Sherlock had been offered a vacation in Paris, France for a week. There was two tickets so he could take whoever he pleased.
Of course he was going to take his best friend, and boyfriend, Dr. John Watson.
They sat in a old Military plane, which was outdated, but still usable. John's hands were sweaty. Last time he'd ridden in a plane he thought he'd be living out on the streets, because he couldn't make enough money for the bills. John looked at Sherlock, and he smiled. "It's going to be alright," Sherlock reassures Watson, and he just smiled and nodded.
As turbulence hit, John's stomach was filled with butterflies, and he gripped tightly onto Sherlock's hand.
The plane landed safely, and Sherlock thanked God... or whoever was looking after the race of men.
John was shaky, but fine. He'd ridden in planes many times before, but that was for the war. Before and After he got shot.
Few Days Later
Sherlock and John smiled at the Eiffel Tower glooming over them. Sherlock was anxious, and he was ready. He tapped his pocket, to make sure the ring was still there and he smiled at John.
John kissed Sherlock, lightly, and they smiled at each other. Sherlock got down on one knee, and John gave a light gasp. He'd been half-expecting this, ever since Sherlock mentioned marriage, and what John thought of it. "Doctor John Watson, I love you. I knew that since I met you. You are my bestest friend, and boyfriend. Wait, no, screw that. You are an amazing person, and I love you to death.
"Will you, John Watson, marry me, Sherlock Holmes?"
John was speechless, apart from one word.
"Yes."
