Forgetting the Past

        Lying in the profound stillness with Greg, I was acutely aware of the faint, almost imperceptible crackling emanating from the hearth downstairs, a dying vestige of the evening that might have been.  Dusk had fallen, enveloping the bedroom in a shroud of darkness.  With my head cradled against his chest, everything seemed normal again.  If I focused on the rhythmic cadence of his breath, I could forget everything that had happened in the prior weeks.  Though unresolved tensions lingered with Anthea and Sherlock, Greg was what mattered. 
       Greg was still, save his mouth.  He'd been kissing and nibbling at the top of my ear for a few minutes.  "You know, I don't have to stop going out with friends.  You could come along once in a while."
        "How much did you drink today?"
        He laughed heartily.  "I can have dreams, can't I?"
        "Did you sincerely mean what you said earlier?" I inquired, my fingers lightly tracing the length of his forearm.
        "I try not to say things I don't mean.  What did I say earlier?"  His chin made its way to rest on my shoulder. 
        "You implied that falling in love was your fantasy." 
        The warmth of Greg's nose brushed softly against the sensitive curve of my neck, just beneath my ear - a subtle act of intimacy that always sent a shiver coursing through me.  "It was.  Yeah, I meant that.  It was my fantasy.  Of course.  A million failed relationships as a youngster, that club, a mess of a marriage to a woman who didn't love me at all..."
        "Are you truly happy with the way our life has been these last couple years?"  He never seemed anything less than satisfied, but it also wasn't something we ever discussed. 
        He grasped my hand, which had finally settled against the firm expanse of his bicep, his fingers tightening around mine.  "Completely happy.  And before you ask, yes, I also truly do love you.  You think I'd put up with you if i didn't?" 
        "This is why I strive not to ask too many questions," I said sarcastically, rolling away from him.  
        He squeezed the flank above my hip and began to slide toward the edge of the bed.  "Less talking.  One place we rarely talk - the shower.  Come on.  Let's clean up.  I'll let you wash my hair."
        I rolled my eyes, resisting the impulse to react immediately.  I wasn't going to jump to attention.  The ceaseless, intricate struggle for dominance between us was so deeply ingrained that it always seemed to define the contours of our relationship.   I watched as he circled the bed, fetched his discarded clothes and handcuffs from the floor, then tossed them onto my dressing bench.  Next, with more care in his movements, he bent to collect my garments from the floor as well.  As he grabbed my trousers, I heard a light thud reverberate through the floorboards.  The ring box.
        He stooped, picked it up, and approached my side of the bed.  "Hmm."  He twirled the box in his hand with a smirk on his face.  "What's this?"  
        Nothing about the evening had gone the way I'd imagined. There had been no series of serendipitous moments that aligned with the quiet, calm rekindling between us I had anticipated. The instant things began to deviate from their intended course, I had resolved to postpone - perhaps to engineer a more opportune, grand, sweeping gesture.   "It's nothing.  It's mine."  I sat up and reached out my hand.
        "Try again."  He continued spinning the box with his weathered fingers.
        "Greg.  Please just hand it to me."  
        He took a seat on the edge of the bed next to me.  "You did have every second of this evening planned out, didn't you.  And I ruined it for you at every turn.  Now I understand the outburst."
        "It wasn't an outburst," I protested.  "I'm not a child."  I reached around his arm to take the box and he pulled his hand back.  "Greg, please."
        "Eventually you're going to have to learn, Myc.  Might as well be now, don't ya' think?"  
        "Learn what?  What are you talking about.  Please just hand me the box."  I could feel my blood pressure rise.
        "You can't always control everything - manipulate everything."  He stood again and began shuffling his feet around near the side of the bed.  "You couldn't control me tonight.  You couldn't control anyone or anything for months now.  You couldn't control that this box just fell out of your pocket."
        I exhaled slowly trying to calm myself.  "Greg, please.  This isn't a game.  Just give it here."
        "I assume you were going to show me whatever is inside.  That was the plan.  So, I'll just take a look."  
        "Gre-"
        Before my mouth could fully articulate his name, the box was open in his hand.  
