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Johns pushes the front door open, letting out a loud sigh and rubbing one hand over his face. He’s tired, hungry and wants nothing more but to curl around Sherlock and let the exhaustion of the day fade away. He knows there is a high probability Sherlock isn't even home right now, most likely out seeing Lestrade about the case they’ve been working on for the past three days. John shakes his head, smiling as he heads up the stairs. Somehow it feels strangely normal to think he’s going to spend the evening of Valentine’s Day alone at the flat.
It isn’t that they’ve never celebrated it, and John can only remember too well their first Valentine’s Day together. Sherlock had (stupidly) thought John would love something ridiculously romantic and over the top, and after the third romantic cliché, he had made sure Sherlock knew there was only one thing he needed for Valentine’s Day and that it involved a certain detective naked in bed. Ever since, they had celebrated in their own way, not always with a gift but with small gestures and affections.
Heading directly for the kitchen, John calls Sherlock’s name once, twice and only hears silence. Considering sending a text, he goes to put the kettle on and that’s when he finds the first note, right next to his mug. He frowns, immediately recognizing the language but digging into his high school memories to understand what’s written.
J’aime savoir qu’il y aura toujours une deuxième tasse de thé
à remplir lorsque je me lève le matin.
John catches the words tea and love , but gives up on understanding anything else. Sherlock must be working on some experiment, and it’s not the first time he’s switched to some other language. He stares at the note, waiting for the water to boil, and is vaguely certain there’s also a morning there. He pours himself some tea, careful not to spill any on the note, and gets some biscuits.
The second note is on his chair, and John rolls his eyes as while he sits down. French again, and this time John realises it starts the same as the previous one.
J’aime te voir assis ici quand je joue du violon, tes yeux fermés
et ce sourire réservé juste pour moi sur tes lèvres.
He fidgets with the notes, staring at Sherlock’s handwriting and trying to guess by the force of his will to decrypt what he wrote down. Violin isn’t hard to understand, and there’s love again. John frowns, moi is me , right? Letting out a loud sigh, John looks around the flat, suddenly wondering if there are more of these notes, and his eyes find the one pinned to the wall above the sofa immediately. He stands up, setting the one still in his hands back on the chair and rushes to the other side of the room.
J’aime le fait que tu restes un mystère.
Un puzzle que je ne résoudrai jamais.
Mystery? Puzzle?
John isn’t so sure about the meaning of these notes again, and tries to remember if Sherlock talked about any new experiments lately. There was the one with the nails, and the one with their bed sheets, but John is fairly certain both were finished already. Sherlock hasn’t mentioned a new one, and certainly not a new one involving so much French.
Love , again. Could this be...
John feels himself smile, something warm spreading throughout his chest, and he scans the living room one more time. There’s nothing on the table or Sherlock’s chair, nothing on the shelf, nothing by the TV. Licking his lips, John tries to put himself in Sherlock’s place. Where would he leave another note? He turns towards the stairs, wondering.
“We never go up there anymore,” he murmurs to himself, but he’s already heading up to his old bedroom.
He finds the note in the center of his old bed.
J’aime me souvenir de notre premier baiser, debout devant ce lit.
Tu te souviens?
Same pattern, but a question this time. John wishes more than anything he could answer, but decides he’ll have to wait a bit longer for that. For now, he has more notes to find, more evidence to gather. He rushes back downstairs, abandoning the notes. He checks the kitchen once more before heading to the bathroom.
The note is taped to the wall.
J’aime quand tu m’embrasses lorsqu’on se douche,
quand tu me touches,
quand tu me fais perdre la raison.
“Christ, Sherlock, what are you doing?”
John reaches for his phone and starts a text before stopping. If Sherlock has a plan, it surely doesn’t involve John questioning it. There must be an end to it, and John only needs to play a little longer. Shaking his head, he puts away his phone in his pocket with a laugh. The placement for the next one is obvious, and John feels his heart beat just a little faster as he opens the door to their bedroom.
There is a note, of course, but there is also a small box, and suddenly John finds it much harder to breathe. His hand is shaking as he picks up the note and reads his name on it, finding himself wishing Sherlock was here so he could kiss him for a very, very long time.
John, je t’aime.
Veux-tu m’épouser?
Shutting his eyes tightly, John lets out a small laugh. Christ, where is Sherlock? He’s about to take out his phone again and call him this instant when he hears careful footsteps behind him. Eyes fluttering open, John inhales deeply and sets the note down on the bed again.
“What do you think?” Sherlock asks in a whisper.
John turns around, reading on Sherlock’s face all there is to know, and smiles, “I’m thinking I should have paid more attention in French class.”
Sherlock’s lips stretch into a smile, “Need some help?” He’s still standing in the doorway, and when John nods, he takes a step forward. “I love knowing that there’ll always be a second cup of tea to fill every morning.”
Another step, “I love seeing you sitting here as I play my violin, your eyes closed and this smile reserved just for me on your lips.”
“Just you,” John whispers, and Sherlock’s smile widens.
Another step, “I love the fact that you remain a mystery. A puzzle I will never solve.”
Sherlock is standing in front of him now, and John closes one hand around his coat.
“I love remembering our first kiss, standing in front of that bed. Do you think about it too?”
John nods, laughing again and feeling tears form in his eyes, “All the bloody time.”
Sherlock rolls his eyes but moves closer, his voice much lower as he translates the next note, “I love when you kiss me when we shower, when you’re touching me, when you make me lose my mind.”
John exhales loudly, feeling Sherlock’s own breath against his lips. God, he wants to kiss him. Sherlock remains silent, the final note having yet to be translated, and John pulls him ever closer. He nudges their noses together.
“I think I can deduce the last one,” he whispers against Sherlock’s lips.
“Can you?” Sherlock asks, both of his hands coming up to cup John’s face.
John nods, “I already did, actually,” he smiles. “Truth is, I’ve been thinking about making the same kind of note for a while now.”
Sherlock’s breath catches, pulling away just enough so his eyes can search his face, and John lets all the love and adoration he feels for this brilliant man show.
“You really did,” Sherlock asserts after a few seconds.
John nods again, “I did.”
“Does that mean...you’re saying..” Sherlock’s voice falters, eyes still roaming all over his face, and John pulls him back against him.
“It means I’m going to marry you, Sherlock Holmes,” he breathes against his lips, feeling Sherlock smile before they’re kissing.
Sherlock hums into the kiss, his entire body relaxing into John’s arms. John kisses him harder, parting his lips and letting their tongues meet. It still amazes him sometimes, how different every kiss feels. John smiles against Sherlock’s lips, knowing he will be remembering this one for a very long time.
“John,” Sherlock breathes out when they part, “You never really replied.”
John pulls away to pick up the note, “Read it to me.”
Sherlock stares at him, “John, je t’aime,” he begins, not reading any of the words.
“I love you too,” John smiles.
Sherlock leans for another kiss, lingering for a moment. When he pulls away, he reaches for the box and places it in John’s hand, “Veux-tu m’épouser?”
John holds the box in his hand tightly, realising he might sound ridiculous but finding he does not care as he finally says, “Oui.”