Sherlock and Love

Genre: Humour
Summary: Sherlock isn't very good with love.
Author note: Requested by: Nemesis12 on my DeviantART account.


John's always there for me, he looks after me, feeds me and sends me to bed. He reminds me that I am still human, this should insult me but it doesn't. He defends me, even though I don't mind the insults, and informs me when I've done something socially wrong. He makes me care, makes me understand. He taught me to love, hear that? Sherlock Holmes, the greatest sociopath alive, can now love! I still have my flaws, everyone does but now I've got John. I love him and he loves me and so today, the 28th of January, a year from when John and I met I want to do something special.

So today is a kind of anniversary I guess, not that we got together right away. It was more like nine months ago than twelve, just after the Moriarty incident, actually. So today will be special, today is for John and I. That is why I've planned the whole day around us. No crimes, no deaths, no murders, no suicides, no problems. Just John and I and the day I've planned.

I wanted to get something for John too, a little present. That's what people in love do, right? So all week I've been thinking about it, thinking of the perfect gift. I even went shopping, I asked Mrs Hudson and Lestrade and people on the street, nothing they said was right though. It didn't express how I felt, it didn't tell John how much I needed him. But I finally found something, something that expresses how I feel and something I put a lot of thought into. I smile and give a quick glance to the wrapped object sitting on the counter beside my open laptop.

It's seven in the morning and I'm in the kitchen, my laptop open in front of me and an Internet page up. 'How to Cook Pancakes,' it reads. It doesn't look too difficult and John won't be up for at least two more or so hours so I've got a plenty of time.


I was woken to the sounds of crashes that reverberated throughout the flat. I groaned and turned over to check the time, "Nine thirty two," I mumbled sleepily. I turn over and just as I expected Sherlock isn't by my side, I might as well get up and go see what the big idiot is up to. I grabbed my dressing gown and pulled a pair of slippers on.

What on earth can Sherlock be doing at such a reasonable hour? I chuckle and then frown, he's been acting weird all week. Refusing to look me in the eye, watching my every move. He hasn't complained once, not even when I forced him to eat a full bowl of pasta. When had I seen the last gruesome disembodied limb, the last chemically ruined meal? Now that I think about it, he's been acting nearly...normal.

I begin to descend the staircase, almost begging the clanging and clanking to be another of his experiments. When I reached the doorway and looked into the kitchen however I froze. White sludgy mixture coated everything, the ceiling, the wall, the cupboards and table. I mean everywhere! I blinked in confusion before part of the mixture moved and I realised that what I had thought was a white splattered part of the wall was really a person. A very messy looking Sherlock to be exact.

He turned and I smirked, he had flower all over his face, dusting his hair and caking his chin, white sludgy mixture hung from his cheek and all over his silk nightshirt. He saw me and smiled, holding out a pristine (the only clean thing in the room) glass plate. Upon that plate lay a large pile of absolutely perfect lightly brown pancakes.
"Happy anniversary!" Sherlock announced with enthusiasm.
I took one more look at him and then at the mess he'd made before doubling over in a fit of laughter.


I began to frown, John was laughing at me...Why? Had I done something wrong? Was what I said wrong? This was a stupid idea, this wasn't what people did, was it? Stupid, stupid, stupid.
"I'm sorry," I mumbled, "I..."
John raised a hand to stop me and stood up straighter, his laughter disappearing to be left only with a wide smile, "Why are you apologising?" he asked, "This is so sweet," he said.
I smiled and felt my cheeks warm slightly.
"But the mess you've made," John chortled.
"I'm sorry," I apologised again.
John smirked, "Don't worry about it," he laughed, "Shall we eat?" he asked.

John moved a once black chair away from the table and sat down in the white gooey pancake mix, "Comfy," he chuckled.
I smirked and was about to apologise again but stopped and sat down opposite him, placing the pancakes on the table and looking around for two clean plates. I frowned, "uh..."
John laughed again, "Don't worry Sherlock," he smiled, "we'll eat from the same plate."


Sherlock blushed again, he looked so sweet and innocent covered in cooking mix.
"This is awesome," I smile, "Really sweet but why?" I asked, ripping a piece of pancake off and taking a bite. It was good, delicious, soft and fluffy in my mouth.
Sherlock took a piece to, if only because I was eating it and shrugged, "It's our anniversary," he smiled shyly.
I grinned, "Really?" I asked a little shocked, I then extended a hand to him and he placed his in mine, "that's so romantic," I smiled, rubbing my thumb over his fingers in gentle circles.
Sherlock's blush deepened and he pulled away a little embarrassed, "I-I also have a present for you," he muttered.
I smiled again, "You didn't have to..."
Sherlock nodded, "But I did," he reached over to the messy counter that he'd been using and picked up a badly wrapped cube shaped thing, which I could only assume was the present Sherlock was referring to.

Sherlock held the wrapped item in front of me, which I took and turned the over in my hands. It was a square box, wrapped in newspaper and absolutely covered in masking tape. I smiled before beginning to pull at the sides of the masking tape. Sherlock sighed and impatiently grabbed it out of my hands ripping the newspaper and masking tape with little effort and delicacy. When he was finished he placed it back in my still held out hands.

I smirked, he was so adorably impatient, and looked at the box he'd given me. My smirk fell away as I realised what it was. The small four by four centimetre object was a black velvet covered ring box. Now, I can't see Sherlock ever proposing, so I didn't expect a ring in the first place. However what lay in the box I still never would have expected.

I opened the lid slowly and took out the contents. I placed the box on the newspaper, which sat in a lump of pancake mix and studied the thing that now lay in my hand. It was a necklace. The chain was a delicate sequence of small golden entwining circles, which held a small pendant on the end. I held the pendant up to the light and my breath hitched, nine months ago I would have cringed back in disgust and given Sherlock a weird look before deciding I needed someone normal to talk to but now that I was accustomed to his weirdness I could understand why he'd give me such a thing.

I could feel my cheeks warming and my eyes sting slightly with oncoming tears. My heart beat a hundred miles per hour and I felt like I was on fire with emotion. I spun around to Sherlock who watched me in frightened anticipation, and threw myself at him, the pendent gripped tightly in my hand. It swung in my fist, a pale yellow resin in the shape of a teardrop, and suspended forever in that teardrop was a small animal's brain.

Sherlock had metaphorically given me the most important thing he had and in return I'm willing to give him my heart.
"I love you Sherlock," I whispered.
Sherlock chuckled, "I-I love you too."


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