John stood his back against his chair, phone at hand and the ticking of the clock accompanying him on the empty flat. Mrs. Hudson had decided to spend the rest of the week with her sister, so that John and Sherlock could have the flat for themselves.
Today, marked the tenth year anniversary of their first meeting. He already sent his yearly 'Thank you' message to his friend and colleague, Mike Stamford, who's behind that fate-intervened meeting. He still considered Mike as the Fate. But his jolly good friend just sent him an 'Always thrilled to be your cupid, John' reply. Still, he and Sherlock discussed earlier that day to have a lunch with Mike the next week. They could've discussed next when their celebration with Sherlock's family would be if not for Greg dragging Sherlock on a case again. And now the day was almost done, John was anxious.
And speaking of Sherlock...
(SMS — Jan. 29, 2020)
JW: Sherlock, where are you? Have you forgotten what day is it?
SH: No. It's Wednesday. Really, John.
JW: Jesus. Yes. I know. But not THAT, you git.
SH: I'm in a middle of... something.
JW: Why aren't you telling me where the hell you are? Did you get yourself in trouble?
JW: Have you got another case?
SH: Just a minute.
John frowned then felt deflated. For ten years, he thought he was used to Sherlock ignoring 'some' important holidays. But never had a year passed that Sherlock has forgotten their first meeting anniversary and he was hoping that Sherlock hadn't forgotten that THIS year was the tenth year. He was always grateful to Mike for that. He sighed. It was almost eleven in the evening.
JW: Alright. Just don't be... late.
"I hope I'm not."
Startled, John turned around to that familiar baritone voice he had loved for all those years. Sherlock's—who was now standing in front of him, with a bouquet of red tulips to offer.
Breath caught in his throat, John placed his hands together with Sherlock's. Then he lifted his gaze to those breathtaking, ever-changing stormy grey to ocean green eyes he could never get tired of looking. A riot of raven curls lovingly tousled by the outside wind. Cupid bow lips that John always thought were begging for a kiss. And of course, Sherlock as a whole with his eccentric personality was a sight to behold.
"Happy Tenth year anniversary of our meeting, John Watson. The day I never thought would be the beginning of a change in me—For the better. Never in my life had I imagined that someone would look at me like you did, and years after. To be looked upon with genuine awe and admiration. Of shameless curiosity and eventually... love. Never in my life had I imagined that someone could see through me. Someone who had broke the walls I've painstakingly built. Someone who could drag me out of my mind palace and had occupied it the same. That someone would love me selflessly. Let alone stayed with me amidst everything I've put them through. You, John Watson-Holmes didn't just saved me—"
"You saved me as well—" He cut off, earning a childish whimper from Sherlock that made him chuckle.
"Dear God, John, let me finish first! It's almost the 30th!—"
"Alright. Alright. Go on, sweetheart."
Sherlock pouted making John laugh again.
"Right. As I was saying... John, I love you so much... more than my life. More than the air that I breathe. More than anything—"
Tears fell from John's eyes as Sherlock continued one of the sweetest torture to his heart.
"And I'm telling you this. I will continue loving you until my very last breath. I love you always, John."
John's tears were overflowing now. And it continued as the memories of what they had been through flashed before his eyes. Their first cases, Moriarty's game, The Fall and the betrayal. When John taught he lost Sherlock for good. And when he had that chance to make everything right with Sherlock, he bloody well did.
Everything... in a blink of his blurry eyes. Through it all, he cared and fell in love with Sherlock.
Slowly, he took the bouquet out of Sherlock's hand and then finally, he buried himself, embracing the warmth of his man.
"I love you too, you git." John's voice croaked from emotions, then he looked up to Sherlock's eyes once again. "And beyond what you've said. Happy tenth year anniversary , love." He whispered. Holding Sherlock's gaze intensely, he tiptoed, taking the man's face in between his hands while seeing Sherlock's eyes glistening with unshed tears made John's heart beat faster. Sherlock then leaned down to him, catching his lower lip, a soft caress, before indulging themselves in, their tongues dancing slowly to a rhythm only their hearts knew—John never felt so bloody lucky in all his life.
After that breathtaking kiss, he swayed a bit forward almost tipping him and Sherlock towards the sofa. John clutched on the man's shirt as he tucked his face against the warm chest again. He then heard and felt Sherlock's laugh, a deep rumble from within making him sigh comfortably. This is his home. Sherlock is.
"Dinner?" Sherlock asked after a while.
John smiled against the now wrinkled shirt. "Starving."
As silence enveloped them, London continued to sleep. But inside 221b Baker Street, two men continues to celebrate another page from the book of their never-ending story.