“I am going to ask you to marry me.”
There is only one reply.
“Because I love you, you berk.”
This has never made sense and still doesn’t. He is not a loveable person. He knows that he isn’t. He is irritable, demanding and difficult to live with on his good days. At least now he still has his good looks. The older he gets, the worst his character traits will become and the uglier he will look. Why would anyone want to bind himself to someone like him?
He opens his mouth to repeat his question, but John steps closer and whispers, ”Don’t.”
“I love you because you are wonderful and dangerous and exciting and beautiful and insane. Because there is no one like you, no one I'd rather spend my life with, no one else I want to get old with. And because you deserve it. Now. Will you let me ask?”
“Yes.” It’s barely audible, more an exhale than a word.
John goes to his knee. Sherlock’s knees decide that they want to mirror the action and get wobbly.
John opens his fist and there is a plain and perfect ring on his palm.
And before he can even ask, Sherlock realises that again there is only one reply.
And suddenly he has butterflies.