After a case and adrenaline levels were high, they'd stumbled into the flat, tugging at each other's clothes, they'd been officially together for 2 months and 21 days, Sherlock knew it precisely, he wouldn't miss a second.
John dragged Sherlock to their bedroom and pushed Sherlock back onto the bed, flushed and nervous. John slowly undid the buttons on the detectives shirt, revealing the pale skin underneath and it was then that all lust was replaced with sadness and as his warm hands roamed Sherlocks body it wasn't in a desperate needy way, it was soft and gentle.
His skin was scattered with torture scars like constellations that had been joined up, somehow this man that lay open before him made even what was ugly to some, appear beautiful in the eyes of others, or maybe just the eyes of John. Maybe in the eyes of the broken soldier who didn't see a psychopath but instead saw a gentle delicate human being who had seen far too much to be considered healthy, had too many names pressed against him to be natural.
Sherlock looked up at John who was sat with his knees either side of Sherlocks hips, his hands curved around the detectives slender waist. He felt nervous that now John had got this far, maybe he was too ugly, he'd seen the side that was hidden from view, maybe he'd turn away or maybe turn a blind eye.
What he did surprised the detective, he slowly bent down and placed gently kisses to each scar, being careful not to hurt Sherlock. He caressed his sides and along his ribs, down his hips and along the backs of his thighs, kissing gently all over the scars, soothing words of affection and admiration mumbled gently against his skin.
"Beautiful"
"Mine"
"Perfect"
"Bumblebee"
Sherlock chuckled lightly at the last one. John had adopted the nickname after realizing Sherlocks fascination with bees and how they lived.
John leaned back up to Sherlocks face and kissed him softly, one hand clasping the curls at the back of Sherlocks neck as the other held his weight above Sherlock. The detective wrapped his arms around his doctors neck, pulling him down on top of him.
"Your gorgeous, you know that right?" John said gently, trailing a hand up Sherlocks side and making him squirm underneath him.
"Not as much as you" Sherlock chuckled, kissing John more deeply this time.
"I love your perfect imperfections" John whispered, before kissing Sherlock so softly and so full of love that Sherlock turned limp and breathless as John then continued his ministrations.
"What are you gonna do now?" Sherlock asked timidly as John helped him removed his clothes alongside his own.
"I'm going to make love to you now" John said in a voice as smooth as the silkiest chocolate, caressing Sherlocks soft skin.
So as a lesson it was learnt, what seems ugly to the beholder, is beautiful in the eyes of someone who will never judge you, or hurt you, and you may feel you may never find love but it a sure thing that someone will match your imperfections with their own, like a broken jigsaw the pieces will somehow fit, like oil and water, they can't always mix but they will glow together smoothly and untraceable.
Maybe that's what love is, maybe it's the ones that decide they love you no matter how much you dislike yourself. What you see in the mirror everyday, is what they want to see everyday.