Today and Every Day
Title: Today and Every Day
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Rating: PG-13 for references to sex
W/C: ~ 1200
Summary: An unexpected question.
This morning didn’t start out any different than most other mornings, honestly. Not that there was never a chance John would be dragged out of his lover’s bed to accompany him to a crime scene or help to interpret the results of some grisly experiment that had kept their kitchen off-limits for days.
Usually, though, their mornings were peaceful, surprisingly enough. Sherlock nuzzling the back of John’s neck, the two of them holding each other or snogging for a while, sometimes even engaging in slow lazy sex as they started their day. John would get out of bed, eventually, and on the days when it was sanitary, he’d start preparing breakfast while Sherlock took his time making his way out of the bedroom.
Today, as John started the kettle for their morning tea, he could hear Sherlock moving about in the sitting room. Pacing, he thought, that was what it sounded like. When the toast was ready, John cut it into pieces and covered it with jam, just like he normally did.
Placing the tea and toast onto a tray, John stopped a moment when he heard the violin. It took him just a moment to recognize the piece that was being played. Even without the other strings, he knew it was Pachebel’s Canon in D, something he’d never heard Sherlock play before. Sappy, he’d called it, a year earlier, silly and sentimental. So traditional, Sherlock had said once, when John had mentioned that he’d really liked that particular piece. “Weddings, John. People only use that song for weddings now.”
He knew the tea and toast were getting cold, but he couldn’t move. He just listened, standing still, enjoying the rising and falling tones of the music, loving as he always had the seemingly circular sound of the notes.
After a minute or two, John left the tray on the counter and stepped out into the sitting room, barely across the boundary of the kitchen. He wanted to see. And what he saw nearly stole his breath.
Sherlock stood by the window, barefoot and in his dressing gown, his eyes closed as he coaxed the beautiful notes from his instrument. It was as if Sherlock were pretending he was alone, not playing for an audience, not playing for John, just letting the notes leave the violin and float into the air all on their own.
John leaned against the wall, closing his own eyes and letting himself drink in the sound, soaking up every last note.
When the room went silent, John opened his eyes and saw Sherlock setting his violin and bow gently on the desk next to him.
“Too early for music?” he asked, a look in his eyes that John didn’t instantly recognize. If he had to guess, he’d think his lover looked apprehensive…maybe nervous? Certainly nothing that he’d seen in all the months that they’d been intimate.
“No, love. You know that’s one of my favorite pieces of music. I thought you didn’t like it, though. Pedestrian, or, you know, whatever…sentimental.”
“For weddings. I think that’s what I said. People play it for weddings. Usually.”
“Yeah”, John responded. “Yeah, it’s pretty common, I guess, for weddings. But you can play it anytime you like. You don’t have to wait until you’re asked to play it at someone’s wedding”, he said, smiling.
“What if…” Sherlock faltered, which was not a common occurrence. It seemed he had something to say, and was trying to work out just how to go about it.
John waited patiently, though he was a bit confused with Sherlock’s current mood. He couldn’t tell if there was something bothering him, or if there was just something he wanted to talk about and was having a hard time expressing. It wouldn’t be the first time John waited for Sherlock to piece words together in a way that would be easy to understand.
He continued, though, raising his eyes directly to John’s. “What if we had a wedding? Would you want the Canon? Would you want someone to play it? At our wedding? If, you know, if…if we had one?”
Thank goodness John was close to the wall, because he had to hold onto it as he processed what he thought Sherlock was saying to him. Or asking him. Was he asking him? Only one way to know.
“Sherlock, are you - are you saying - are you asking - do you want-?”
Moving swiftly across the room, Sherlock stood in front of his lover for just a moment, then did what John never in a million years thought he’d ever do. Sherlock grasped his hand and slid down, one knee on the floor of their sitting room, both of his eyes directly trained on John’s face.
