Bang! Bang! Bang! John winced as he headed up the stairs, vaguely noting that for once, the shots weren't accompanied by a shout of the word bored.
Which was odd, actually. John moved a bit faster, praying no-one had died.
"Sherlock, I'm coming in." John had learnt to announce his arrival into their flat, peculiar as it was, to stop Sherlock from trying to point a gun at him.
One time not too many months ago, Sherlock had been about two seconds away from shooting him in the chest.
Opening the door carefully, John entered the living room, only to find it surprisingly Sherlock free.
It made John wonder if his tall companion actually had killed someone.
He dumped the shopping bags on the kitchen floor, making a mental note to clear out the fridge later, then went in search for Sherlock, half-considering that he'd jumped out a window or something. It wouldn't have been the first time.
Sherlock was not in his room, or in the bathroom. Which only left John's room, unless Sherlock had found a way to make himself invisible.
So, John headed up the last lot of stairs, nearly getting knocked over as he approached the landing. Sherlock, pretending to be a wrecking ball by the looks of it. The tall brunette was already completely down the stairs before John was even able to move.
John carried on towards his own room. Yes, he'd found the rather childish adult, but Sherlock very rarely left the living room.. And when he did, it was normally to make a mess of the kitchen, or to try to grow plants in the bathtub.
Upon entering the room, it appeared normal. But only because John was not looking at the wall to his left. His eyes grazed across the floor and shelves, noticing that the few things set out had not been moved.
But there was a few flecks of paint that stood out on the carpet, and John finally looked up, and gasped at the wall.
Sherlock had really outdone himself. In more ways than one. Firstly, it had to be the largest amount of gunshots applied to one wall, and secondly, it actually had a point. Also, he would have to pay a large sum to Mrs Hudson for that stunt, but John wasn't really thinking about that.
The wall was a card. Well, equivalent to a card. In the centre was a giant, perfectly symmetrical heart shape, made from the gunshots John had heard upon entering the building. Then in the middle, was writing.
In a specific brand of yellow paint.
There wasn't much writing, but the work was large, and had John been paying attention, he would have been able to see it from down the hallway.
S.H 4 J.W
The letters filled most of the shape, and though they were a bit old for writing initials in hearts, it was rather adorable.
John turned around, about to go and find the other man, only to find Sherlock standing behind him -when he had ran back upstairs, John had no idea- with a nervous expression upon his face.
"Urm, Happy Valentines?" Sherlock sounded uncertain. Well, to be honest, that probably hadn't been the best way to confess your love for your flatmate, but Sherlock never did anything by halves.
John moved forward, standing slightly on tip-toe to kiss Sherlock softly. The other man wrapped both arms around John's waist, and John tugged his head down to whisper in his ear.
"I love you to, Sherlock."
Which caused a massive ecstatic grin to take over Sherlock's face. They both stood there, grinning like fools, until a shout came from behind them.
"Sherlock bloody Holmes, you've ruined another damn wall!"
But she wasn't really angry.
A/N- Happy Valentines, and all that mush!