If there were ever any awards to be given for bad timing, John was sure Victor would receive the biggest trophy of them all.

John was tense as he sat in his chair and stared at the man currently oblivious to evil looks being sent his way. Though Sherlock had originally seemed perturbed by Victor's surprise visit, that perturbation had only lasted a moment. Then again, he and Victor were in fact friends, and apparently rather good friends at one point in time, considering the fact that they'd lived together briefly. John had pretended not to hear when Victor had mentioned it, but inside he was seething.

It didn't help that Sherlock was acting uncharacteristically cordial around Victor. He had made fresh tea for everyone, serving Victor his cup, he had played the violin upon Victor's request, and was now chatting amicably with him on the sofa while John watched and tried not to feel jealous. He'd tried working on his blog, doing crossword puzzles, and even browsing the news in search of any interesting murders to distract either himself or Sherlock with. Nothing was working, and John was sure he would soon have a visible green aura of jealousy surrounding him if he didn't get out of this flat soon.

He stood from his seat and went to the bedroom to retrieve a jacket, then came back into the sitting room to grab his keys, phone, and wallet.

"John?"

He glanced up to see Sherlock staring questioningly at him, a single eyebrow raised and the corners of his mouth turned downwards. "Where are you going?"

"I figured that since you two were, y'know, hanging out, I'd go out for a bit and give you some time together. Maybe see what Ollie's up to..." Sherlock bristled upon hearing Ollie's name leave John's lips, and John pretended not to notice. Instead he gave Sherlock a warm smile and crossed the room to where he was seated, pointedly ignoring Victor, who was sitting just on the other side of the sofa. Sherlock frowned up at him, but before he had a chance to speak John bent down and kissed him, slow and sweet and reassuring.

He reached up and secured Sherlock's chin with his hand so he couldn't pull away, not that John expected him to. Sherlock kissed him back as eagerly as always, perhaps even more so. John smiled against his lips. Some part of him was glad that Victor was here to see this. John pulled back and continued to smile at Sherlock. He still looked uncertain, but John just kissed him again and stood up straight. He glanced over at Victor briefly before letting go of Sherlock's chin and leaving, calling out over his shoulder that he wouldn't be out for long. He dialed Ollie's number when he got outside, and he answered on the third ring.

"John! It's great to hear from you. What's up?"

"Nothing, I'm just ... What are you up to?"

"I'm about to go out to the pub with Mike and Bill. I think Bill was supposed to be asking you if you wanted to join us."

"Well, I'd love to." John tried to sound pleasant, though he was wondering why Bill hadn't contacted him. Surely he wouldn't have forgotten about it. They were friends, good friends. If it weren't for Sherlock, John wouldn't hesitate to call them best friends. Especially since his return from Afghanistan. Bill had been his best man. That had to mean something, right?

"Alright, I'll text you the address."

"Ta." John hung up, and when he looked down at his phone he saw that he had three texts waiting to be opened. One was from Ollie, giving him the address. Another was from Bill, asking if he was free this afternoon. John smiled, glad to have not been forgotten. The third text was from Sherlock.

Victor said you look very nice today. I'm not sure how to process that information.

John chuckled and typed out a reply.

I'm sure you know what a compliment is.

Sherlock's reply came less than a minute later.

Of course I know what a compliment is. I just don't understand why Victor felt the need to tell me you're attractive. I'm very much aware of that already.

Another chuckle left John's lips as he turned a corner and the pub came into view.

I love you.

Likewise.

John placed his phone back into his pocket and walked across the street to meet his friends. When he entered the establishment he found Bill sitting alone at a table near the back. He had yet to see John, though his eyes were roaming the room, most likely in search of friends. John began making his way over to Bill, and received a raised glass in greeting when he was finally seen.

"John! Glad you could make it." John sat down beside him at the table, and their elbows knocked together. A bit of Bill's drink sloshed out of the mug, and john swore.

"Ah, shit. Sorry mate."

"It's alright."

"Oy," John heard a familiar voice call out to them. "Isn't it a bit early in the night to be spilling drinks on yourself?"

"Tell that to John here," Bill said, laughing as he used a napkin to swipe at the stain on his sleeve.

"I'm really sorry-"

"It's fine, John. In fact I should be thanking you. I hate this shirt actually. Karen bought it for me, and I'm too nice to say anything about it. Maybe I can play up the spill and finally get rid of it." He gave John a friendly smile and raised his mug. Ollie laughed as he stood to get himself and John drinks. When he returned the three of them launched into a discussion of recent news and sporting events. Each man offered anecdotes of their significant others, and they all laughed in good humour at the expense of those who weren't present to defend themselves. Overall it was a rather enjoyable time had by all.

