A Nice Murder and Some Jam

John comes home from the surgery to a very peaceful flat and a closed sitting room. He looked around and saw that nothing has changed and that nothing was wrong. The air was completely normal (nothing strange) and he could already hear Mrs. Hudson giggling downstairs (probably watching some telly or listening to some radio program).

John shrugs and moves to open the door of their sitting room but it was locked. Now that was strange. Nobody ever locks their sitting room, not even Sherlock. (Well, they only do when he and Sherlock are doing... things that nobody’s allowed to see.)

John sighs and shrugs again. He was about to knock when he noticed that a paper was taped to the wall.

He narrows his eyes and tries to recognize the handwriting. Well, it’s definitely Sherlock’s. (It wasn’t one of those ‘Murder inside, please disturb’ notes, is it?)

The note was long (straaaange) and it’s not like Sherlock to write something like this if it wasn’t important.

Oh, God, John was suddenly nervous. What has Sherlock got himself into this time? Is he okay? Is he with Greg? Is he kidnapped? Is he chasing someone around London without him now? Is he safe? Goodness, Sherlock!

John gets the paper from the door and quickly reads it.

To my dearest John Watson a.k.a the person that I love the most in the world,

Hello.

Do you know how much I love your golden (with a little bit of grey) hair? Do you know how much I love seeing it in the morning when it’s disheveled and is sticking out in different directions? Do you know how much I love touching and feeling the softness of that sexy, gorgeous hair? Do you know how much I love smelling it when I wake up in the morning next to you? Do you or do you not?

John narrows his eyes... this... isn't what he's expecting.

Do you know that I love your eyes? You once said to me that your eyes weren’t as beautiful as mine but I’m telling you that you’re wrong. Your eyes are the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen in my life and I really love it. They’re so expressive and just so wonderful. How did I even manage to live without looking at them?

And do you know that I love your nose? The way they flare when you’re angry at me – God, it’s beautiful and it’s gorgeous. I wonder how you do that, John. A nose flare isn’t that attractive, but how can you make it that way? 

Do you also know that I love your lips? This is kind of embarrassing to admit, but they really excite me whenever I look at them. (Seriously, how can you make every little thing so important and so damn desirable, John?)

Could we also talk about how much I love your kisses? It really makes me happy when you wake me up with little kisses on my forehead in the morning. It also makes me happy when you come back from the surgery and you kiss me while I’m busy examining things under a microscope (grabbing my chin and disrupting my experiments just so I could pay attention to you and so you could kiss me oh-so-lovingly, too).

 I know I act like I don’t like it (the groaning and the growling and the glaring) and that it annoys me, but honestly, I really do. Keep doing it by the way. It makes me happy to know that when my day begins and ends, there will always be that one person who will kiss me and make me feel special and loved even if what I did the whole day was to check things under a microscope, keep body parts in the fridge (ex: fingers, thumbs, decapitated head arms), do experiments, blow something up (ex: the microwave), break something (ex: your kettle and tea cups and some plates). There will always be a John Watson who’ll love me despite everything I’ve done.

Yes, so… my dearest John – the person that I love most in the world, the person that I’ll spend the rest of my life with – I love you so much and I thank God and Mike Stamford (still am) for bringing you to me. I love you so, so much.

Your Idiot,

Sherlock Holmes

PS:

I broke the microwave, the kettle, and the teacups (I already threw them away so we could avoid stepping on them) for reasons that you might not want to know anymore… or for reasons you probably already know.

I am so sorry (I truly am, you could ask Mrs. Hudson) and as a peace offering, I have a very nice murder that I know you will like (I called Graham and he said he has something nice for us. Yay) and some strawberry jam in the fridge. Yay.) 

But of course, if it’s not enough (I know it’s not enough), there’s always me. I’ll do anything (probably) that you want, just don’t get mad at me, please.

Bye. I love you.

I bought milk and beans by the way. I love you again. 

(Hiding at Mrs. Hudson's flat. I love you.)

Instead of getting angry, John only shakes his head, smiles, stares at the letter fondly, keeps it in his pocket and says to himself, "You are so going to be smothered with kisses this valentines day, Sherlock." 

Then he went downstairs to fetch his most loved idiot in the whole universe also known as Sherlock Holmes.