“Marry me, John. No, I mean, I don’t want to say it, not like that, I want to ask. Please. I mean, will you? Will you please marry me?”
John stared down at Sherlock, dumbstruck. He had no idea what to say, this had been so unexpected. His love was not one for propriety or tradition, and the request caught him completely off-guard. Sherlock wanting to make things ‘official’ between them - well, John had never thought that would happen, never expected it, would have been happy to live together and love each other without legal papers that he figured Sherlock had no interest in.
Suddenly, John realized his shock had kept him silent too long, as the look on Sherlock’s face turned from hopeful to horribly anxious.
Well, that would have to be rectified immediately. John bent his knees and landed on the floor at (almost) eye-level with Sherlock. Reaching out to touch the face of the man he loved more than anything in the world, he finally found his voice. “Yes, yes, God yes, Sherlock, of course. Of course I will.” Leaning forward, he pulled his lover into a soft kiss, backing away only to meet his eyes again, to make sure he had answered satisfactorily.
Sherlock opened his eyes after the kiss and asked another time. “You will? You don’t have to, it’s all right if you-“
John laughed softly before he pulled Sherlock into his arms, the two of them embracing on their knees while their breakfast grew colder by the moment. “I already told you yes, for the love of - you know, for a genius, you can be a fairly daft git sometimes. How could you possibly think I’d say anything else?”
Sinking further down, they both shed their clothes and made love right there on the floor between the kitchen and the sitting room, breakfast entirely forgotten. Afterwards, as John lay with his head on Sherlock’s chest, he made a suggestion.
“Write a text to Mycroft, and I’ll write one to Harry. We’ll send them at the same time, so neither of them can whine about not having been the one to hear about it first. All right?”
Sherlock smiled and kissed the top of John’s head. “My John, always the sensible one. We’ll do that, then we’ll tell Mrs Hudson. Lord knows if she hears it from someone else, she’s liable to evict us.”
They had plenty of time for other plans, but right now, both of them wanted to keep it to themselves, just for a little while.
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Rating: PG-13 for references to sex
W/C: ~ 1200
Summary: An unexpected question.
This morning didn’t start out any different than most other mornings, honestly. Not that there was never a chance John would be dragged out of his lover’s bed to accompany him to a crime scene or help to interpret the results of some grisly experiment that had kept their kitchen off-limits for days.
Usually, though, their mornings were peaceful, surprisingly enough. Sherlock nuzzling the back of John’s neck, the two of them holding each other or snogging for a while, sometimes even engaging in slow lazy sex as they started their day. John would get out of bed, eventually, and on the days when it was sanitary, he’d start preparing breakfast while Sherlock took his time making his way out of the bedroom.
Today, as John started the kettle for their morning tea, he could hear Sherlock moving about in the sitting room. Pacing, he thought, that was what it sounded like. When the toast was ready, John cut it into pieces and covered it with jam, just like he normally did.
Placing the tea and toast onto a tray, John stopped a moment when he heard the violin. It took him just a moment to recognize the piece that was being played. Even without the other strings, he knew it was Pachebel’s Canon in D, something he’d never heard Sherlock play before. Sappy, he’d called it, a year earlier, silly and sentimental. So traditional, Sherlock had said once, when John had mentioned that he’d really liked that particular piece. “Weddings, John. People only use that song for weddings now.”
He knew the tea and toast were getting cold, but he couldn’t move. He just listened, standing still, enjoying the rising and falling tones of the music, loving as he always had the seemingly circular sound of the notes.
After a minute or two, John left the tray on the counter and stepped out into the sitting room, barely across the boundary of the kitchen. He wanted to see. And what he saw nearly stole his breath.
Sherlock stood by the window, barefoot and in his dressing gown, his eyes closed as he coaxed the beautiful notes from his instrument. It was as if Sherlock were pretending he was alone, not playing for an audience, not playing for John, just letting the notes leave the violin and float into the air all on their own.
