it’s morning, and they are having breakfast in the kitchen, and sherlock, of course, is typing away deductions, but the message won’t send for some reason. “hm, there’s no signal on my phone”, he frowns. “here, use mine”, john’s hand is already on the way to his pocket when he freezes completely, and so does sherlock, and they turn to look at each other and there’s silence and then they smile, all tiny wrinkles and soft eyes and curled lips. “thank you”, sherlock’s response is barely audible when john’s hand lands in his open palm, and they both know he means so much more than just a phone in between their tangled fingers

You are the first person I want to talk to when I wake up. The last person when I fall asleep. The one to share good news with, the one to upset with. I love you.