It was dark by the time John arrived at 221B Baker street, and he was surprised to find that the living room light was still on. He unlocked the front door and was greeted with the piquant scent of curry and the sound of laughter wafting down from upstairs. He climbed the stairs with great trepidation, fearful of what was awaiting him behind the door. He had never heard Sherlock laugh like that ... except when he was the cause of it. Normally the sound filled his heart with joy, but hearing it now made something in John's stomach twist.

John slowly pushed the door open and took in the sight before him. Sherlock was facing away from the door, hands splayed out on the desk in the centre of the room as he bent over. His shoulders were shaking, and John could hear the deep rumbling of his laughter. Victor was stood behind him, and slightly to the side, his eyes fixed on Sherlock.

John closed the door quietly and stepped into the room. Neither man seemed to have noticed his arrival. The fact that Sherlock Watson-Holmes, the world's most observant man, failed to notice his husband's arrival was distressing. John wondered just what it was that had captured Sherlock's attention.

"Victor, this is fantastic," Sherlock said, straightening up. "I don't know how you-" Sherlock cut himself off mid-sentence when he turned to face Victor and saw John standing by the door. "Oh, hello John. Come look at this!" Sherlock waved him over, and John stepped forward to peer at the laptop sitting on the desk. On the screen was a picture of a young boy with curly red hair and glasses, smiling brightly and holding a shining trophy. It appeared to be a picture scanned from a newspaper. The picture was above an article about some science fair. It was the caption that caught John's attention, however.

Pictured above: Mycroft Holmes, age 13, with his trophy.

Before John could stop himself a laugh escaped his lips and he took a step back.

"That's Mycroft?" John turned to Sherlock, who was smiling down at him with eyes full of laughter and mirth, and chuckled. "I didn't know he was capable of producing a genuine smile." Sherlock shrugged.

"I"m not so sure he's aware anymore, either." They laughed together, and after a moment Sherlock placed a hand at the small of John's back and leaned in to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Welcome home. Did you have fun while you were out?"

"Oh, um, yeah," John answered lamely, caught off guard by the unexpected display of affection. Sherlock removed his hand and stepped away, smiling warmly at Victor.

"While I have greatly enjoyed your visit, it is getting late."

"Agreed," Victor replied, giving a slight bow. "This was fun, Sherlock. We must do it again some time. Perhaps I could dig up some more old photos of your dear brother." The smile Sherlock gave Victor was somehow malevolent and charming at the same time, and it made John's heart stutter. Then he realized, Sherlock was giving that smile to Victor and not him, and his smile faded.

John remained in the sitting room while Sherlock showed Victor out, and collapsed into his chair. He took in a deep breath to steady himself and to quell the jealousy he felt rising up inside of him. He could detect a foreign scent in the air; Mixed in with the usual aroma of their flat was a light hint of expensive cologne, and not the cologne Sherlock wore.

Sherlock returned with a smile on his face and strode over to John, kneeling in front of him and placing his hands on John's thighs.

"How much did you have to drink tonight?"

"Not very much, why?" Sherlock began gently caressing John's thighs. John felt the heat of Sherlock's hands through the fabric of his jeans, and felt his pulse quicken.

"I was just wondering if there was anything that could possibly interfere with what I have planned for us tonight." John leaned forward until his nose was brushing against Sherlock's. Thankfully, he only smelled Sherlock, and no one else. He closed his eyes and breathe in the familiar scent.

"And just what do you have planned, Mr. Watson-Holmes?" Sherlock pressed his lips hard against John's and one of his hands began drifting upwards until it was resting on John's hip. John kissed Sherlock back and buried a hand in his hair, giving a slight tug to bring Sherlock's mouth away from his. Before Sherlock could protest John dipped his head down and began nipping at the skin beneath Sherlock's jawline.

"John," Sherlock panted, throwing his head back to allow John better access to his neck. "Maybe now ... would be a ... good time to ... go to the bedroom." Sherlock struggled to talk with John raising his head to kiss him every few words. He pressed forward until Sherlock was spread out on the floor beneath him, and placed his knees on either side of Sherlock's waist, straddling him.

"You want to stop now just to go to the bedroom?"

"God, no."