John leaned against the wall, closing his own eyes and letting himself drink in the sound, soaking up every last note.
When the room went silent, John opened his eyes and saw Sherlock setting his violin and bow gently on the desk next to him.
“Too early for music?” he asked, a look in his eyes that John didn’t instantly recognize. If he had to guess, he’d think his lover looked apprehensive…maybe nervous? Certainly nothing that he’d seen in all the months that they’d been intimate.
“No, love. You know that’s one of my favorite pieces of music. I thought you didn’t like it, though. Pedestrian, or, you know, whatever…sentimental.”
“For weddings. I think that’s what I said. People play it for weddings. Usually.”
“Yeah”, John responded. “Yeah, it’s pretty common, I guess, for weddings. But you can play it anytime you like. You don’t have to wait until you’re asked to play it at someone’s wedding”, he said, smiling.
“What if…” Sherlock faltered, which was not a common occurrence. It seemed he had something to say, and was trying to work out just how to go about it.
John waited patiently, though he was a bit confused with Sherlock’s current mood. He couldn’t tell if there was something bothering him, or if there was just something he wanted to talk about and was having a hard time expressing. It wouldn’t be the first time John waited for Sherlock to piece words together in a way that would be easy to understand.
He continued, though, raising his eyes directly to John’s. “What if we had a wedding? Would you want the Canon? Would you want someone to play it? At our wedding? If, you know, if…if we had one?”
Thank goodness John was close to the wall, because he had to hold onto it as he processed what he thought Sherlock was saying to him. Or asking him. Was he asking him? Only one way to know.
“Sherlock, are you - are you saying - are you asking - do you want-?”
Moving swiftly across the room, Sherlock stood in front of his lover for just a moment, then did what John never in a million years thought he’d ever do. Sherlock grasped his hand and slid down, one knee on the floor of their sitting room, both of his eyes directly trained on John’s face.
“Marry me, John. No, I mean, I don’t want to say it, not like that, I want to ask. Please. I mean, will you? Will you please marry me?”
John stared down at Sherlock, dumbstruck. He had no idea what to say, this had been so unexpected. His love was not one for propriety or tradition, and the request caught him completely off-guard. Sherlock wanting to make things ‘official’ between them - well, John had never thought that would happen, never expected it, would have been happy to live together and love each other without legal papers that he figured Sherlock had no interest in.
Suddenly, John realized his shock had kept him silent too long, as the look on Sherlock’s face turned from hopeful to horribly anxious.
Well, that would have to be rectified immediately. John bent his knees and landed on the floor at (almost) eye-level with Sherlock. Reaching out to touch the face of the man he loved more than anything in the world, he finally found his voice. “Yes, yes, God yes, Sherlock, of course. Of course I will.” Leaning forward, he pulled his lover into a soft kiss, backing away only to meet his eyes again, to make sure he had answered satisfactorily.
Sherlock opened his eyes after the kiss and asked another time. “You will? You don’t have to, it’s all right if you-“
John laughed softly before he pulled Sherlock into his arms, the two of them embracing on their knees while their breakfast grew colder by the moment. “I already told you yes, for the love of - you know, for a genius, you can be a fairly daft git sometimes. How could you possibly think I’d say anything else?”
Sinking further down, they both shed their clothes and made love right there on the floor between the kitchen and the sitting room, breakfast entirely forgotten. Afterwards, as John lay with his head on Sherlock’s chest, he made a suggestion.
“Write a text to Mycroft, and I’ll write one to Harry. We’ll send them at the same time, so neither of them can whine about not having been the one to hear about it first. All right?”
Sherlock smiled and kissed the top of John’s head. “My John, always the sensible one. We’ll do that, then we’ll tell Mrs Hudson. Lord knows if she hears it from someone else, she’s liable to evict us.”
They had plenty of time for other plans, but right now, both of them wanted to keep it to themselves, just for a little while.