        His face softened and I could see moisture building in his eyes.  "Wow.  That's nice."
        I repositioned myself to the edge of the bed, my feet making contact with the floor in an effort to ground me in a moment that felt both unreal and irrevocable.  I didn't know what to say.  The delicate fragility of the most significant decision of my life was now destroyed.  My stomach dropped as Greg rejoined me atop the mattress.
        "Very nice."  
        "I thought so."  It was all I could say.
        He abruptly closed the box and handed it to me.  "I'm sorry," he offered softly.  "I assumed it was just a trinket - a new tie pin, maybe."  His voice grew quieter as he finished.
        I stared at the box, considering my options.  "Not a tie pin.  But, you've seen it.  So, just as you wanted - no orchestration, no grand gesture possible now."
        "To be fair, the fact that you personally went into a jewelry shop and chose that qualifies as a grand gesture for Mycroft Holmes." He nudged my elbow with his.  
        "How do you know I didn't send Anthea?"  Now I was the one spinning the box in my hand.
        "I can tell.  That's not Anthea.  That's you."
        "How do you know?"  I didn't know why I was pressing him.  Perhaps I was simply trying to avoid the weight of the moment.
        "Because I know you."  His voice was soft again, but confident.  "Was there something you wanted to say when you showed me that?"
        "I only want you to understand that - "  My voice cracked.  Sentiment was invading.  
        "You want me to understand what?"  He caressed my back with his right hand.
        "During everything that happened as of late, you suggested many times, in many different ways, that I look down upon you." 
        He continued to rub my back, speaking slowly.  "I think even you can admit that you condescend quite often."
        "I suppose I do.  And I suppose that it's usually quite sincere.  Not when it comes to you, though."  I finally turned to lock eyes.  "Greg, you're talented, witty, kind, clever.  You're a good Detective and the best man."  
        "I'm sorry?  Clever?  You included 'clever' in that list?"  
        "Of course I did.  As people go, Greg, you are considerably intelligent and reasonably perceptive."  As I heard my words, they didn't sound quite like the compliment I'd intended.
        He laughed slightly before replying.  "Well, thanks."  
        This was my moment.  With the ring exposed, there was no turning back - it was now or never.  The room existed around us in a suspended stillness, a quiet so profound it seemed to swallow every thought, every breath. He was at ease, his posture relaxed.  I could hear my own heartbeat.  "I could think of no better way to assure you that I don't look down upon you - that I see you as my partner and my absolute equal - than to ask you to officially and legally fill that role."  I offered the ring box to him.  
        He looked down, taking the box.  He quickly opened it while coaxing me, "Ask me, then."
        The air felt heavy as I inhaled, resting my hand on his knee.  "Will you marry me?"
        He didn't answer.  Instead he took my face between both hands and kissed me.  It began softly, almost reverently - a tender brushing of his mouth against mine that carried the weight of a thousand unspoken emotions.  There was a quiet urgency in the way his lips moved against mine, as though he was finally offering me the last remaining bit of his soul. "You hate weddings," he muttered as we parted.
        "I despise them," I confirmed.  "Was that an answer?"
        "I'll marry you, Mr. Holmes."  He leaned in and kissed my cheek.  "Am I meant to wear this now, or is it for later?"  
        "Wear it now."  My voice was barely audible in my attempt to avoid excessive emotion.
        Greg removed the ring from its velvet cushion and spun it around his index finger.  "Do I have to put it on myself?"  
        I took the band from his hand and gently slid it onto the proper finger.  "Is this what our life will be like?  Does marriage mean I'll be catering to you all the time?"  
        "Don't fret, Your Majesty."  He stood and walked toward the en suite.  "The entire country bows to your whims.  And I'm fairly sure if you thought I was any different you wouldn't have just asked me to marry you."  He took a few more steps before turning toward me again.  "Now come in here so I can show you how good I am at kneeling before you."  He winked and slipped through the door to the bathroom.
        As I stood to follow him, I flashed back to an ice rink.  I had stood near the rink introducing him to a colleague and he had been joyously entertained by my attempt to refer to him as my boyfriend.  Husband.  That seemed a better word.  I could certainly get used to introducing Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade as my husband.