John is in the process of putting his coat on when Sherlock quietly asks him to stay in instead. John finds himself hesitating by the door. It's New Year's Eve and Harry is expecting him to at least show his face at her and Clara's party. He'd inadvertently promised to attend weeks ago when trying to weasel his way out of visiting on Boxing Day; however the thought of leaving Sherlock alone in the empty flat tonight tugs at his heart. So he stays in.

Sherlock discovers a bottle of vintage whisky and fixes them both a drink while John makes himself comfortable, kicking off his shoes and undoing the horrendous tie Harry gave him for Christmas.

For the most part they sit in their chairs by the fire in comfortable silence, sipping at their drinks and watching the hours countdown to midnight.

Sherlock takes his violin out of its case and moves to the window as to play. Well used to Sherlock's private impromptu concerts John puts his drink down and turns in his seat to face the window where Sherlock stands ready to listen to a rendition of Auld Lang Syne or whatever Sherlock felt like playing tonight.

Sherlock stands there bathed in moonlight with the bow in his hands but does not play.

Used to Sherlock's strange ways John waits patiently for what seems to be an eternity, until at last Sherlock moves.

He does not play but instead begins to speak. His voice is low and hesitant and sombre.

"My heart flounders at the first sign off genuine affection. Romance is not a language that I excel in, poetic words flounder on my tongue and my brain seizes up. The mere thought that someone may find me lovable is laughable even to myself."

"Modern courtship is built from a mix of outdated practices and new ideals. It is a minefield. Society has built love into something that I fear cannot translate itself into real life. Movies talk of feelings strong enough to cut."

"I cannot help but feel that the rules on love must have been written or rewritten without my knowing and that perhaps my copy is lost somewhere. After all it is ridiculous to be as old as I am and so inexperienced in the matters of love and all it entails. Purity of the soul is not something often found in these modern times. The press is filled with stories of such carnal acts. I wonder if I am more shocked of their boldness or my own cowardice."

"Yet surely if they can find this thing called happiness I can do similar. I find I have been a coward for far too long. I have kept quiet when perhaps I should have spoken. I have lied and hid my heart from love, from you."

"I love you John. I always have."

Sherlock chokes out a shuddering breath as he keeps his eyes fixed on the window unable to bring himself to look at John. Tears seem to run down his pale cheeks. The grandfather clock downstairs begins to chime as midnight approaches.

"In a few moments it will be tomorrow and a new year. If you are kind you will reject me now so I can start the New Year afresh and forget about my foolishness. We need not discuss this any longer." Sherlock turns; his gaze still averted, and makes to leave the living room.

"Sherlock wait." John pleas as he hurriedly rises to his feet and strides across the room.

Taking the violin and bow from Sherlock's hands John lays them gently down on the sofa before enveloping Sherlock in his arms. Sherlock trembles in his embrace as John kisses him and clutches him close.

"I love you too." John tells him as fireworks light up the London sky.