___________________________________________________________

John had originally believed that the domesticity of married life would eventually gnaw at him and Sherlock as time went on until they could no longer stand it, but he found it to be quite the opposite. Life with Sherlock as his husband was fantastic. They still solved crimes by day, and sometimes at night. When they went out to eat Sherlock always smiled when he said "We have a reservation for Watson-Holmes." On the nights they didn't go out they took turns cooking dinner. Well, John cooked the majority of the time, but every now and then Sherlock would step into the kitchen and offer assistance.

John had caught Sherlock admiring his wedding ring on more than one occasion when he thought John couldn't see, and each time it made something in his chest swell with love. He had never thought it possible to be more in love with Sherlock than he had been on his wedding day, but each and every day that went by proved contrary to his original beliefs. Every day he failed to believe that he could love Sherlock more than he does, and each day after that he is proven wrong.

They weren't an overly affectionate couple, at least not in public. They didn't often hold hands, and they never kissed at crime scenes. There had been one exception, after John had pointed out a crucial detail that everyone else had missed. (John could still see the flabbergasted looks on the faces of the Scotland Yard workers.) In private they cuddled on the sofa and in bed, and overall John found himself to be extremely content. He had never felt this way about anyone. He only wished he knew how to properly articulate how much he loved Sherlock.

With the arrival of their one-year anniversary came the worry that John wouldn't be able to give Sherlock a gift that fully expressed how much he loved him and how grateful he was to be married to such an amazing man. He'd spent months searching for the perfect gift before deciding that Sherlock would appreciate something practical over something romantic. Still, he wanted to add some sort of something to the gift, so he ended up getting an engraving on the microscope he bought Sherlock. It read: Property of Sherlock Watson-Holmes. It was a small touch, but it was a reminder that they were in fact married, something John hoped Sherlock would appreciate.

John stared down at the microscope in his hands. It was the night before their anniversary, and Sherlock was out doing God-knows what, so John took the opportunity to get one last look at Sherlock's present before he presented it to him. He gave the instrument a final once-over, then placed it back inside the black box and closed the lid. He took the red scarf he'd bought and tied it in a bow around the box. He smiled to himself, picturing what Sherlock's face would look like when he saw it. He placed the box back in its hiding spot and descended the stairs.

Sherlock was waiting for him on the landing. John was startled and almost slipped, but managed to maintain his balance and composure and smiled at Sherlock. He was still in his coat and scarf, which lead John to guess that he had just arrived home.

"Hello," he said. Sherlock didn't reply, just nodded and turned to go into the living room. John followed after him and stood awkwardly in the doorway to the kitchen while Sherlock disrobed. He tossed his coat onto the couch and started working on taking off his scarf. "Tea?"

"No thank you. I think I'll just turn in for the night."

"Oh." John blinked, then stared at Sherlock. He was never the first to go to bed. "Alright." Sherlock removed his scarf, then threw it on top of his coat and made his way over to John. He bent down and kissed him, then moved past him to go to their bedroom. John stood dumbfounded in the kitchen, lips still puckered, mind whirring with a dozen questions.

A moment later Sherlock emerged from the bedroom dressed in nothing but a pair of pants and a housecoat. John caught himself staring at Sherlock's lean body before his eyes snapped up to his face. Sherlock was smirking at him. He felt like a teenager having been caught staring at his crush, not like a man who had simply been admiring his husband's physical assets.

"Would you care to join me, John?" He held a hand out and wriggled his fingers, and John rolled his eyes before reaching out. He allowed himself to be lead to the bedroom and changed into something comfortable while Sherlock climbed beneath the covers. Once John joined him, he turned over and burrowed into John's side, snaking an arm around his waist and resting his head on John's shoulder. There was nothing unusual to this, but John still felt his heart skip a beat when Sherlock got so close. It was amazing that after all this time he was still so affected. He only hoped Sherlock felt the same.

"Goodnight, Sherlock. See you tomorrow."

"Mmm, yes, tomorrow." Sherlock stretched his lips out and kissed John's neck, then his breathing slowed and John knew he was drifting off to sleep. John's own eyelids began to feel heavy, and it wasn't long before he joined Sherlock.

___________________________________________________________

Sorry about the short chapter guys, and the probably atrocious editing (and the terrible title. I'll probably change it once I think of a better one). I've got two big tests this week but hopefully after that most of my school stress will be gone and I can get back to producing better-quality work for you all. Thanks to everyone who's reading/voting/commenting! You guys are amazing. xx