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There was frost everywhere when they stepped out of the train station in Sussex. John had to walk vety carefully because he was in his late fifties now and his knee was not what it used to be.
By his side, Sherlock seemed to eye him with concern, not wanting him to fall. When they manage to get enough balance as they walked, their shoulders relaxed and John was able to clear his throat.
‘So, what exactly are we doing here?’ he asked, taking his husband’s hand, feeling the cold ring on his ring finger. Sherlock gazed at the distance, dismissively. He’d been very secretive about this trip — if John didn’t know better, he’d think it was a special surprise or something to celebrate their twenty years as a couple. But of course it wasn’t, because out of the two of them, Sherlock was the least likely to pull off a romantic gesture.
‘Oh, you know, just… browsing…’ Sherlock told him, still dismissively. John chuckled, shaking his head slightly. This man was a mad as ever, middle age just accentuating his insane traits. And John loved every single one of them.
Then Sherlock hailed a cab, and they got it. John still completely in the dark as to where they were going. Sherlock seemed nervous, his index finger tapping on the armrest of the seat, his left leg twitching ever-so-slightly, a couple of tells John learned to look out for over the years.
He reached for Sherlock’s hand and intertwined their fingers. Sherlock looked at him and smiled, leaning over to press a kiss on John’s cheek. He rarely ever did that, so it really must be a special occasion.
The cab stopped in front of a small, rusty, old-looking gate. John wondered if this whole thing was about a case. He really wished it wasn’t, because he was cold, and all he wanted was to snuggle with a cuppa. He and Sherlock climbed out of the cab, and Sherlock led them past the small gate — and John prayed really hard that that wasn’t trespassing — into an incredible estate. You couldn’t tell how beautiful it was by the entrance, but the whole thing was obviously Victorian, the huge garden filled with bushes, which John suspected would be of the most colourful varieties once Spring arrived, but were not covered in frost. There was a small pathway leading to the main house, and along it there were small trees forming a continuous arc. John marvelled at it, looking around in glee, thinking how wonderful it must be to live there. Sherlock simply walked forward without paying much attention to his surroundings.
As they reached the front door, Sherlock searched his pockets and fiddled with the keys until he found the right one. He unlocked the double doors and let them it. John stared at him in bafflement.
‘What are we doing here?’ he asked, stepping into the warmth of the house, which was clearly much larger than any house in London, but much smaller than the Holmes estate where Mycroft now lived since his “retirement” from the Government — can it really be called retirement if one keeps on working? John didn’t think so either.
Sherlock seemed shy. He extended his hand to grab John’s and led him to the back of the house, where there was a small field. Sherlock pointed at it.
‘That is a perfect spot for keeping bees,’ he said, matter-of-factly. John nodded along, not really understanding what apiology had to do with them taking the train to Sussex. ‘I quite like bees.’
‘Yes, I know,’ John said with a smile. ‘Twenty years of honey festivals sort of showed that…’
Sherlock chuckled and tilted his head. ‘We have been to a lot of those, haven’t we?’ John nodded in agreement and hummed.
‘So you want to keep bees?’ Sherlock nodded. ‘There’s no room for bees in Baker Street.’
‘No, but there is here.’
John raised an eyebrow at him. He had a fait idea of what was happening now, but didn’t want to jump into conclusions, so he let Sherlock continue, while he traced small patterns in the frost under his feet.
‘I thought that perhaps, if you’d like, we could live here… After we retire, that is,’ Sherlock said, finally. ‘It’s calm and relaxing, and it doesn’t have too many stairs. There’s a large room that can serve as a library, and I wouldn’t have to use the kitchen as a lab anymore because there’s a room for that, too.’ Sherlock was talking a mile an hour, and John had a hard time keeping up, but his heart was racing nonetheless, because this was Sherlock thinking about their future, their long-term, retirement future, and he had never done that before, and John felt warm all over, filled with love for this awkward mad man that wanted to keep bees.
‘You already signed the papers for this house, haven’t you?’ John asked, looking up at Sherlock in amusement. Sherlock gave him a wary look, coughing a bit, nodding very faintly. John chuckled and hugged Sherlock’s middle. ‘I love you, you insane, daft berk.’
John felt Sherlock’s chuckle as his head rested on his husband’s chest. Sherlock placed his hands on John’s back, holding him tightly. ‘So that’s a yes, then?’
John looked up, smiling widely. ‘Sherlock, this might be the most considerate thing you have ever done. It’s such a beautiful house, and you have no idea how happy the thought of you planning our future makes me. So, yes, I would love to move here after we retire,’ John said, and Sherlock smiled even more widely.
‘Well, it’s settled, then.’
‘Yes. Keeping bees and tending the garden, and bickering like married old couple,’ John smiled. ‘Sounds perfect to me.’
With one hand cupping John’s jaw, Sherlock whispered, ‘Yes, perfect.’ Then pulled him closer for a breathtaking kiss.