"Has this not been clear to you?“ John presses, growing angrier by the second. “Can you not see, you..."

“

Has this not been clear to you?“ John presses, growing angrier by the second. “Can you not see, you supposed genius, the evidence in front of your eyes? Because at this point it must be neon and strutting around in the nude!”

“What ev—”

“Your incessant self-deprecation when it comes to me is the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen. You’re blinding yourself to the truth and—”

“What truth?” Sherlock demands as John pushes himself out of his chair for the second time, gathering a terrifying sort of momentum.

“—and you—you come in here with this ridiculous—” John snatches up the bouquet and thrusts it in Sherlock’s whitening face— “clump of maggoty flowers and present them to me. For what? A gift of apology? A romantic fucking gesture? What, Sherlock, what? No, don’t answer. That’s a rhetorical sodding question, because you don’t know what the hell you’re doing, do you? You think you can just come in here after killing my wife and Moriarty and beg me to kiss you and then tell me this. And then, and then, have the utter audacity to tell me I don’t need you. Well, you know what? Fuck you. You don’t know anything. If only you’d learned to stop feeling sorry for yourself and open your eyes for half a second maybe w—”

“Open my eyes to what, John?” Sherlock fairly bellows, wrenching his suit jacket off and throwing it to the floor beside his coat with immense vitriol.

“To the fact that I am in love with you right back, you titanic moron.” John’s chest is heaving with emotion and the feeling of vertigo has only increased. “And have been for years.

”

- Spark_Writer, Kiss Me (via johnlockficrecommendations)