My dearest Mickey, for whom this story was written. I am officially out of ideas for this fic. So it ends now. If you want more stories about this ship or any other, I DEMAND more food. And you know what food I'm talking about. I love you bro. And everyone else reading this, thank you so much
John would've liked to keep their relationship a bit more secret. He wanted people to gradually get used to it. He needed to get gradually used to it.
But Sherlock had all the subtlety of a hurricane. And so everyone they knew and their dog knew within a week that they were now officially "together together." John really didn't mind. He reprimanded himself silently for thinking that they were ever going to be sneaky about the whole thing. Sherlock was rarely sneaky about things that didn't involve death.
He thought it was nice that no one really had made that big of a deal about it. Except for a couple of police officers that he wasn't too overly-fond of anyway, no one acted like it was something that shouldn't have happened.
Some acted like they had been waiting for this moment ever since they met them. Mrs. Hudson cried when she found out from Harry and hugged them. She was just so happy that her boys had found love, and she was even happier that the love they found wasn't going to make either one leave her. After her initial outburst, she never mentioned it again. She just went and made up Sherlock's bedroom to be a bit more accommodating for two and put the kettle on.
Molly just gave a small smile when Sherlock told her over a corpse. She said she had always had a bit of a feeling, even back when she was in love with him herself. She also said she had just won a bet with her husband.
Lestrade laughed for ten minutes when John told him. He clapped him on the back and told him, "Good on you, mate." He then chuckled as he said that he now owed Molly a getaway in the Bahamas.
Mycroft really didn't say anything. He was calculating how much easier it would be to keep an eye on his brother now that there was someone he trusted in his bed.
The two certain police officers liked to bring it up. But as no one really thought their jokes were that funny, they soon stopped.
John was shocked to find how much better his life functioned now that they were together. Not much changed, as Harry pointed out, they were practically married from the moment they met. But something just felt more right. Maybe it was the little things.
Like giving Sherlock a light peck on the cheek before he rushed off to try and find a clinic to hire him. Or Sherlock grabbing his hands when he was excited and then not letting go. Or when they were just in bed together just lying there, not doing anything (although the nights when they were doing things was good too), just lying beside each other.
Like right now. He could hear Sherlock's somewhat steady breathing close his ear. He was like their cat. He slept curled up and would curl up next to whatever was warm by him. John just happened to be that warm thing.
The night was quiet. No gruesome murders or absurd robberies to solve tonight. Sherlock hated it, but John absolutely loved the peace it gave them. Because when nothing was going on they could be together like this. It made him feel so happy, he was happier now than he had ever been. And he didn't want any wack-job murderer ruining it.
He looked down at Sherlock. He appeared to be asleep. He liked to talk to him when he was asleep. Mainly because there wasn't a risk for some snarky comeback or annoying retort. It was nice to get his feelings out this way, because Sherlock would probably laugh in his face if he said them when they were both awake and conscious.
So he talked. About how he loved him. About how if he ever left again he would personally drag him to hell, kick him repeatedly on the way down, and then hand him over to Satan. About how he wondered if it was all guys he liked or just him. Simple little things like that.
He talked until he was tired. Then he whispered, "God, Sherlock. I missed you."
He felt his eyes droop as sleep slowly stole over him. The world began to grow dark and he felt himself begin to drift off to sleep.
He vaguely felt Sherlock's grip tighten on his shirt and thought he heard him reply, "I missed you too, John."
He'd never know if he imagined this or not. If it was part of a dream or if Sherlock had been awake the whole time. He liked to think it was the latter.