Chapter Text
Sherlock's feet hit seventeen steps in continuum, nearly matching his heartbeats. He hadn't felt a ridiculous reason to be energetic since he'd formed a paperclip into an 'S' last week.
John was bringing him a rose.
John wasn't angry anymore.
He must have forgave him for failing all those times.
The blogger was waiting in the kitchen, shuffling things around when he jumped at his flatmate's presence.
"Sherlock! Why are you breathless? What's - what's going on?" John shifted his weight onto his other foot, the flower hiding behind his back far too noticeably. A petal fluttered to the floor, unnoticed.
The floorboards creaked as Sherlock started toward him. Slowly, he ended up in the kitchen and in front of John, grabbing his hips to tug him near and kiss him hard.
John's brain spluttered and crackled, eyes wide throughout the kiss. When Sherlock had pulled away, he was blinking at him.
"I'm sorry for this week, and last week, and all those things, and the flowers, and poking your eye, and grabbing your hand, and kissing you in front of half of Scotland Yard, and the biscuits –"
"Biscuits?" John interjected.
Sherlock's neck flushed a pleasant pink. "Two batches. Burnt to a crisp."
John stared for a bit before he thrust the rose between them, the tissue paper crumpling.
"What's this?" Sherlock asked, although he obviously saw it before.
"An apology."
"An apology?"
"I was being a cock this entire time to you." John's face didn't waver from the sternness he reverberated onto the detective, rose in hand and vulgar words spat down casually.
"I was the one putting you in danger." Sherlock paused, then headed to the desk in the sitting room. John followed close behind, peering over his shoulder as his lover produced a print-out. He held it out to John when he turned to face him. John took it and read the title of the article.
How to Be Loving and Romantic – Tips and Tricks
"What the hell is this? Tips and tricks?" John furrowed his brows and scanned the list as Sherlock stayed oddly quiet at his side. "Oh."
"Yes."
"Oh. And you've been..."
"Yes."
"And you tried..."
"Yes."
John's heart sunk to his feet.
"You didn't think you were already good enough?" John's breathy, incredulous words echoed in their little dingy flat, and they must have slapped Sherlock in the face, the way he looked.
Insecure.
Gobsmacked.
Scared.
John wanted to hold him.
After a brief hesitation, Sherlock opened his mouth. "No."
John set down the red rose he'd purchased, glanced over the list once more, and folded it over a few times. He began ripping the paper into tens of shreds, then tossed them behind him and onto the floor. They fell like raindrops - much quicker than snow. It satisfied John knowing this.
"You're a goddamned idiot, Sherlock," John muttered. "What made you think for one second that you need to change for me?"
Sherlock, unfamiliar with verbal intimidation, stared at the flat beyond John. "It didn't balance."
"What?"
"The love."
John felt like he needed stitches right in his heart. Seams where it had broken in half. He reached out a hand toward Sherlock's, and Sherlock took a step back.
"I mean what I said there, John. You obviously love me more. Who else can put up with violin after midnight while they're fighting consciousness? Who else can make room for their partner's toys from the morgue and move their pasta dish up a shelf? Who else can kill and grieve and give up and sacrifice and still say they love the person before they fall asleep? You, John. You can."
John shook his head. "You're right. I don't believe that love can condone sacrifice. But you're no worse, Sherlock. You left me, although a bit selfishly and selflessly, you bastard, for two years. You spent that time saving my arse. Though I try not to think of it like this, that's two years of killing and destroying and eliminating for my life. We knew each other for eighteen months."
"It's not the same –"
"Don't you bloody pull that on me! I've always held it against you, those two years. But I know there's a part of me in here that tells me you're not a selfish bastard. You love me. You can't deny that."
Sherlock shook his head. "I do love you, John. But not en–"
"Then shut up, you daft man, because that's more than enough. You're more than enough," the doctor whispered back in response, eyes brimming with tears suddenly as he grasped Sherlock, pulling him close into an embrace that was none too gentle. Slowly, he felt Sherlock respond. Large hands spread their fingers, running up his back. The fingers stopped and curled in his rough jacket as the arms tensed around him.
"I love you as you are," he murmured into Sherlock's shoulder.
"I know," Sherlock mumbled back, and turned his face into his neck. "I'm sorry. I know." He paused. "Thank you for the rose."
"No pollen this time," John assured him with a smile.
Against his neck, he could feel Sherlock smile, too.