when Sherlock didn’t say anything further. He knew when he was being deduced and Sherlock was staring a veritable hole in him at the moment.
Sherlock blinked and looked up at John’s face. Anger. Crossed arms. Defensive. Doesn’t want him to notice. How could he not notice? Does John think he minds? Why would that matter? It’s John. He will always want John. John is still far more fit than other men his age.
“Why have you suddenly decided you are not good enough as you are?” He asked, watching John, watching his reaction. Eyes wide, surprise, then resignation at his noticing. Hurt. Shame. Why was John ashamed?
He took a slow deep breath and shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about Sherlock. You called me down here saying you needed me right this instant.”
“It’s not important. You are far more important.” Sherlock said, studying John. “Answer my question.”
“No.” John said, tightening his arms across his chest. He would not. Sherlock didn’t need to hear him say it out loud, he had probably already deduced all of it.
Sherlock stepped closer and put his hands on John’s crossed arms. “John. I want to know why. I have not given you this impression. Who did?” He felt the irrational urge to kill whoever had given John this idea. That he was not good, great, perfect as he was. He studied John’s expression and saw pain flash through his eyes for a brief moment. “John.”
John sighed and stepped away from Sherlock, going to the kitchen. “No one needed to tell me anything Sherlock. I have eyes. I can look in the damn mirror.” He put the kettle on and kept his back to Sherlock.
Sherlock frowned. This would not do. This needed to be rectified immediately. “There are seven mirrors in this house. There are over four-hundred reflective surfaces. If I thought it was a matter of you not wanting to see yourself in a mirror, I would work on removing them immediately.” He walked over to John again and pulled him away from the stove. “I want to know why you have decided that you are no longer good enough for me.” The thought hurt. John might leave if he continued to think this. Leave him and never come back. He would not let that happen.
“It has nothing to do-”
“Don’t lie to me John. You are terrible at it.” Sherlock cut in, staring into John’s eyes. “Tell me why. I believe it has something to do with my own physical appearance, but-”
“Not exactly.” John sighed and stared down at Sherlock’s neck. “I’m getting old Sherlock. How long will you want to stay with me when you could have someone your age? Hell, anyone really.”
His eyebrows wrinkled and he stared at John. “You think I will want to leave you?”
“I know you will. Maybe not today, maybe not this year, but someday, yes.”
Sherlock was surprised enough that he backed a few steps away from John. John thought he would leave? Leave him for someone better and younger? The data didn’t make sense. John knew how he felt, that he only wanted John, not someone else. John was the one he wanted to, maybe someday in the future, retire to Sussex with and raise bees. He could teach John all about bees. How fascinating they were. But John didn’t see that. Not with him. His pulse was elevated thirty percent, his heart pounding, his face felt hot. Tear ducts were active and were threatening the unthinkable - tears - for the first time in over a decade.
Whatever reaction he had expected from Sherlock, it wasn’t this. Sherlock wasn’t trying to hide his reaction. He was surprised, hurt and looked like he was about to cry. “Sherlock? What are you thinking?”
He forced himself to look away from John, blinking rapidly to keep the tears (how ridiculous!) from falling. Just because John did not see the same future that he did did not mean it had to come true that way. He needed to think. To convince John to never leave him. Sherlock turned back to John and ignored his protest, reaching for his shirt, starting to unbutton it. He yanked it off of John’s torso and arms, letting it fall to the floor.
John tried to stop Sherlock from whatever he was doing with his determined desire to suddenly see him without his shirt on. “Sherlock, stop, I’m not going to get naked in the bloody kitchen.”
Sherlock stared up at John, considering for a moment. His room was closest, there were no mirrors for John to see himself. It was the best option. He grabbed John’s hand and dragged him to his bedroom, shutting and locking the door behind them.
His smile was bemused as he stared at Sherlock. “Sherlock, what are you doing?” John shivered when those silvered eyes turned to look at him. Sherlock had turned from hurt to determined.
“I want to retire with you. We are going to move to Sussex.” Sherlock dropped to his knees, undoing John’s belt, tugging it off, letting it drop to the floor. “I have a small estate there. I want to raise bees. You could write. Or blog. Or garden. I don’t care. I only want you there.” He tugged John’s trousers and pants off, letting them fall to the floor. His own shirt went next, unbuttoned and thrown in the area of his closet.
“Sherlock...” John swallowed hard, staring down at Sherlock kneeling in front of him. He reached out and threaded his fingers through Sherlock’s curls.
“You are in the top tier of fitness for men your age. You go running across London with me on a regular basis.” He moved his fingers up John’s calf, up his thigh, going to his arse and squeezing gently. “You have never not been able to keep up with me.” Sherlock rested his forehead against John’s stomach and exhaled slowly. John’s scent surrounded him, warm and comforting. John was still here.
A smile began to curl his lips. He dropped his hand next to his hip and watched Sherlock. “Sherlock.”
Sherlock tightened his grip on John’s arse and pulled him closer, afraid that John was going to leave him. “I will never leave you John. I thought you understood that when we began this. I am in far more danger of you someday leaving me, as that will destroy me. I will always want you. I want you by my side John. Always.”
“Sherlock-”
“And as for the approximate stone you have gained, why would I care? I love your body.” Sherlock nuzzled John’s stomach, kissing at the skin and nipping at it in turn. “Do you understand John? I will never not want you. Ever.”
John smiled. His voice was soft when he replied. “I think Sussex sounds wonderful.”
He looked up at John, studying his face and the smile there. John meant it. John always meant what he said. Sherlock felt the tension drain out of him and pressed his face to John’s stomach again, kissing at the soft skin. “I knew you would.”