Another Year, Another Murder

"Wake up, dear. It's time to go," a soft voice roused me out of the depths of sleep as I struggled to pull back the warm covers. I groaned, but the smell of eggs and bacon wafted their way into my room, making my stomach growl.

I batted my eyelids, waking up to the smirking face of the man who vowed to be mine for forever, even though he continuously said we'd die eventually. I usually laughed when he mentioned it, but today as I stared into his face, I could see the years of crime that wore out on his defined cheekbones. Oh my, I could cut my hand just by touching them.

"Are you going to sit there gawking or are you going to get up and enjoy your breakfast?" Sherlock tapped his foot in mock impatience.

I smiled at him, rolling my legs off the bed, my feet almost lying flat on the floor. I let them sway asking, "depends on what it is. I didn't miss any special occasion, did I?"

The truth was I did know what day it was, but I loved playing along with his little games. They were less gruesome than the ones played by Moriarty at times.

"You didn't forget, did you?" He glared at me as I picked up my dressing gown from my vanity, his eyes roaming up and down my body. I smirked, slowly walking towards him and wrapping my arms around his neck, breathing in his familiar scent.

"Twenty years, can you believe it?" I whispered lazily against his ear, sucking in a slight breath as his hands roamed up and down my back making me shiver in delight.

Sherlock sighed in contentment as he began nibbling my ear. "I knew you wouldn't forget, but perhaps we should do something...different."

"What ever do you mean?" I furrowed my brow as I gently pushed him away looking into his startling sapphire eyes. "I have everything I could ever want standing before me."

His eyes twinkled with delight. "Eh, are you sure? I think it was the sex."

"That was just an added bonus," I grinned. "But really, what is this "different" you're thinking of?"

He gave no response. His hand crept closer to mine and I entwined it with my own as he lead me to the kitchen where the aromas of eggs and bacon afflicted my senses. I eyed the plate hungrily, watching the grease drip onto the plate, the eggs soft and fluffy. And John used to say Sherlock couldn't cook anything to save his life. My stomach begged to differ from my racing thoughts. I picked up a fork and dug in to the fluffy eggs, bits of bacon grease mingled within. I groaned in delight.

Sherlock smirked. "Good enough?"

"These are better than good, it's fantastic!" my eyes glimmered with delight. He chuckled in response, reaching out a calloused finger to flick off a crumb from the corner of my mouth. Sighing in contentment, I finished up the delicious breakfast and finished my morning routine, throwing my thick hair up in a tight bun.

*A few minutes later*

"Sherlock, where in the world are you? It's our twentieth anniversary. We don't have to do anything fancy." I grinned as I walked into the living room. I watched my husband pacing back and forth, his eyes darting in frustration; John was sitting in his usual chair typing on his laptop trying in vain not to laugh as Rosie tried to impersonate Sherlock.

"I bet he's being a pain in the arse as usual," I laughed walking over to John, taking a seat in the comfort of Sherlock's s chair. "At least the one date he never forgets is our anniversary." At that, Sherlock stopped pacing, and cast a spiteful glare.

"Awe John look, poor Sherlock is mad at me. Oh no what should I do?" Suddenly, before I could get up, Sherlock growled pouncing on me almost knocking the chair against the wall. John rolled his eyes, promptly motioning for Rosie to sit with him as he put his laptop away.

"Is that a challenge? Do you really want to face my rage?" Sherlock embraced me, proceeding to attack my neck with kisses. I laughed as his hands snaked to my waist, tickling me in my tender sides.

"Please...don't...Sher...stop...can't...breathe," I choked out in between laughs.

John cleared his throat, a slight smile playing on his lips before whispering something to Rosie. "So what do you have planned for the day?"

"Marry me," Sherlock pulled away, now noticing the attention on us.

"What did you say?" John inquired.

"Marry me."

"I did that twenty years ago, of course I still choose you," I laughed pulling Sherlock closer, leaving John shaking his head in confusion, but still smiling at our never ending antics. If the two of you were together twenty more years, he'd never grow tired of them, though he'd never mention that aloud. He would never hear the end of it from Sherlock.