Nothing would make me happier than John and Sherlock at the Holmeses house for the weekend, after Mary’s gone, and John and Mummy end up alone in the kitchen together, and of course they’re talking about Sherlock, and Mummy just calls him out. “Are you ever going to tell him, John? Because you know he won’t. It’ll have to be you.”
And instead of denying it, he’s like, “I don’t know how.”
And she recounts how Daddy Holmes first told her he loved her, and how she’s just been waiting to hear it, because she couldn’t say things like that first, because she just didn’t understand how it worked, and Sherlock’s the same way. And John finally realises how he just has to SAY it and everything will be okay.
So John goes and finds Sherlock and just tells him. Just a simple, straightforward, “I love you. I’m in love with you. I want to be with you.”
And they spend the rest of the weekend when they’re not with the family cuddled in Sherlock’s old bed kissing and cuddling and apologising to each other for all the years of not saying it.
Then John sends Mummy like a £400 bouquet of roses after they’ve gone back to London, with a note that just says, “Thank you.”