Work Text:
“We should get married, Greg,” Sherlock said, apropos of nothing, one freezing January morning.
Greg looked up from furiously scribbling Sherlock’s deductions down and blinked. The hustle and bustle of the crime scene faded into the background, and Greg’s whole focus zeroed in on his partner. “What was that?” he asked, not entirely convinced that he hadn't somehow entered an alternate universe.
Sherlock stood from his crouch and stepped over Jacqueline Smith’s body, quickly crossing the small room to stand beside Greg. “I said we should get married. It makes sense; you spend more time at my flat than your own, we're listed as each other’s next of kin, and your sister recently shared a photo of us on Facebook claiming me as her brother-in-law. You're conventional, occasionally annoyingly so, and marriage is important to you. So, as I said, we should get married.”
“Why now?”
“Why not now? Recent events have shown how fragile relationships can be, and I don't want you questioning or doubting your place in my life.”
They were at work, surrounded by coppers and SOCOs and photographers, but in that moment Greg couldn't have given a flying fuck if the Prime Minister herself had walked into the room; he cupped Sherlock’s cheek and leant in for a not particularly chaste kiss, professionalism be damned. “You know you don’t have to do this, yeah? I’ll marry you in a heartbeat, but I don’t want you doing it because you think it’s what I want, or that I need it to be happy with you.”
Sherlock rolled his eyes, but a small, warm smile quirked his lips. “I’m not given to outbursts of affection, but I love you. It took a long time for me to realise that the feelings you caused are not part of a mysterious malady, but now that I have—”
Greg, laughed, heart soaring, and cut Sherlock’s rambling off with another kiss, which the younger man - his fiancé - returned enthusiastically. Greg’s brain eventually came back online and he pulled away reluctantly, putting some much needed space between them. “Your sense of timing needs some work, but yes, of course I’ll marry you,” he said, feeling a grin split his face.
Had he not already been head over heels for the mad bastard, the smile that Sherlock gave in response would certainly have done it. “Excellent,” he said, pulling a small black ring box from the inside pocket of his coat. “I take it you know what to do with this?” He flipped the lid to reveal a platinum engagement ring nestled upon a deep purple cushion.
Greg took the box from Sherlock, hand trembling slightly, and lifted the ring out. “Thank you,” he said, looking up, but Sherlock was already walking away. “Oi! You can’t just propose and then bugger off, you git!”
“The case is dull, Lestrade,” Sherlock replied, his haughty tone belied by the light in his eyes. “Check her brother’s knife block. The answers you need will be there.” With that he turned and left the room, pulling his phone out as he went. “Mycroft? He said yes. I know how much you’ve always wanted to organise a wedding.”
As the door closed behind Sherlock, Greg shook his head, unable to believe what had just happened. He didn't know how long he had been standing staring at his engagement ring, but he jumped when Donovan touched his elbow. “Did Sherlock Holmes really just propose to you?” she asked, looking a stunned as Greg felt.
“Yeah, he did, and I said yes.”