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John has come to the conclusion that he will probably forever remain unwed. And it’s not to say that he doesn’t want to be married. But running around on cases with Sherlock all the time would put a damper on any relationship. Who would marry him?

“I would marry you,” John looks up from his knees.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I would marry you,” Sherlock repeats, not looking away from the wall that contains the photos of the current case. His fingers flick from picture to picture, his brain working much faster than his own ever could. “Objectively.”

“Explain, please, Sherlock.” Because this is odd. Not the fact that Sherlock could read his mind. And not the fact that he commented on it. What he said however, was odd.

John watches his shoulders shrug. “Who else would put up with my eccentricities? The mess, the late nights, the unpredictable bouts of silence, rage, and boredom. My infantile tantrums and my behavioral issues, not including my sociopathy. It would be for my benefit to marry you, if I needed someone to leave things to should I die on a case.” He holds up a hand, as if there is an afterthought. “Also, you make perfect tea.”

John wants to sputter, to flail, to something. But he just sits and watches Sherlock’s back.

It takes quite a few moments for him to actually say anything. But when he does, all it turns out to be is, “Thank you.”

Sherlock shrugs, turning his head just so, making it impossible for John to see any part of his face. And then he starts. “I’ve got it! Okay.” Sherlock turns around, grabbing one of his coats strewn across the couch. “Come on. We need to go see Lestrade.”

John is up and ready before he even asks. He knows what the sudden tense in the shoulders mean. “Sherlock,” he says, following his friend down the stairs. “I would marry you too. Objectively. You are right. No one else could put up with you.”

Sherlock glances over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “I know I’m right. It happens often.” John has to jog a little bit to keep up with him. “But thank you.”

John keeps pace at Sherlock’s shoulder.

“Do you really think I make perfect tea?”

“The best.”


“Of course.”