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It’s noon, the 19th of July, and you are sleeping a few metres away in our hotel room. You’d probably tell me that I should be sleeping as well, given how little we’ve slept in the last three days.
My body is thoroughly exhausted, but my mind, as always, is racing, so I stepped outside rather than risk waking you.
Though, I must admit that for half an hour I remained in bed, watching you, cataloguing every hair, every mole, every breath, every heartbeat.
I… I know I don’t always say everything I should… everything you need to hear. And I also know you understand that. You understand everything, John. You always have.
You let me come back into your life after I lied to you and hurt you. You forgave me, because you were willing to understand me. Because you love me.
That’s why I want to say this now.
I love you, John.
No. That’s redundant.
I have no concept of love that is not bound up with you.
You, John, mean everything to me. You are more important than my work, my life, my past or future.
I cannot think that I was fully alive before we met, in fact.
You are my life, John.
Everything I am, my mind, my heart, my body -my soul, if there exists such a thing- belongs only to you.
And despite the fact that it might seem unnecessary, or outdated, I want to show the world that I am yours and you are mine.
That is why, with deepest sincerity, and with all I am, I must ask:
John Hamish Watson, will you do me the immense honour of marrying me?
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You are a complete and utter idiot.
Come back to bed this instant.
And one more thing.