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It had been a wonderful evening, filled with laughter. Friends. And the beer and cider had flown freely, making a celebration that much more colorful. John didn't care that the flat was a bit of a mess as he walked around with a bag, picking up the detritus of a party in a room still warm with friendship, of echoes of laughter still hiding in corners, with promises to warm cooled spirits through years to come. He didn't care that Sherlock sat, unmoving with fingers steepled at his mouth, just his eyes following John around the room and clearly not helping tidy up after the party he'd somehow organized.
What he cared about was the fact that Sherlock had thrown him a birthday party at all.
John walked behind Sherlock, a smile on his face when Sherlock finally moved. He loved watching Sherlock study a subject, and yet somehow didn't get too upset when the subject turned out to be him. Except Sherlock never looked at a criminal, passerby, or witness with the subtle underlying flame of want that was mostly hidden underneath his gaze. No, that was there solely for John.
As John came back around front, he dropped the plastic bag on the floor, careful to not spill the contents, and sat on the edge of Sherlock's chair. Sure, the hard metal of the chair frame against his arse wasn't the most comfortable. But the look Sherlock gave him was worth it. And besides, he was pretty sure one of their arses would be getting attention soon enough, he just wasn't sure which one. Then again, it was his birthday, so rationally it was his choice to make.
Sherlock's eyes searched him as John took Sherlock's chin between his fingers. He watched as two blue-grey eyes let loose the secret of insecurity until he leaned forward close enough for their lips to touch. The kiss was delicate but sufficient to convey how he felt. And hopefully enough to tuck away any insecurity that remained in his partner.
"Was it okay, John?" Sherlock asked, then leaned in for another kiss.
John could not help but smile as a light chuckle came from his chest. "You know, Sherlock, sometimes you can be a bit of a prat."
Sherlock sat up a bit straighter, eyes larger. "What?" he asked. It was clear he was scandalized by John's declaration.
He calmed Sherlock with another kiss, then leaned their foreheads together. "But sometimes you do something like this, and..."
"But was it okay?" Sherlock asked. "You know I'm not the best when it comes to human interactions. But I felt like we should do something more than spend the evening studying post-mortem bruising, or, I don't know, defusing bombs, or-"
"Sherlock?"
John derailed a perfectly beautiful Sherlock rant by grabbing his hand. He pulled it up onto his leg, then felt the long, slender fingers squeeze. The action was mostly chaste, though it lit a passion in Sherlock's eyes.
"Let's go to bed."