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It was a quiet New Year’s Eve at Baker Street. Sherlock tuned his violin while John sat reading a newspaper. The television was on, awaiting the New Year’s countdown, but the volume was turned down low, creating a low hum in the background. Sherlock felt oddly peaceful waiting for the New Year with John. Just John, no one else. It was nice.
He finished tuning his violin and set bow to string. John looked up as the first note sang forth, and watched appreciatively as Sherlock played. Sherlock smiled very slightly, relishing in John’s attention.
He wasn’t certain how long he played, but when he stopped, it was five minutes till midnight. It was almost time for the year to come to a close.
Sherlock considered the past year, and could not help but feel glad that it was coming to an end. There was nothing like having an assassin and her false child come to an end in their life, and John settling back in Baker Street. However, this would close a chapter in their life, and Sherlock was cautiously pleased.
Since his marriage to Mary had ended, John hadn’t once looked in a woman’s direction, and Sherlock was optimistic that perhaps John would simply give up on women and stay with Sherlock at Baker Street.
He didn’t dare hope that John would consider.... No. John had never before given any consideration towards men, let alone Sherlock.
But the hope persisted, no matter what Sherlock told himself in order to quash it. Hope, the ever-burning flame that kept Sherlock on the edge of reason. At this point, Sherlock wasn’t sure if he would ever stop hoping, because he knew his own feelings would never change.
John. Being without John had been intolerable, and he had nearly gone mad with wanting John by his side again. Nothing had quelled the ache he had felt in his chest, the desire for John to be with him, in whatever capacity. But John was here, and it would be fine.
Sherlock went to the window and peered out. London had seen a faint smattering of snow if the past few days, and it looked as if the city had been dusted in confectioner’s sugar. It looked like a fairy realm.
He felt John at his back, and turned slightly to acknowledge him. John came to stand by him, close enough that the warmth of his body heat radiated up Sherlock’s arm.
“It’s lovely, isn’t it,” John remarked at length.
“It is,” Sherlock said, looking out over his beloved city.
They stood in silence for another minute, and then in the background, Sherlock heard the television faintly say, “Ten! Nine! Eight…”
“It’s almost time to start again,” John said. “Sherlock…”
Sherlock turned his head to ask what John had meant to say, but he stopped, because John was standing on his toes, and his hand had come up to cup Sherlock’s cheek. Sherlock couldn’t move, but that didn’t matter, because John pulled his head down and very gently pressed their mouths together.
Sherlock wasn’t sure what he had expected. Fireworks, like all the silly romance stories had reported, or a deep urge to press John back against the wall and snog him senseless. However, all he felt was a soft press of lips against his own, warm and somehow fulfilling. A slight shivery feeling shot through him as their lips disengaged, and Sherlock blinked.
“Tradition,” John said against his mouth. “It’s good luck.”
“How much good luck do you need?” asked Sherlock hopefully.
“A lifetime’s worth, if possible,” John said back.
“That could be arranged,” Sherlock said, a tingly feeling in his gut.
“Come here,” John said, and drew his head down again.
Sherlock managed to kiss back this time, but he felt clumsy, as if he didn’t know what to do. That wasn’t far off. He had only kissed people when it came to a case, and even then, that hadn’t been often. Janine had insisted, but it had felt mechanical, as if Sherlock were kissing a mannequin.
This was different. John was warm and present in a way he hadn’t been before, and his mouth was gentle and soft. It was euphoric.
John broke away and asked, “Is this okay, Sherlock?”
“Okay?” Sherlock said in a daze.
“Sherlock,” John said. “I mean it, is this all right? Only, I don’t want to do anything you don’t want.”
“I do want,” Sherlock said contentedly. “Very much.”
“I don’t mean just the kissing,” John said. “I mean everything else, too.”
“Everything else?” Sherlock asked, feeling dumb. His brain wasn’t working properly, and he didn’t seem to mind it in the least. This was okay, even if he couldn’t think.
“I want us to be a couple. A proper couple,” John said carefully. “And if you don’t want that, too, we should stop right now.”
“Don’t stop!” Sherlock said, clinging to that one word in terror. He grasped John around the shoulders and refused to let go.
“Have you given this much thought?” John asked, sounding amused in spite of himself.
“Much,” Sherlock said. “All the thought in the world. For ages now.”
“Oh,” John said quietly. “And you’re sure?”
“So sure, John,” Sherlock said. “More sure than anything else, even deductions.”
“Okay,” John said. “Okay.”
“Kiss me?” Sherlock said hopefully.
“Yes,” John said, and did so.
It was a perfect end to the year, and a perfect beginning to a new one.