You know that sherlock would never have laughed if John had fucked up his proposal to him he would just have waited
he *is* waiting
John woke before Sherlock, which made sense since John caught a few catnaps during the last case when Sherlock went about 56 hours straight without. It was the best kind of morning, really. They had nothing planned for the day, Sherlock would be content without a case for a bit, and the would just stoke the fire, order in unhealthy food and catch a day of rest. John stroked one hand through Sherlock’s mess of curls were the detective’s head rested on his doctor’s chest. Sherlock’s hand reached over John’s torso and held his wrist in a loose grasp. John lay there for close to an hour just enjoying the quiet and the warmth of Sherlock wrapped around him.
As Sherlock started to wake, he didn’t draw away. He pulled closer. He curled his body tighter to John’s and strengthened his grip on him. It was always like that when Sherlock woke. Sherlock told him once, when John had asked, that he still had trouble not believing it wasn’t just a dream, and so he didn’t dare just let go and roll away. So today, when a half-awake Sherlock hugged John tight and turned his head to brush his lips across John’s scar and breath him in, John just knew. Just like that. He knew with perfect clarity that today was the day he was going to do it.
John twisted enough to kiss Sherlock’s forehead and whisper to him about needing to get up to use the loo. John promised the sleepy object of his affections that, if he allowed John to extract himself from their bed, he would bring back the morning paper, a cup of tea, and some toast with extra butter. Sherlock momentarily snuffled closer yet but then muttered some affirmative and allowed John to escape. As soon as John rose, Sherlock commandeered his pillow and buried his face in it. A few deep breaths later, Sherlock was back off to sleep.
John donned a robe and filled and turned on the kettle. He put the toast in the toaster. Then, without any hesitation, he retrieved a small box from behind the broken hoover in the cleaning closet. He checked the contents. He ran his index finger over the single, small diamond inlayed flush into the titanium band. It was just enough that no one would doubt what it was.
John was struck by the contrast of this proposal to the one he had with Mary. Well, the one he tried to have with Mary before his best friend showed up from the dead and insulted his mustache. He had been so nervous. He planned the fancy evening maybe as much for himself as for her. He followed the classical proposal trope and even planned to get down on one knee. It was like all the window dressing was supposed to make up for his doubt. He hadn’t known her for very long, but proposing marriage seemed like a step in the right direction with getting on with his life.
Then one bullet, a baby that wasn’t his, and one divorce later, John was finally actually getting the life he always wanted, but just didn’t always know that he did. The kettle clicked off, the toast popped up, and John carefully shut the box. He arranged an old painted tray with the tea and toast and the newspaper as promised. Then, right in the middle, he put the box.
John entered the bedroom and coaxed a reluctantly-waking Sherlock over enough for John to sit against the headboard and place the tray safely between them. Only then, in that moment right before Sherlock would see it, did John get nervous. He had no doubt it was what he wanted, but how did he ever find the words to let Sherlock know everything that he meant to him. How does one ask Sherlock Holmes to marry them.
Then there was a sharp intake of breath, and a deep morning voice sighed “John,”
John looked and saw Sherlock, instantly very awake and his eyes locked on the ring box.
The genius’s perfect lips fell open but no more words came. He finally looked from the box to John, a mix of a dozen brands of confusion.
John started to stammer wildly.
"Sherlock, you know I love you very much. And, listen I know you are not much for public declarations and you’ve said before about others that marriage is just a piece of paper and a party. You don’t even need to wear it if you don’t want to. I’d like you to of course but if you…I mean…"
John’s eyes fell uncomfortably down to the ring. It suddenly seemed too small a gesture for all that filled his heart when it came to the man next to him. He cringed and waited for the quick quip he just knew would be coming. John was stumbling over his words so badly he was sured to be called an idiot and receive a lecture of some sort about archaic rituals.
But then it never came. John ventured a glance back at Sherlock’s face.
Sherlock looked back at him with those endless eyes. Sherlock hung on every disorganized word John said and he…waited. He was utterly silent as John stumbled over it all.
It was the loveliest look Sherlock had ever given him. John was struck dumb by that look. He left his words trail off and he felt his mouth lift on just the one side into a big dopey grin.
After a small eternity passed Sherlock finally let out a slow breath and let his eyes fall over the box again.
"John," he started, his voice quiet and urgent.
"John would you please ask me soon so I can say yes? Please?"
It was the second “please”, barely a whisper, that helped John find the words. In the end, it was nothing special.
"Sherlock, will you marry me?" John asked with a confident voice.
"Oh god, yes"