The Only Thing Worth Fighting For

Chapter 16

Sherlock sat at the kitchen table, his tongue hanging out slightly as he concentrated on the task in front of him. He glued the paper and carefully snipped at the edges until it looked perfectly centred, before adding an annotation to the side bar in his calligraphic handwriting. Running one hand through his curls he smiled as he looked over at his project.

People often assumed that he had no feelings because of his inexperience with emotions, however this was not the case. Sherlock felt the same as most people only with more rationality and logic, which is why he had decided to put together a memory box for Rosie. He had spoken with Mycroft who'd informed him that the fire marshal in charge of John's previous home had stored everything they had managed to save before the house had been demolished. Sherlock had personally picked through the charred remains which had been stored in a lock up near the Thames, his hands and clothes had reeked of smoke and he had been sure that John was suspicious the day he returned to hammer on the door of 221C but thankfully, John was as unobservant as ever.

Sherlock had found the photo album which contained the Watson wedding photos; it was slightly water damaged but most of the photographs were still visible, and after pulling some strings with one of Mycroft's contacts he had managed to have them completely restored. Now, sitting on the kitchen table he was sorting them into a large and expensive photo album along with descriptions of people in the pictures. Sherlock had also found Mary's jewellery box, although there was nothing expensive except her wedding ring, and Sherlock placed it inside the box for Rosie to discover for herself.

"Sherlock?" John's voice startled him into looking up, his face doing the perfect 'deer in headlights' look. "What are you doing?"

"I can explain," Sherlock whispered, before letting his hands fall into his lap. "It's not finished yet..."

John walked to the table and gasped at the vision of Mary's face looking back at him. He had seen Facebook photos of the wedding of course, but he hadn't expected to see his official wedding photographs ever again. His heartbeat quickened as he looked between the pictures and Sherlock's face. "Where did you..."

"I didn't know but the fire service salvaged whatever they could on Mycroft's instruction. He told me yesterday when I visited and I thought I'd work on a memory box for Rosie." Sherlock blushed slightly at the sentiment. "I can forget it... you hate it... it doesn't matter."

John blinked once, twice, and then wrapped his hands around Sherlock. It wasn't a comfortable position and forced their noses to squash against one another whilst their breathing whistled in the small space between them;

"Come to bed with me," John whispered, nuzzling his nose into Sherlock's cheek. "Please."

"The baby?" Sherlock asked, his eyes attempting to deduce John's movements, but his arousal standing between logical thought and reality.

"Mrs Hudson has taken her next door to Mrs Turner's," John smiled. "We're home alone and I want to make love to you."

Sherlock's stomach fluttered wildly at the statement as John held out his hand, offering Sherlock the perfect opportunity to pull away if it wasn't what he wanted. The detective stilled for a moment, taking a deep inhale and exhale before putting his hand into John's and entwining their fingers as John helped him from his seat and pushed their bodies together. Sherlock let his nose scent across the warm skin of John's neck and throat as he was walked backwards towards the bedroom which was rapidly becoming theirs as they spent most nights curled up together.

John pushed Sherlock back onto the bed and crawled, feline like over the detective's prone body until they were once more nose to nose. Sherlock arched his neck, seeking comfort from his lover who gave it willingly; John pressed their lips together softly, their tongues flicking out to caress against one another as John curled his fingers into Sherlock's hair, holding tightly enough to ground Sherlock but not to hurt his sensitive scalp. Sherlock sighed happily into John's mouth and rutted shamelessly against John's hips, desperate for friction.